Enraptured, Encaptured

Literotic asexstories – Enraptured, Encaptured by Amber_Libra,Amber_Libra
He has neat black hair, the cut is shaved perfectly at the sides, with a hint of pomade at the thicker hair on top. A hint of a gangster. Old school. A bad boy in a good suit. A businessman, so he says. Shrewd blue eyes and a sudden smile. As he removes his blue checkered Gucci tie and unbuttons a Paul Smith white shirt, he displays the marks of street life like graffiti scrawled over his finely chiseled frame. Like the imperfections on a marble statue he has scrawled tattoos, scars, a knife wound across his hard stomach. Remnants of a fast past, something he has not entirely left behind but tries to hide.

He is good at hiding things. He is good at hiding me. He is adept at charm, deception and disappearing. Leaving behind the scent of Roja Parfum’s Danger cologne. And what shall I call him, so that you, intimate reader, can capture more clearly this man in your own imagination? I shall call him, J. No, Jay.

When Jay removes himself from my life, from my body, my aura, so quickly and with such certainty in his direction, he leaves me cold. I wish at times I could also shut him out of my mind. But then, are not my fantasies of him, like the psychopomps guiding the soul connection, keeping this thing alive? Moving from life, to death, to life, to beyond. I want to drop more fuel onto the fire, to never let this die out. I want danger.

He is someone who is not afraid of going beyond.

Watching myself in the full length mirror, I slowly undress, unbuttoning the Zara black shirt-dress, holding my breasts together in the purple silk bra. My long dark hair is almost down to my waist, I am natural and wild, for now. At forty, I have learned to keep this side of me caged, revealed only to those that have the right key to unlock it. I imagine Jay’s hungry almost-cold eyes upon me, surveying my neck, my back, my curves, and the skimpy fabric of my matching Primarni knickers. I take off the bra and I run my fingers over hard nipples, pink areola…wanting my fingers to be his.

They say mirrors are magical, a portal to other realms. Here he is stepping forth into my reality, just behind me. Jay places his hand over my cunt, and his finger is between the wet lips of my red mouth. Whatever I do I must not turn around. I cannot let him entrap me into this reflected world or shatter this illusion.

Standing, sliding my hand, his hand, between my smooth wet thighs, I see his hard fuckable face, just above my shoulder. My eyes are half-closed and he steps out from the mirror, he pulls me gently around, his large hands on my hips, on one bended knee he licks and sucks my clit. I can feel his hair, dark and thick and the soft part at the back, newly shaven, I stroke his head and call his name. Jay, Jay, Jay. My clit feels hard as if it is about to explode. I love that feeling where nothing matters, where I am losing control, shaking, reaching…..

The orgasm seems to shoot through me, buckling my legs. Then all I am left with is the sound of the shower in the ensuite. The gentle coo of resting pigeons outside on the opposite window ledge in the courtyard. They are somehow consoling in their everydayness, in their ordinary grey feathered beauty.

Now we are apart. Our fantasies bind us together, our minds are somehow connected, entangled. The pleasure of orgasm, yet the pain of being apart. At least I know that I feel pain. Does he?

Jay, please answer. When can I see you again?

I know he is mine, one day he shall be only mine. I want him so much. I try not to think about him with her, at home telling her about his day, kissing her. I try not to think about it as when I do I am green and sick with jealousy. And fear he will not return.

It is January and I like the freshness of a New Year. Yet Christmas- I felt colder, more alone than I ever have before. Solace was a choice, sipping creme liquor and chilling with a film or two. The coldness was not part of that choice. Heating on Mediterranean high, yet why did I still have icy shivers? I thought about Jay all through Christmas and then all through New Year….him with her. I waited for a call, a sign, anything to show me our connection is real. That I was not just a game to him. A plaything, or a distraction.

The bouquet of miniature roses, from him- now wilting and drying- to remind me or to fool me, that yes, it was real. It felt very real when we were fucking in his bed ten days ago.

…Come to me, come to my door. I really need you. Why are you not here when I really need you? Answer my message. Please.

All those unanswered texts. When I have almost given up hope, when the pain is too much to bear- a kind of loneliness, a longing, an ache- he comes to me, my dark angel, with the sexiest grin. He does this every time.

I could not resist. The red wine. Intoxicating. I placed the glass carefully on the bedside table where it left red rings on the smooth white surface.

I could not resist. He took of his red Hermes tie and loosened his shirt.

As he bound my wrists above my head, I could feel that ache deeper in my cunt, my limbs stretched, then my legs parted, already moaning, wet, wanting…dissolving into pleasure as he first brought me to orgasm with his tongue and expertly slid his cock inside, ramming it with an urgency and yearning I never thought possible. We both cried out. I came again, at the same time as his final violent thrust.

Then after, we kissed, talked, laughed, gently stroked fingers over warm skin. My soft fingertips traced over outlines of tattoos and scars, like points on a map of his past, leaving a trail up to the present moment. Wine dripped from the glass onto my breast. His head upon my breast and in that moment content.

I watched his smile fade.

Then he left me to go back to her. The wine glass fell to the floor. I shattered into a million pieces.

I swept up the broken pieces. The sunlight shone onto the shards of the broken wine glass. My wrists were sore. I had grazes on my skin and I do not know how they got there.

Shopping is always a good way to help those grazes heal. As are friends.

