Part Five
"Richard Ellis," came the familiar sound of my fiance's voice.
I struggled against my cuffs, shaking from side to side. This was
no longer a vain attempt to free myself, it was sheer hysteria.
"Richard," I wailed from within my intestines. "Put the phone
down. You don't want to know; you don't want to hear."
My stranger began talking, firm and determined. "You don't know
me," he said easily. "But I'm in Scotland with Vickie."
There was the briefest of pauses at the other end. "With Vickie?"
The stranger winked at me. I was fighting back tears; I was angry,
confused and afraid. I couldn't bear to be here, to listen to the
rebuke I knew I deserved.
"Yes, she's right here beside me," said the stranger. He ran his
free hand across my tummy, downward, brushing my mound and then
grasping my thigh. His touch was overloading my senses; I had no
idea whether my gasp was because I wanted him off or because I
wanted him more.
"This is just a quick call to let you know things are okay," he
told Richard. "Vickie apologizes for not being able to return your
calls but she's been a little tied up and hasn't been able to get
to a phone." I couldn't react to the awful pun; this moment was
far too tragic. "Ah. No," the stranger said. "I think she might be
able to talk. Let me put her through to you."
Put Richard through? To me? But what would I say? He pushed the
mouthpiece in the direction of my chin. My mind was blank. Didn't
he know that my mind had stopped working? No, please. I didn't
know what I was going to say. What could I say?
"Hello, Richard," I said. I was conscious that I was blushing. The
stranger placed one of his hands on my breasts. It was still so
sensitive that it responded immediately, my titty swelling
outwards to greet his palm.
"Vickie," Richard said anxiously. "What's going on? Who is that
man? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Richard," I stuttered, eyes closed. Now he was kissing
my other breast. He was intent on distracting me and he was
succeeding. My body arched up to meet his teasing lips. "Really
I'm okay, there's no need to worry."
"You didn't return my calls."
"I lost my phone," I lied. My legs parted as the stranger slipped
a hand between them. They then closed over his hand, my muscles
squeezing it tight against the lips of my pussy. "I've only just
got it back."
The stranger interrupted. "Why don't you tell him what's really
going on here, Vickie? I really thing you should."
Richard now became even more concerned, I heard it in the
intonation of my name: "Vickie?"
The stranger didn't even allow me breath room. He continued
relentlessly with his demolition derby on my future happiness.
"Why don't you tell Richard what we're doing, Vickie?" He rubbed
his hand softly against my cunt. "I think, for instance, he would
be very interested to know what you're wearing."
I wanted to answer, to say something but emotion suddenly surged
over me and overwhelmed me. I was listening to the destruction of
my life, my love. It was happening so fast that I didn't even have
the chance to think how I could stop it. What was worst was that I
was so totally preoccupied by the promise of an orgasm that I was
contributing towards that destruction. Was I sane? What should I
do?
"Perhaps I should tell you, fill you in, Richard, since Vickie is
a little overtaken by emotion momentarily. I'm here because Vickie
had this fantasy, dream - I'm not sure what to call it - I know
she wants to keep it a secret, so I'm not going to give away any
details. But at the moment she's rehearsing for her big day. Isn't
that so, Vickie?"
I heard Richard as I'd never heard him before. His voice was hard
and brittle from down the phone. "Vickie, Who is this guy? Talk to
me or I'm calling the police."
"No," I cried. "You can't; you mustn't." Suddenly inspiration.
"Richard. This is Scotland. Surely you're not so surprised?"
"I don't understand."
"Think, Richard. This is Scotland. What are we planning to do next
year?"
The stranger interjected. "Vickie, aren't you going to tell the
man what you're wearing?"
I couldn't understand his determination to torture me. Whatever
had I done to deserve this?
"Oh, Scotland!" Richard exclaimed. Scotland is famous for weddings
because of its lenient marriage laws. Couples have been rushing
here for almost two hundred and fifty years to declare their
undying love and be married.
The stranger hit the mute button on the phone. He kissed me gently
on the lips, pushing his tongue into my opening mouth, his finger
still controlling my cunt. "Well done," he congratulated.
"You bastard!" I sobbed. "There was no need! It was only a bit of
fun! Why are you trying to destroy everything?"
"Because I need you to fear me, Vickie. Not just pretend fear, but
real deep-down fright. And when we get there, then I'm going to
fuck you."
"You're a monster. You're mad!"