Julia and Chloe meet me for coffee and cakes. We love to gossip over our lattes and cappuccinos, to talk of our sex lives, any fantastic fucks we have had recently. Julia has bought herself some underwear and the CK bags are lined up on the table. We start giggling as she pulls out the bright red lacy panties in the middle of the cafe. She divorced and with no children feels free to shag whoever she pleases, wherever, whenever. Chloe, trisexual (she will try anything once) lets her know how she would love to see her in the pink thong she is pulling out of the white bag.

My friends know nothing of Jay, however. Julia’s ex husband was a serial cheater and so I know exactly what she would say. I do not want to be disowned by one of my besties.

As we are having coffee Jay messages me. He tells the place, the time and the day. He has booked a hotel. He is starting to treat me like an escort or something, his convenient personal hooker. This irritates me slightly. I could say no. I do not want to say no. I just delay my response, keeping him waiting and thinking of me. He messages again to tell me he has some black silk stockings that he wants me to wear.

Back from our rendezvous at the hotel. A four star with white tile bathroom, plush white towels and eucalyptus lotion. Room service, a king size bed and Jay’s king-size dick.

…the delicious taste of betrayal and come still fresh in my mouth. I know he loved the way I got submissively on my knees, greedily taking his cock into my mouth. How arrogant he was as his mobile rang and leaning against the wall, oh so casually, he answered that call from her, all the time as I sucked him off, looking up at him whilst he stared down at me. I feel powerful, his secret, his poisonous rose. I smell so sweet, yet I am so toxic, addictive…..

….sickly Valentine’s Day eventually arrives with its big pink hearts, chocolate and sloppy kisses for all the perfect couples in the world.

Yes…I got the V day gift…she gets the fine Tiffany jewellery for her loyal wrist (for all those loyal wrist jobs she has given) and I get the sex toys. I want to stop searching through her social media but it is getting harder, I miss him more and more.

At least I got to see him this evening. I wore a black trench coat, with nothing on underneath as instructed. I know he was turned on all through our secret restaurant meet, in the corner, hidden in the candlelight and shadows. His dick hard and straining against his tighty whities (Versace I later discovered) as he kept his voice calm, his actions gentlemanly and so controlled, trying to ignore the precum oozing out of the end of his cock. He knew the whole time I had a small silicone butt plug up my tight arse. This was his demand.

We fucked afterwards, in an alleyway behind the restaurant kitchens. He could not wait any longer. It was fast and hard, standing up against the wall, with his hand pressed against my mouth. His fingers reaching around to feel the butt plug still in place. Then as he pulled it out slowly, I gasped. “Shhh”, he breathed into my ear as we both came as quietly as we could.

Back at the hotel I showed him how I appreciated him, these snatched moments that I want to be able to knead and stretch out. I massaged into his wide muscled back. I slid my oiled body against his to tell him I missed him and wanted him at every moment we are apart.

Now I have the memory of him, my hard man, my bad boy, the image of his face as he pressed the buzzing sex toy onto my engorged clit and shot his load all over me.

Almost a month has passed.

All I can think about is Jay…his devilish smile, his big cock…how I want him to tie me up tight and fuck me…keep me prisoner…I am already a prisoner waiting for his next call, his next text, the next move or a sign. He must know the power he has over me and in a way I have power over the woman he is with now. She is so safe, so smug, so loved. I know I can shatter her illusion and destruct her heart whenever I want to. So I am waiting…lying in wait….longing for his sexual magic to overwhelm me. That orgasm that is deeper, stronger than any I have known. So addictive. For now I am weak…just where he wants me to be.

While the cat’s away…

There we were in his bed, two mischievous little mice, Jay tickling me, licking me and it was so good to see him laugh and play. To catch a glimpse of the adorable, cheeky child he would have been. It was such fun to hang out. Wifey away in some stuffy conference hall while we were messing up her perfect sheets.

Everything in his home screams opulence, decadence and taste…all those deals he made, those risks he took to achieve all this. And what is the point if you cannot enjoy it? A pristine, perfect home, the soft light grey walls, windows from floor to ceiling. The juccuzzi that he never really uses but where I straddled him as he leant back and moaned.

She was his balance, his anchor as he worked and struggled….but I know how to upset it all, mess up everything. Messing up this perfect life. Why? I AM JEALOUS, that is why. I want him all to myself.

He did not know that I had watched them together one wintery afternoon. His arm casually upon her shoulder, a warm kiss upon her cheek that felt like a slither of ice going straight to my heart. No, I was not stalking him. It was fate showing me the truth, leaving me standing in the middle of town, feeling numb, almost wanting to drop all my precious bags of shopping and run. Almost but not quite, I could not sacrifice my new shoes, jacket and shiny new earrings, so I kind of hid, turned away and started rummaging in one of my bags.

I had thought I could fool myself that there was nothing really between Jay and his wife and that is why he wanted me. But there he was, caressing her cheek, smiling, oh such a devoted Judas. It was her I hated. I hated her for making me feel like a desperate, lonely, shopaholic. Literally out in the cold, out of the mall.

Alexia… that’s her name, isn’t it?

The games turned from playful and light-hearted to erotic, heated. He lit the candle and let the wax melt, dripping it onto my skin as I writhed against the taut belt holding me in bondage. Dripping that hot dangerous wax, yet all the time so, so careful not to let it seep onto that immaculate cream carpet on his living room floor.

As he led me into the bedroom, on my knees, bound wrists, his hand sometimes gripping my hair, or grabbing my face, I knew he would soon give me release. My cunt aching, pulsating, all I could think about was his cock…begging him for his big cock. He picked me up in those arms that are still strong and have fought on many streets, rained blows upon his enemies. He held me so gently, kissed me so gently just for a second, then threw me like a rag-doll upon the bed. But I knew I was safe, wrapped up in silky luxury, then that hard, muscular body against mine and pounding me, until I was howling, crying out, beyond control.

Afterwards, he was so careful- the crumpled, lipstick-come-stained sheets thrown to the laundry, everything in the room back to showroom neatness. He thought he had rid all evidence of me, of us. Yet not all. I know there are cameras everywhere in his house, everything we do is recorded. He must have full control over the recordings…. perhaps watching them, getting off on them.

Yes, not all….

I can be so careless. How I let my earring fall, lost in that little tight space between seat and arm of the sofa…and I’m really sorry that I left those long hairs in the brush I used and replaced so carefully in the dressing table drawer.

He seems so relaxed, as if he fits perfectly into my little flat. Here, smiling after sex as if he does not have a care in the world. He could fit so perfectly into my life, too, if it was not for her. I think of all the ways that I could get rid of her. To send her an anonymous message, perhaps. To cast a black magic spell. It should not be too difficult if I put my efforts into breaking them up, so he will be mine. The thought of him beside her at night, making love to her makes me burn up with jealousy, a redness in my cheeks right this moment as that vision enters my mind.

He seems invincible right now- he has me, he has her, business is going well, he is tanned and fit, well dressed…so confident. So sure that wifey will never know about me. So sure that he can come to me and do all the things with me that she will not.

He knows he has power over me and I can never resist. Although I may try and ignore his texts and secret calls…I always give in. I love the power he has over me. I am addicted to it. I am even starting to enjoy the scolding of hot jealousy whenever I think of him and her together. I love the pain. I love the pain of a rope or belt around my wrists, the slap on my thighs and arse. The slap around my face and the finger to my lips. The air scented- both of fruit and sweat. Both dirty and sweet. Tonight, he covered his fingers and cock with scented lube. I was his anal whore, as he flipped me over, a finger spreading me open and entering me slowly as I writhed, face down.

Yet now you call me your Queen, and open your wallet, flipping flippant note after note onto the bedside table. Like it is nothing. He cannot stay long, of course not. I smile as he suddenly gets up to leave; trying to show that I do not care. It is nothing. I smile.

I am not hurt that you are leaving me in the middle of the night. Of course not.

Springtime and the sun brings misty daydreams of Jay and I together.

I dream of what it would be like for him to truly to be mine…all mine…I want to possess him and to be possessed…yes I have always been an obsessive, possessive lover. But I feel that is the only way it should be.

He takes over me completely, fucking me with his hard, strong body, wanting to give me both pain and pleasure, wanting to hurt me as this gives him pleasure. I love the pain. He takes over me completely, fucking me with his mind, his mind control, the hold he has over me…the power that I crave, an ebb and flow between us.

Sometimes, when we are together and happy, I completely forget about her, my fantasy seems so real…but there are always little things, like demons out of nowhere that come along to taunt me…the photograph in his Christian Louboutin wallet as he snaps it open, her smiling face, the way she looks a bit like me yet with short, black glossy hair…and the texts that he tries to ignore.

He seems to be more passionate lately. I love to watch his face as he comes. He seems to want me more and more. Perhaps I can ignore his little lies, the way he tells me that she is more of a platonic connection now. Perhaps I can ignore too, the strange phone calls I have been getting…the silence and hanging up. Oh what a tangled web we weave…but none of it matters when I can share the potent pleasure of his company and keep him with me for as long as I can, to possess him for just a little longer.

I passed by his house the other day. Through the gate the curtains were drawn over the large windows yet a warm orange light shone from the upstairs bedroom where Jay and his wife were lying…that is what I imagined.

The wifey- the one he claimed is really just like a friend- all passion died, he said, after he found out about her little fling. Yet they had built so much together, they both wanted to give it another go.

Then again, later, his story changed, he said it was he who had cheated on her first.

I think they could not quite let each other go.

In the bedroom together, bathed in that warm orange glow, Jay making love to her gently, licking her nipples and stomach and breasts, caressing her clit with his deft tongue. Saving all his secret sadism to unleash upon me. In his beautiful house, locked away in that orange glowing box, so distant from me.

Remember the first time we met? Of course you do.

I was standing by the bar in my pale pink jacket and black gothic dress. He said that the coat was lovely and stroked my arm. I could already feel the crackles of static between us. He looked into my eyes and said I was stunning. I am usually unimpressed when compliments come too hard, or too fast…it seems fake, as if hiding a hidden intention…but somehow I was taken in by his roguish charm.

Why did I respond to him? I was feeling vulnerable, in need of a charismatic man to lift me high, after being stood up and unappreciated once again. Yet the twist of fate was not cruel, that was the night I dropped my boyfriend of two years and became addicted to someone new.

He told me he was the owner and I looked over his shoulder at the two large doormen, standing by to do his bidding like big bald guardian angels. Jay’s eyes held a dark and potent power, as if he had the ability to get anything he wanted, or anyone. I wondered what deals he had made and with whom to get so much magnetism and grace.