"All I'm doing is what you asked me to do. No more; no less. No
rules, remember: that was the agreement. You signed up for a bumpy
ride, a rollercoaster, you know you did."
He released the mute button on the phone. "You still there,
Richard?"
There was a pause, then Richard's grave voice crackled on the
line. "Yes. I'm still here."
"Sorry about this," my stranger lied. "Vickie's had to disappear
again. She's been called away. Can she call you back in about an
hour or so?"
I felt sick. Why was I here? I felt so disloyal. Here I was lying
to Richard and he had done absolutely nothing to hurt me. On the
other hand, I had done bugger all else. I felt truly ashamed of
myself. "I'm sorry," my heart was thumping. "I love you, Richard.
I really do."
They signed off and the stranger put down the phone.
"Have I done enough," he asked, running his hand from my cunt,
across my mound and then over my stomach. It circled around the
edge of my breasts this time without touching either of them and
then it traced a line up to my neck. "Do you fear me?"
He dunked his fingers back into the yogurt pot. What now? My heart
was beating so fast.
"Do you fear me like you fear the elements. So benign..."
His yogurt loaded hand hovered above my face, over my mouth. I
could sense him calculating where it should fall. It dripped onto
my lips, a couple of drops at first, which lengthened into a
steady trickle. With one finger he brushed the small puddle along
my parched lips. I could taste the yogurt in my mouth but I kept
totally still, allowing him, so gently, to rub it into me with the
tip of his forefinger.
"...and yet so malevolent. For there is a power in the waves, a
strength in the windstorm, there are forces heaving within the
innards of the earth that if not given due honor will catch us
insignificant beasts within their cruel claw and crush us under
their weight."
I listened mesmerized to his words and the rhythmic beat of his
voice while he finished applying the yogurt to my burning lips.
Once he was done, he pushed his finger into my mouth and left it
there while I sucked him clean.
"Do you fear gravity?" he whispered. I was the gazelle, staring
with transfixed frightened eyes into the gaze of his mountain
lion. Slowly, I shook my head.
"I thought not. Yet you wouldn't dream of walking off the top of a
tall building. Fear is not the same as terror. Fear involves
knowing your limitations and living within them."
He leaned over me, and I stared up into his lion-like face: really
searching and mapping his tanned strong face. I would never forget
it: never. He bent lower, his lips finding mine, a sweet kiss
lubricated by sourness. His tongue flicked across my lips and into
my mouth. I couldn't be certain whether he was pushing yogurt into
my mouth or sucking it into his own. The fluids all kind of mixed
and merged within our mouths.
"Do you fear me?" he whispered.
Yes, I shouted inwardly. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of
uttering the word upon my lips, nevertheless, he perceived it from
my eyes. I knew him now to be capable of anything and everything.
For sure he was going to fuck me; he was going to stick his tool
into my slippery pitcher and he was going to fuck me. This in
itself merited my fear. How many men would have grabbed the chance
to act out this part? Most I think would leave the idea in their
fantasies. And then to ring Richard... Oh yes, I was fearful; this
man would punish me if I failed to please him.
The stranger began rubbing yogurt onto his cock. I watched it
swinging between his legs, up and down, while his balls hung loose
and crinkled. It was hardening again, and increasingly so as he
rubbed his rod to an ever longer length with the lubrication of
the white stickiness.
"Ask me to fuck you." he said.
I stared at him defiantly, remaining silent; knowing absolutely
that this token resistance was futile.
"Beg me."
"No."
"Do you think Richard will appreciate a set of your photographs?"
"No."
"Or perhaps I should ring him again. The truth, this time. Shall I
tell him the truth?"
"No, please..."
"I still have your belt; the belt from your jeans. First, maybe I
should lay it across your ass, thwack you until you are truly
repentant, and then we can ring Richard together."
"You're not serious. You're playing."
"Am I? Are you sure? Test me or beg me. Your choice."
He waited. Now I truly knew what he had been talking about. Now I
knew fear. What I had felt before, what I had imagined to be fear,
it had been but a pale shadow. As I stared into those bottomless
black eyes, I knew true fear. I wasn't afraid of him, I wasn't
terrified or frightened. But I felt fear. I knew that this wasn't
the game I'd invented, that he was in deadly earnest. I knew that
unless I spoke, begged him to do it to me, pleaded with him to
fuck me, that he would thrash me with my belt and that he would
enjoy it too, and then he would ruin my life. He would tell
Richard and it would be over between him and me.