A wheeler dealer with clubs, a Cadillac and Cartier watch. His blue eyes scanned my face, my body, as I told him of my own wildly exciting job as a customer services representative for a tech company and how- wow- it is fantastic as I can work from home. I do not know why but I suddenly reached out and stroked his face, a rough chin and that sudden smile.

Later that week we went to the Italian restaurant. He had told me to choose where to go. He said I had taste. I found out his favourite film was Casino Royale and he liked to listen to house, mainly. He is the only guy I have met who has admitted to liking Lady Gaga. We seemed so connected, like we were meant to be a couple. I did not hesitate when he booked into the hotel and did not even think he could be hiding anything.

….I found you exciting, amazing, mesmerising. You said I was cute and kissed me gently on my cheek and nose….

He took off his dark blue Tom Ford jacket and the blue linen shirt, pouring a drink for us both from the minibar. My brown eyes devoured his toned body: those hard biceps and abs that I wanted to run my fingers over and then bite and kiss him like a maniac.

Jay went into the en-suite bathroom and came out with a white towel around his waist. As the towel slipped I could see his cock was large and semi-erect. His skin felt so smooth as I gave him a massage. His back, crack and sack were pristinely waxed. I wanted to please him. I wanted to give him that BJ…to impress him. I remember now the spunk dripping off his cock into my open, submissive mouth.

Afterwards- then and for weeks after- he was so perfect, such a gentleman, his charm sweeping me up and away, making me lose touch with harsh reality. He knew exactly the right things to say at the right time…and he still does.

But I crashed right back down to earth again when he told me he was married. That really hurt. He took off his mask and I was still drawn to the devil beneath. I still wanted him, even after crying myself to sleep for days.

Gradually his darker sexual desires emerged…insidious and sweetly dangerous. First the games, the ropes, the blind fold. Then the slapping. Slapping me on my arse or across the face when we made love. But then, it was not making love- it was fucking, just hard fucking, pain and control. I loved it.

I needed it, needed you.

He had the power to cause so much pain and to heal me afterwards with his balm. He became hooked on me too. His orgasms were so immense and intense. I gave him power.

So, where are you now? Are you with her? Are you thinking of me? Of course you are…you have to be, you still have the scratch marks on your back from my rose red nails….just as I have these kiss-sized bruises from you.

I am standing in the tree lined avenue. These mock Tudor houses with lawns, evergreens and the occasional white statue, contain such exquisite lives. Walking past Jay’s house, for about the tenth time this week….there she is, stepping out of the door, searching in her bag, a dark green jacket over a flowing print dress. Unmistakably Alexia. Unmistakably pregnant.

The silence between us has begun to grow as the days grow longer and lighter. He is there on the horizon yet out of reach. If I venture towards the horizon it always remains as such. My messages remain unanswered. My intuition tells me he still wants me. Yet he does not express it.

Chloe calls me and we meet Julia at Starbucks. Chloe is dating a woman, a BBW, and enjoying losing herself in her big tits and thighs. Julia is still single and ready to mingle, getting evenings out and thrills from Tinder. I let them know there is someone I like but I am not sure if it will lead to anything. I casually brush off their questions as I brush the granules of sugar from the table. Then, as H & M is calling, we leave the cafe. As I walk out, I notice her, in green velvet jacket and with baby bump, stirring her latte macchiatto. Alexia is sitting alone. I feel as if someone has just thrown an icy bucket of water over me. I almost slip over on my way out.

A week of brooding silence. Then a curt message. He will come to me. No, no, I must wait. And I wait. And wait. I must wear my dress. The translucent black dress that cups my breasts and has silver studs in the collars. The dress that he bought me. My favourite dress.

Jay’s sapphire eyes are shining yet there is something ruthless hidden in their depths. Standing above me as I sit as instructed on the chair, the ordinary wooden kitchen chair, in my ordinary flat. Yet the rest of the room fades away as he holds the rope in his leather-gloved hands and bounds my arms behind my back. I am somewhere else, a shadowy dungeon and there is fire, flames leaping in his eyes. Fire and ice. He tells me he wants to keep me, tame me and stares into my eyes, running a smooth finger across my throat as I breath in the lust and danger that I crave.

He looks around my kitchen, a sadistic smile on his face, searching through the hand-painted jar where I keep my utensils. He picks out the scissors and holds them up, making me wait in nervous anticipation. Then, beginning first at the hem, he begins to snip, snip, snip at the dress, the beautiful dress that he had bought me.

I remember that fun, carefree afternoon where I danced around in just a pair of bright pink socks and my white panties in the dressing room.

Now he snips at the delicate folds and pleats. I cry out as if in physical pain…he cuts and snips from hem to waist, tearing it open cruelly, placing the scissor blades finally at the delicate cuffs and the neck with the ornate metal buttons at the collar.

I can hardly breathe. It is as if he is cutting away the good memories of that afternoon. He knew the owners of the boutique and they had welcomed us in with a flourish. He admired my curves, my legs, my radiance, as I tried on one trendy designer dress after another. I chose the black one, another to add to my gothy collection.

He tears the sad remnants from my body and I am shaking, not so much with cold but with something else, like a spirit passing through me, as I sit head bowed, tears falling from my gently closed eyes, in my dark-red silk bra and knickers.

Jay slides down the strap on my bra, looking at me with something like pity and scorn, then the other strap, until exposing my breasts and cupping one breast in his hand, licking and biting me as if I am his succulent, forbidden fruit. All his.

“So,” he smiles again. My face lights up too. This is a game. This is what he wants to satisfy his needs. It is ok, he will buy me another dress, I am sure, ten dresses if I want. “How does Alexia know about you…about you and me?” My smile disappears. That cold spirit makes me jolt in my chair.

“What?” my voice is trembling and then real ice cold fear creeps through me, “I…I…don’t know…”

….The feel of leather gloved hands on my skin. The rope around my wrists. My arms aching as they are held behind me. The way he questions me, the blade of the scissors tracing patterns on my body, enough to bring fear yet he is careful not to break the skin. The way he finds objects from my everyday life and turns them into objects of torture. The pegs on my nipples, my pussy lips, my clit. The wooden spoon to rap me into an answer, on my thighs, the knife to my throat.

I stayed loyal only to myself: my act of deceit, of revenge and spite. I did not tell him about the hair I left in her brush, the earring she must have found down the side of the sofa or even the lipstick mark on the wine glass, that I hid away unwashed among the others.

I am not sure if he believes me now but I kept my secret well. And usually, you know, I can be so careless….like when I lost the card on the miniature roses that he gave me, when he knew he had to switch up the charm…I think I lost it somewhere in his bedroom….maybe….

“A, my Queen, my rose, so sweet yet addictive. I will never give you up because I can’t, J xxx”.

There is poetry hidden in his hardened heart.

I call Chloe and she tells me she cannot meet up. She seems in a hurry to say goodbye. I text Julia. No answer. I go to the cafe by myself. Then I scour the shops to find a new dress to replace the one I have lost. I buy plenty of other things I do not really need: mascara (already have about four), sparkling eyeshadow (why not?), sparkling wine (I do not need it but I want it), denim handbag (ditto), lots of knickers, random t-shirts and some perfume to impress Jay (I Want Choo by Jimmy Choo).

I wondered out of Sephora, through the mall and I found myself looking at baby clothes, thinking about Alexia; Knowing I have destroyed her good memories of this pregnancy. I am poison and somehow I do not even care.

“We’re going for a drive,'” Jay smiles mischievously, a little bit of shadow on his chin. ‘Dressed down’ but in Alexander McQueen t-shirt, Levi’s and Moschino leather belt. He looks hot. Hotter actually. I was not expecting him and my flat is a mess, my hair kind of tousled, flustered by his sudden appearance. It is early summer, a luke-warm wind flutters through the window.

“I..er… don’t know…I..” I look around the flat, hopelessly thinking of all the million and one things I had to do. Wash the pots. Do the laundry. Clean the bathroom. I should get changed first, at least, out of the flimsy off-the- shoulder t-shirt and leggings I had been wearing just around the house.

“Hold out your hands’, he looks amused at first. “Hold out your hands,” his voice suddenly has a hard edge to it, a military command. I know how he can switch so fast, so dangerously, so I do as he commands. I always do when he speaks to me like that.

Out come the handcuffs. He flicks them expertly onto my wrist, my arms in front of me, placid and beginning to breath heavily. So now he is in control, complete control.

I, your prisoner, your bad girl who needs to be led away and punished.

He takes my keys off the table, locks the door and he leads me outside, his strong arm around my shoulders, to where a white van is parked; like a generic work van, he being a generic kidnapper.

I sit up in front, my hands submissively on my lap and he is in the driving seat. He drives silently, me turning my head to look at his profile, feeling an intense wetness at the crotch of my leggings. He looks ahead, as if this is perfectly normal, a perfectly ordinary day for a trafficker. He has a serious, strict expression on his face, even making trivial remarks about the warm weather, or other drivers, or the work he had been doing that day. I cannot take my eyes off him, his fighter’s nose, his sexy stubble, his perfectly styled hair. I feel like an unruly girl who has to be taken from her cell by the guard, one who knows he is in absolute control and can do anything to me at anytime.

We drive. I do not know where we were going or even if we have a destination but I am already coming in my tight leggings. We drive and he talks, remaining always in control. Like a police officer to a criminal. We drive through town, out of town, my wrists held by the heavy steel handcuffs. My cunt dripping. The feeling is divine, the helplessness and my head dizzy with excitement.

Then we are out into the countryside, bumping down some little windy lanes. I look at him, eyes pleading. I long to release my hands and stroke his strong arms that are dotted and dashed with black tattoos. Jay turns into a side road, trees on either side, like we are heading into some woods. I see a lay-by ahead and that is where he parks. He jumps out, slamming the van door and holds open the door on my side. He leans forward to undo my seatbelt and I try to reach to kiss and bite his neck. I catch the scent of expensive cologne as my lips graze his skin.

“Get out'” he orders, calm yet strict. His blue eyes are bright and shining, beautiful yet cruel, as if reflecting the nature around us. I stumble as I step out. “Follow me.” I obediently walk behind him into the woods; tangled masses of ivy and grass on the floor, pine trees towering above our heads. He turns to me every now and again, enjoying me tripping and struggling, noticing the tear in my leggings from some brambles or twigs. I begin to cry. This is not fun anymore….