I didn't hate him for it or despise him; any more than you hate
gravity as you stand looking over a cliff face, knowing that if
you jump that it will kill you.
That's just the way things are. You can jump or you can do the
sensible thing and step back. He was a monster of my creation; and
my name was Frankenstein. I'm sure in real life that he's kind,
thoughtful and considerate. I'm sure he is a perfect gentleman. It
was me who had designed this game and had turned him into a
sinister menace. So how could I now hate him? But I was petrified
of what he might do.
My heart was racing and the blood surged in my veins. My nipples
grew tall and drew taut. Goose bumps made corn circles all round
each of my areolas. I felt sick and tense about my stomach. I
couldn't believe what I was about to do, and not because I wanted
to, because it was fun, but because I had to.
"Please," I murmured, feeling myself blush. "Fuck me."
"Louder."
"Please," I repeated. "I want you to fuck me. Will you do it?"
My chest had constricted so tight that I was without breath. Hard
as I tried, the words were no louder than before.
"Again."
I now was so aroused it was unbearable. "Fuck me, damn it. Christ,
don't just stand there. Do it..."
"Keep it up."
Something snapped inside me. I was speaking as I had never spoken
before and have never spoken since. Restraint was gone and my
spirit sang. Whatever animal impulse it was that he had released
was now untamable. "Haven't you ever had a woman proposition you
before, you fucker? I want to be fucked hard. I want you in me and
I want it so much I can't stand it. God. Please, just ram your
hard cock into me. Fuck ME!"
My eyes were closed, the words just streaming out. I had started
and the more I pleaded and begged the more the asking was doing it
for me. It was so humiliating, yet also so blood curdling.
He slammed my legs apart and jumped into the space between them.
"Enjoy it or hate it," he informed me. "You're not going to be
able to stop it."
Christ. I didn't want to stop it. I was along for the ride.
He stuck his yogurt-coated cock at my golden gate and then pushed
it inside. My cunt tube grew to accommodate and then immediately
relaxed, shrinking around him. "Not too fast," I murmured. "I've
waited a long time for this."
"No rules," he warned. "You wanted to be fucked; you're going to
be fucked anyhow or anyway I decide." He had yet more yogurt and
was rubbing it into my blonde hair.
"I'll stink," I complained, panting hard as I tried to make him go
faster.
"Correct." He kissed me hard and I could feel from the way he held
me and kissed me, in his searching tongue and his hands biting
into my upper arms, bruising them, in all these I tasted his
intensity and passion.
I wrapped my legs about him, using the strength in my thighs to
hold his body and his cock deep inside me, while with my stomach I
pushed myself up and onto him.
Please don't come, I thought. Not yet. Please don't come too soon.
It's all so perfect; we must finish it right. His cock was filling
me, fulfilling me, pumping into me and drawing out feminine juices
mingled with white from the coating on his cock. These were
dripping along the crack between my cheeks and soaking the sheet.
"If there is a maid, what will she think?" I wondered
extraneously. "We've made such mess." But in truth this was of no
concern, it was simply a passing thought. All that occupied me was
the feeling of him holding me, possessing me, and enjoying my
greatest of rides.
He bit down into my breast, allowing his teeth to grip yet not to
bite. I felt my nipple in his mouth, erect and hard at the
prompting of his tongue. "Don't stop," I moaned.
"Tell me again that you want it."
"I want it. I want to be fucked so much. I want you to make me
come. Please, fill my aching cunt with your seed. Make me hot. Do
it: make me come."
He quickened his speed, pumping faster and pushing deeper. His
strokes were long and furious, his full length pulling out before
driving back: plummeting into me and making me shudder under him.
"That's so nice; so beautiful," I cried, feeling myself
approaching the edge.
He lifted his torso from mine and squeezed his hand between us. I
felt his hand as it moved towards my cunt and then touch the point
when our sexes were joined. "What are you doing?" I murmured.
"Please don't stop. Don't stop anything."
"I've no intention of stopping. I'm pushing you over," he growled.
I looked into his face and read there the need and his arousal. I
understood from the swollen veins bulging on his forehead and the
open nostrils that he wasn't so very far behind me. He wanted to
be sure that I got my climax first.
I tensed under his finger. It was touching my clit, stroking and
befriending it. Standing behind that finger was the fury and the
steel of his erection, motionless within me as it waited for the
signal to resume.
The movement of his finger on my clit was deceptively slow. It
teased rather than pushed me forward. Inside me I could feel a
huge cauldron of desire and emotion building in intensity, boiling
away within me. My clitty was twitching near to bursting.