Jay stops suddenly, noticing my tears and suffering. He presses me up against the thin, rough tree trunk, kissing me hard and passionately. Tears are running down my face and I began to moan into his mouth.

He grabs my hair, yet in a slow almost gentle way and holds me, his body against mine. His cock is hard in his jeans. He is looking into my pitiful eyes, ready to fuck, ready to tear off those leggings and stick his big cock right in.

He rips the leggings away then pulls down the sodden bikini knickers that I did not have time to change before we went out. He places his mouth against mine again before I can protest. He keeps that firm grip on my hair, pulling me down onto the dirt, my arms helpless and bound by the handcuffs in front of me.

I am sitting, leant against the tree. He spreads my legs, my knees bent and upwards, pulling my handcuffed hands above my head with one hand, fingering my wet cunt with the other. He unbuckles his belt and takes out his rigid cock, standing above me as I suck dick like a good slave should. He orders me to lie down, and begins to laugh as I struggle on the ground, onto my back. He pulls up my torn t-shirt, biting each nipple, squeezing my breasts.

My handcuffed arms are above my head, the pain in my shoulders and arms is overidden by my want, my need, my desire. He pulls his jeans and Balenciaga boxers down, just far enough, composed. He shoves his cock in and pummels me into the dirt. He fucks me hard until he is losing control too, his moans become high, and soft. As we reach climax our cries echo into the woods.

Sitting back in the van, silence. The sound of birds and a slight, rustling wind. He picks the leaves out of my hair, wipes the dirt from my face with some baby wipes. Then he takes a key from the dashboard and releases me from the handcuffs. On the way back he is so gentle, so kind. I am so grateful. He places his hand on my leg, stroking me slowly up and down my thigh as he drives. He stops off at the high street and buys some jeans for me and a new t-shirt.

When the van stops back outside my flat I do not want to leave you. I have no more tears just a deep yearning. You said you had to get back. And you drove off back to her.

What is this?

Are we soulmates? Twin flames? There is something special between us, so powerful, like a drug, better than any drug. To share these fantasies, to be turned on by the same thing, without even having to talk about it is like stepping into another dimension. Once there, no-one else matters, nothing else matters. Yet when we are together, we are risking everything.

He has told me about his business, about the man who tried to destroy him. He has told me about the CCTV around his home and his guns. He has told me how he could kill a man, easily. I looked at him and wondered if he ever had. I told him my fantasy of killing that man, his enemy. I could see his strange smile, as if he was turned on by my twisted violence.

We have told each other things we could never tell anyone else.

What is it that draws him to me? I am older than him, than his wife. I thought guys like him would go after young, pliable women. I am on the whole unambitious, not career driven at all. My job is hardly even worth mentioning. But….

Is it because I am dangerous? I know he smiled and said that I do not look dangerous on that first meeting….putting his hands on my hips and pulling me into him for that first kiss….

Yet that is what makes me dangerous…like black ice that will leave you reeling, your life spinning out of control before you even know it. Like a cool, calm sea that you dive into yet find yourself being pulled under by hidden and hazardous forces.

But let us not talk of ice, or iciness, on this beautiful summer evening.

I feel he has melted, as we lie on the beach together, his head upon my breasts. We seem almost equal, like lovers should be, rather than being under constraint by the shackles of sexual control, he being the dom.

Perhaps we do have a future together after all, rather than this prison sentence where neither can escape (who is the jailer and who is the jailed?)…perhaps freedom together. The sea looks so cool, so calm.

A seagull flies over the two souls entwined.

I wait for your next call. Do not leave me out in the cold.

Summer storms come so suddenly, dark clouds looming above our heads, like heavy words unspoken and secrets…then the rain comes down, pours down…never seems to stop.

His eyes flash, and contain many hues of blue and green, like the depths of the ocean. Our words are thunder, as I hastily grab my bra, my dress, my handbag- everything in a mess- as I run from his bed, out of his home, slipping on my shoes along the way, tripping down the stairs.

So, he will never leave her. She will never leave him. They are trying to work things out or work something out. He cannot leave because….because of the baby. At last, he released this secret into the darkening air.

He talked as if he still loves her. He said he wants to be there for his child, it is not long now, just weeks away. He did not even know his own father, who was a con man, an addict, a criminal.

So what am I? Your mistress? Your whore? Your bit on the side? Your bitch? We made love- no fucked- so desperately, as if he needed me. I satisfied his craving. I was his whore, gagging on his cock as he held my hair. Looking down at me, so nasty and so, so sexy.

He told me that he will never leave her. He cannot let me go either. I know I am his addiction. I can tell because of his erection.

I have got to him, crawled beneath his skin, filled his mind with desire and imagination that has no limits. He knows I will do anything, live out any fantasy. He can tell me the taboo fantasies that he cannot trust to disclose to anyone else. I have no inhibitions. This cannot be an ending. No, this is a beginning.

I will leave you alone for now, let you play happy families with your wife. But, watch out…you never really know when lightning is going to strike.

I waited for him, tracing the tear-drop of rain as it slowly rolled down the lonely hotel window.

I have not seen my friends for months. The weird silences. Avoiding meeting up. Going out without me. I was so wrapped up in my obsession with Jay that I hardly missed them. But now I do.

“We know about Jay”, Chloe, had explained eventually, when I asked, half-jokingly, whether she was ghosting me. “Alexia messaged Julia, she messaged everyone on your friends list. Julia has had a meltdown, she can’t believe you would do this, his wife is having a baby! Why him, anyway? You could have anyone.”