"Please," I said, begging with my eyes and pulling his hand from
inside me. "That's enough. Do it now. Do it properly. I'm ready.
I'm coming."
I felt this unuttered scream of relief escape from within him as
he began to move once more, his self-control tested but not
broken. I clung on to the rails of the headboard; pulling hard
against my chains as the dam burst and my orgasm broke.
It was what he had been waiting for. He drew back the safety,
pulled his trigger and then shot his load into me. "Jesus. Sweet
Jesus," I groaned, as he pounded me over and over with his high
duty hammer drill.
Was that the sound of my breathing? Or was it the sound of his?
The rasps of lungs drinking oxygen played a wild duet. He was
ramming his spewing cock into my hole, filling me with seed, with
semen and with satisfaction. And I was sucking in air like a long
distance runner, again and again, as my climax rushed upon and
over me.
Finally, I sank into the pillow and into the bed, drained, warm,
contented. He lay exhausted upon me, his weight pressing down upon
me; his cock embedded within me.
"Thank you," I sighed.
We did it again, twice more. My stranger uncuffed me and allowed
me to show him my gratitude. He told me that I must kiss every
inch of his body and when I had done that, he took me doggy style.
That time I came twice. Afterwards, we slept awhile, me in his
arms. Finally, we did it in the shower with the hot water
cascading over us and the steam misting my sight. First, I soaped
him down and then he returned the favor. Of course, we both used
plenty of soap and found some pretty interesting ways to lather
ourselves. I rubbed my foaming titties against his chest, kissing
his firm shoulders. We slithered against each other for a while;
penis gliding against pussy and tummy against tummy until the
grappling degenerated into shagging.
After that I slept again. When I woke he was dressed and sitting
on the bed looking at me. He had on his coat and by the bedroom
door was a bag.
"I have to go," he said. It took me a moment to grasp what he had
just said, that he was leaving, and even then my initial reaction
was a selfish one.
"But how do I get back," I cried in alarm, sitting up. "I've got
no clothes. You can't leave me like this."
He kissed me gently on the cheek. It was a gentle modest kiss
considering what we had just shared.
"How do I get back to Durness?" I pursued. "You've destroyed my
clothes."
He smiled. "I'm sure you'll think of something. Your car is
outside. I've placed a packet in the trunk. It contains all the
photographs that I took, including the negatives. Treat it as a
present, from me to you. Don't destroy them. Promise me. Remember
what I told you. Every young woman should have some pictures of
herself in the nude, especially when she's as pretty and sexy as
you. The body doesn't last forever, remember that." He reflected
for a moment. "Perhaps you could try driving at night?"
"In the nude?"
"Not my problem," he grinned moving towards the stairs. "Oh. That
wasn't quite true, what I just said. About the photos I mean. I
haven't given them all to you, not quite all. I've kept one or two
as a keepsake, but I promise, I'll be discreet.
I picked up a blanket from the pile of bedclothes by the door. I
wrapped it round myself and followed him downstairs, stopping him
as he was about to go outside. "Please," I pleaded. "What's your
name? At least tell me your first name."
He put a single finger to his lips; he kissed it softly and then
planted the kiss gently on my lips, mouthing the word "Goodbye".
As I began to protest, he opened the door, slipped through it and
was gone.
I rushed across to the window and watched him walk down the road.
There was a distinct swagger to his step as he walked. "I guess I
had something to do with that," I thought abstractly. I watched
him for a couple of minutes as he wound along with the road,
disappeared behind the trees and was gone. And then I watched for
several more minutes, not quite able to believe that it was all
over and that my stranger was history.
He had left me, and yet had he ever really been mine? He had
entered my life; enjoyed my body: for what? why? Had he done it as
a favor to Sophie or because domination was his kink? What was I
to him? A stupid slut? A hot ticket? A free fuck? I didn't have an
inkling.
Neither did I know whether he was good or bad, whether he has a
mother or likes sugar in his tea. I didn't know whether he has a
temper or a wandering eye. He was as much a nebulous caricature
now as he was before I met him. Now I could put a face to the
outline, I knew his accent and the smell of his cologne. But his
name was the same as it had always been: 'stranger'. And he would
never have another.
I turned, dropped down upon a chair, my face in my hands as I
tried to make sense of all the broken pieces.
***
Sophie answered the door. She caught me by surprise because there
were packed bags in the hall and she was wearing her coat.
"What's happening?" I asked. "Are you going away?"
"Just for a while," she said, retreating awkwardly into the hall.
"Just for a couple of days. I think it's for the best. We can talk
later."
There was something the matter with her. She was edgy and nervous
and she wouldn't look at me.
"What's the matter, Sophie? What's happened?"
She had now bent down over one of her bags and was fiddling fairly
aimlessly with its locks. She was breathless and she wouldn't
answer me.
"Sophie? Don't you want to know what happened?"
Then I saw him. Richard was standing at the back of the hall in
the shadow, his face as black as thunder. I looked back and forth
between Sophie and Richard.
"Richard?"
"Come in," he said tersely. "The living room, I think. We need
words." He held the door of the living room for me to enter. He
was making me nervous. I didn't recognize him as being my fiance
at all; this man was so cold and detached.
"What's happened? What's going on?" I demanded with agitation.
"That's what I want to know," he said. Perturbed, I stepped down
the hall and into the living room.
"I'm sorry," Sophie murmured from behind me. She was outside in
the hall; I just caught her words before Richard shut the door.
She had told him! My mind leaped to the obvious conclusion with a
sickening dread.
"Sit down," he said.
Obediently, I sat in one of the two armchairs, taking the cushion
that rested there and clasping it firmly on my lap. Time stood
still.
"I can explain," I pleaded, digging my fingernails deep into the
cushion.
"Oh, you can explain!" he mocked, sitting astride the arm of the
other armchair. "Tell me, what is it that you can explain?"
I was so full of dread. How much had Sophie told him? How much did
he know? Better to ask. "Where do you want me to begin? How much
has Sophie told you?"
"Why the phone call, Vickie?" he asked. "Did you really think I
wouldn't ask questions?"
"That was nothing to do with me. I didn't even give him your
number."
He shook his head sadly. "I don't understand. I thought I knew
you. I thought we were close. But now it seems that I don't know
you at all."
"Richard!" I begged. "Please. I can explain."
"So you've already said. But what is it that you're going to
explain? That while I work, you're incapable of keeping your legs
closed."
"That isn't fair!"
"It certainly isn't. I thought I meant something, that I was
something special to you."
"You are. Really."
"Love is in the actions, Vickie; not in the words. You don't show
your love for somebody by sleeping with someone else."
I was aching inside. I wanted so much for him to take me in his
arms and fondle my hair or to brush my forehead with the honey of
his lips. I wanted him so much still to love me. "Please Richard.
It didn't mean anything."
"Didn't mean anything, eh? If it meant nothing, then you wouldn't
have done it."
"I know, I made a mistake. Richard, listen to me. I'm sorry. Can't
you forgive me one mistake?"
To say that Richard was angry would be an understatement. He was
livid. But it was a calm controlled anger. It was there in his
voice, but he hadn't raised it; it was there in his body language,
but he wasn't gesticulating or pacing the room.
How angry he is, so irate, yet in that anger I see so much pain,
so much hurt that I could easily weep. Emotions churn deep within
me.
I recalled the words of the stranger, that jealousy and
indifference are opposites. Oh bitter sweet irony that, how glad I
am to feel his pain.
"Please, Richard," I beg, soft words that reach out and caress his
beautiful skin. "Please..."
He struggles. My man is struggling. I reach out to him again and
he stares at me accusingly. I feel his suffering and his ache.
"But why?" he pleads.
Why? What a question. Did I really know its answer? Not really,
but for Richard, I must do my best. I speak softly, intensely,
earnestly.
"Richard, Don't think I haven't been asking myself the same
question. All the way down the motorway I've been wondering: 'Are
you happy now? Does it make you feel better?' I'm not going to lie
to you, Richard. I enjoyed it. I have no regrets, none at all. I
can't say otherwise." His face was a storm cloud and he was no
longer looking at me. "Richard, please try to understand. I can't
change what I am. I am the product of an unhappy marriage. My
father emotionally brutalized my mother over the years. I carry
that baggage with me. What happened in Scotland doesn't affect the
way I feel about you. I love you and I want you so much, I want to
be your wife but marriage scares me; I can't help it. This, I
think... I don't know, I think Scotland was a way of preventing
myself from having to think about marriage and weddings and other
scary thoughts. I put reality on hold and fled into my fantasies."
"Vickie, if you're not ready for marriage, then it's better to
wait. There's no hurry."