I told her it was a lie. I was not seeing, this, this Jay person.

She said….

I was not the person she thought I was. I was deceitful, a stalker, a homewrecker. She could not believe that I kept this secret from her. I guess she was not the person I thought she was either.

So the magic, the secret is gone, like a disappearing rainbow. Everyone knows and they are contaminating my dream, curdling what was mine to keep.

Alexia is trying to destroy me. But really you cannot destroy someone or something that is already broken.

Jay had told me the time, the place, what to wear, even how to get here- as if afraid that someone would follow me. My earlier excitement had dwindled into disappointment as the time ticked by, the fluttering butterflies in my stomach receding to an anxious churning. I read through the room service menu, switched channels on the huge TV on the wall, sneaked a miniature bottle of vodka from the minibar.

Fuck you Chloe. Fuck you Julia. Fuck you Alexia.

Please come and fuck me, Jay.

I felt let-down, ridiculous. Perched on the bed, in my stockings and corset, the long gloves just over my elbows. Checking my phone, again and again. Fifteen minutes, thirty minutes, fifty minutes. Then I jumped at the faint knock on the door…quiet but just loud enough to startle. Now all my senses were heightened, my heartbeat booming, as I crashed, sliding in my stiletto heels towards the door. “Is it you?”

“It’s me baby, I don’t have much time”. Then he walked in, a dark blue suit, Swarovski crystals sparkling from a Stefano Ricci tie and that irresistible grin. I was drawn to his eyes, deep, shining, then his muscular arms pulling me in further. He kissed me hard and rough and said “Sorry.” Every day, he had messaged, sorry, and to hear the word from his lips at once cured my doubts, my emotional hurt. At this point you would imagine that the lover would pull out a bunch of flowers as a surprise. But no, not Jay. Not this time.

He pushed me away again, gently yet commanding, looked me up and down. He traced his fingers from the waist of the corset, tracing over the intricate lace patterns. Looking me in the eye. I felt overwhelmed. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, “Now, are you sorry? Mmm?” He had pulled down the straps on my corset, leaving my breasts exposed. He opened the sliding wardrobe door, took off his jacket and shirt and hung them up carefully. I watched him slip off his trousers, a bulge in his white pants that clung tightly to his buttocks.

“Get on the bed, on your knees.” He pulled the lace thong down and off. I felt his tongue licking my arsehole. Licking so urgently. My moans got louder, I could not stop them. He pushed my face down into the pillow as he thrust his cock into my cunt from behind. “Are you sorry?” He began to pound harder.

“I’m sorry,” my voice was muffled, face down on the pillow as he fucked me hard. “I’m so..rr..y”. I began to come….this climax shivering through me as my moans turned into a stifled scream. It was not long before he came too, pulling out his cock and lying panting on the bed, glowing with a shield of perspiration.

Then he was stroking my hair, looking into my eyes and smiling. I just wanted him to hold me, keep me in this dreamy state, this different dimension, forever. Or at least for the rest of the evening. But no, too soon, he was buttoning his shirt, pulling on his suit, looking respectable once more. How easily he hides from the world what a bad, bad man he really is…..how deceptive he is.

Now I wait for him again, as the rain pours down outside. Tracing the tear-drop as it slowly rolls down my face in the lonely bedroom mirror.

This time I knew I would not be the one to break, to be the first one to show I am needy and missing him by sending that next illicit text. So, I waited, waited, ready to snap as I checked my phone over and over. One day, two, three…He would be wondering why I have not contacted. He should be thinking of me obsessively, possessively, wondering if someone else’s lips are upon mine, if I have someone else’s fingers exploring my body, giving me pleasure. No, no, I would not break.

I knew I had power over him. Making myself more present with my sudden absence. He would feel my spirit, smell my perfume, imagine my tongue exploring him, fantasising of all the times we fucked in the hotel, in my flat, his marital bed, the shower and in his office through the back of his bar.

Oh, yes, I remember. He really was the king of his castle. Jay had asked me to show up at the bar whilst he was working. As I stood in my leather jacket, jeans and high ankle boots, sipping on my wine, he acted as if he hardly noticed me at all. He joked with the young flirty couple to my left, he ordered his doormen to the right, the young blonde girl serving the drinks got attention and smiles. He just served me another drink, on the house. He waited until everyone had left, sending staff away, before they could suspiciously check me out, or ask any questions. In control, as usual.

As soon as the doors were locked he pressed me up against the bar, kissing me hard. I could feel the slight roughness of his chin, his cock hard, his muscles hard, stroking his back through his midnight blue shirt. His kisses became more urgent. My arousal became overwhelming, overpowering the stale smell of wine, the darkness and loneliness of an empty bar. My jacket was half off my shoulders, his hands cupping my breasts…then he led me through to the back room.

Jay unbuttoned his shirt and pulled off his Montblanc brown leather belt. Good strong leather with a horseshoe buckle. He held the belt in one hand whilst stroking his cock through his Levis with the other. His eyes were hungry, looking intensely, from my Next black boots all the way up to my long dark tousled hair. “Strip,” he ordered.

I had to slip off my cropped jacket and my Mango vest top. I looked up at him as I leant to pull off my boots and then peeled off the skinny jeans. Belt, still in one hand, he pushed me down, onto his desk, in my black lace Marks and Spencers bra and matching bikini panties. My legs were splayed and falling over the edge of the desk.

The belt around my throat, yet not constricting- as a threat, as a thrill- he pulled the panties, to one side, stroking my clit and breathing hard. I opened my legs for him as wide as I could.

I lay back on the desk. My breasts exposed over the cups of the bra, my knickers on the floor somewhere. The belt was released from my neck and then again constricting, this time around my wrists as he pressed my arms above my head, binding the wrists together. He had pulled his cock out of his jeans. His brow was wet, he was still working on my clit. Then it was time to work out all his frustrations on me. He hit my clit with his rock hard dick a few times. I lifted my cunt up to him, my body and bound arms straining. He thrust his cock into me, his eyes full of beauty, fascination, evil and longing as he fucked me.

He came hard and he came quickly. His jeans had fallen down to his ankles. Then he was resting his head on my stomach, caressing my breasts. He made me come with his tongue; a gentle tongue lapping at my pussy after so much violent fucking.

Jay left me tied, as he got cleaned up. He brought a glass of water and some wine for me, pouring the wine between my lips.

He did not release me but kept me captive, until early morning. Fucking me, fingering me, then shooting his load in my face and hair. As the sun came up, he untied the belt. He came one last time, wanking his cock as he firmly whipped my arse and thighs. I remained submissively bent over his desk, exhaused, only able to let out feeble cries and moans.

This time I knew I would not be the one to break.

But I thought wrong. I broke. I got a taxi. I held my head up and walked in to his bar, faking confidence but feeling so fragile, so weak- like a vampire, empty, hungry, drifting towards him. Needing him to give me life, needing his power.

I stood at the bar, my glass in one hand, staring into the flickering tea light in the painted glass jar adorning the bar. Remembering the night he had encaptured me. I wore the same cropped leather jacket, jeans and ankle boots. I wanted to have that pleasure and pain all over again.

I heard his voice. Then he walked through, from the back room, cocky, cocksure, laughing, in his dark blue suit, looking so perfect. Laughing like he never does with me. So confident, masculine, warm.

His eyes met mine, like a husky, eyes startling and unblinking. His laugh faltered. She stepped out from behind him, grabbing his arm, giggling, a tight little dress showing a perfect figure. Bronde highlights, bronzer. She looked so young and golden, from her high gold Roman sandals to her shimmering dress and gold necklace.

I guess this is just a friend.

That burning of jealousy, burning like fire, so destructive. With one sweeping stroke I swept my glass of wine and the burning candle, smashing them onto the floor. I left in shock, I cannot even remember the taxi ride home.

I cannot believe that I actually thought I had some kind of power over him.

He messaged. He told me to move on. To stop being a silly little bitch. Before I get any ideas, his wife knows about me, about everything he does.

So, I am part of the sex games he likes to play. Find some slag, fuck her, use her, abuse her, then go back and tell Alexia all about it. He tells her everything and gets off on it.

Move on, move on. He had no feelings for me. I was a joke. It was just a game.

I cried all night, my head hurting from his lies. His lies and games. His control. Yet all through the hurt I still wanted him. I fantasised of only him, came over him. And cried and cried.

How I hate you. Liar, liar.

He saw that it did not take me long to move on. Just a month, in fact. Yet as we all know appearances can be very deceptive.

I did not hear him walk up behind me when I was standing at the bar, laughing with my date…having a lot of fun, actually. More fun than I have had in a long time.

But he had to come along to spoil it.

It was nothing to do with you.

I lost respect for Jay; threatening him- my date- a gentle guy with curly brown hair, intelligent and kind. Jay pushing him, getting one of his egg-headed bouncer friends to drag him outside and onto the kerb.

It was nothing to do with you.

We did not go in his bar. I was going to, yes, it was tempting. Instead we went to the rock bar on the corner. I did nothing to provoke him. What on Earth was he doing? Spying on me or something?

“We control this street,” he had spat, his jealousy erupting into the night.

Before this night, I still had some feeling for Jay. Now I have nothing. Just the memory of him with his shirt pulled out and covered in blood, my innocent date lying on the ground covering his head from kicks and blows.

I hate him. I hate his controlling nature, his demonic temper. I despise him. I thought there was something more to him. I was seeking an angel inside of him. But he is just a thug. A thug in designer clothes.

Why do you keep on calling me? I don’t ever want to see you again. I hate you. Stop texting.

Empty days and long nights pass. I ignore each message, each call, each voicemail ranging from calm and direct, pitiful and sorry, to angry and mean.

He comes to me. Jay is standing at my door. Despite his well-kept hair and stylish Dior shirt, he looks tired. Alexia has left. They are getting divorced. Or so he says. They will have to come to some kind of arrangement about the baby, his son. He puts his hands over his face. His shoulders are shaking. He is crying, hunched over slightly, rubbing his eyes with his hands, like a vulnerable boy. I hold out my arms and stroke the smooth shaved skin on his head, down the back of his neck. I breathe in the scent of him. He nuzzles his face into my hair.

He had felt trapped, imprisoned by her wants and expectations. He tried to escape using fantasy and deception. He got caught up in a web of his own making.

I want you. I love you.

He lies upon my bed. A sculpted body with the most perfect imperfections. I slip the handcuffs onto his wrists.

You are mine.