No. He wasn't going to throw this back into my court! "I don't
want to wait. I told you, I've been doing a lot of thinking on the
motorway. I said I had no regrets. That's true, I have none. But
that's behind me. It's a finished chapter. I know what I want now
and for the future and it doesn't involve dark strangers or
anybody else. I want you, Richard. Just you."
"Yet in all this you didn't once think about me." It was a
statement, not a question.
"I'm sorry."
"Or think perhaps how I might feel; or even deign to talk to me
about how you were feeling."
"Richard..."
"You just went ahead in the most selfish fashion."
"Can you forgive me?"
"I don't know. Honestly, Vickie, at this moment... first let's
talk about Sophie."
"Sophie?"
"Yes Sophie. Tell me about what you are going to be doing for her.
Sophie and I, isn't it?"
Damn! Why did she have to tell him about that? Damn her! No wonder
Sophie wouldn't look at me! She was too ashamed.
He was seething with anger. "How dare you agree sexual favors on
my behalf!" he demanded. "What right do you think you have?"
"It wasn't like that," I cried. "I backed myself into a corner..."
"So what happens now? Sophie's done her part for you. You owe her.
How are you planning to organize her fantasy? How are you going to
do it, Vickie?"
My expression fell. "I don't know."
"Perhaps you would like me to go to her now, seduce her and then
take her upstairs? Is that what you want? Do you want me to fuck
her?"
"No!" I didn't want that at all.
"Why not? It would pay off your "debt"."
"Please Richard! I don't want you to do that. I'll speak to
Sophie..."
He sighed. "That won't be necessary. I've already spoken with her
and we've reached an agreement.
"An agreement?"
"That's right. That's why you saw her leaving. We had words."
"It wasn't her fault."
"So I discovered. For the time being, the nature of that agreement
will remain between Sophie and myself. Understand? Suffice to say
that I won't be sleeping with her."
"Oh."
"Now, having sorted out your mess, I want you to come over here
and ask me to punish you."
Punish me? What did he mean? There was no smile, no twinkle in his
eye. Then it came to me: he wanted to play! I smiled inside,
addressing him in a very small little girl voice. "Richard. I've
been very bad, can you forgive me? What would you like me to do?"
"I'm not joking, Vickie." He spoke seriously, somberly. I had been
wrong. He didn't want to play. This was making me nervous.
Try again Vickie! I got up, stepped across to where he was sitting
and took hold of his arm. Taking my cue from his somber tone, I
said quietly, my eyes downcast. "I'm sorry, Richard. If you think
I need correcting, then I bow to your judgement and I'll accept
whatever punishment you decide."
This, it seemed, was the attitude that he required. He nodded
quietly then took a lock of my hair and fondled it within his
fingers. "I don't want to lose you, Vickie. I don't. I love you
too much. I can't stand by and ignore games that jeopardize our
relationship."
"I understand."
He shook his head. "No. It's me that understands."
"You do?"
"I hope so. I've been trying to understand, anyway. Were you
serious that you would abide by my judgement?"
I nodded shakily. There was a flush on my face.
"Then go upstairs, I want you to take off your clothes, all of
them, and wait on the bed for me. You've let us both down, Vickie,
not just yourself. That's not something I can ignore. I value our
relationship too much. I value you too much."
"Yes, Richard."
I got up to find that my legs had turned to jelly. He was so
different, so dominant. What had I done to him? "By the way," he
said.
"Yes, Richard."
"I'm not planning on being lenient. If you feel that I have no
right to punish you, physically..."
I gulped. Dare I do it? Dare I give myself to him? I had to.
"Richard, you have every right. You are my future husband."
Having sown the seed, I turned and shut the door. "Yes!" I cried
jubilantly, punching the air. Sophie, it seemed, had gone. Her
bags were no longer in the hall. I ran upstairs, threw off my
clothes and sat waiting on the bed.
What was he going to do? What kind of punishment did he have in
mind? I was shivering with fear and excitement.
I waited anxiously, five, ten minutes until he came, stern, firm
and strict. He sat down and I lay obediently across his lap
feeling the cold air on my bare behind. He didn't say a word; and
neither did I. With his left hand he fixed me to his lap and with
his right he spanked my ass until it was red and blotchy and my
eyes were emptied of tears.
Then, finally, he lifted me; held me; kissed me; caressed me;
reassured me; and, best of all: he loved me.
Thank you, dearest Richard. For now I know what I didn't before.
You are the chimera of my darkest fantasy.
The End
