“You plead with him not to hurt you as he ties your hands behind your back. Thick lengths of rope are wrapped around your body. His hands squeeze your breasts, your behind, through your clothing. Hard hands. Unforgiving hands. You plead with him. Please no, please don’t. But he doesn’t listen. Whatever he came for he’s forgotten about, because he has you now, a far sweeter prize.”
She stops suddenly, opens her eyes and shoots me a pained expression. “Is this awful? Maybe we should stop.”
Her skin is flushed like she’s aroused. “It’s a fantasy, Evie. If you don’t like it we can stop. But if it’s something that excites you, then there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“It’s not creeping you out?”
“Not at all. Do you like what I’m saying?” She nods. “Would you like me to go on?”
“If you want to?”
She’s very sweet to be thinking about my comfort when I’m trying to do something for her. Exasperating, but sweet. “I do want to.”
I wait for her to close her eyes and for her fingers to return to circling her clit.
“He takes off his leather gloves so he can feel your skin with his bare hands. You’re facedown on the bed as he strips off the underwear you’ve been sleeping in. The rope burns around your arms and body as you struggle. You can’t do anything as he presses your legs open, exposing you. His cock is thick, invasive as he pushes into you, stretching you, becoming slick with your wetness.”
Evie makes a whimpering noise in the back of her throat, her head arching back. Merde, she likes this very much. The impulse to get up and go to her is so strong now. I want to hear her make those sounds while I’m doing the very thing I’m describing. “He groans, reveling in the tightness of you around him. His thrusts are deep and selfish, taking from you what you haven’t given.”
She’s breathing hard now, her fingers moving faster. I can see her body tensing with her approaching orgasm.
“He can feel how your body is responding to him as your fear evaporates. You want this. You’re still pleading with him, but you’re saying please yes now, your back arching to make the angle of his thrusts deeper. He takes his time. He wants to be thorough with you, giving you your reward for making this so good for him, though to remind you who’s in charge he takes off his belt and loops it around your neck, holding it tightly as he fucks you, restraining you—”
I break off as she cries out, her back arching in a long line from her pelvis up through her spine, her breasts thrust upward. A red flush blooms on her skin and she’s silent and still, only her fingers moving as she comes.
Gasping, she falls back and opens her eyes.
There’s a blanket lying over the back of the sofa and I take it over to her, draping it over her and tucking it around her. I sit on the sofa next to her and wait for her to come back into herself. Blinking, she looks up at me.
“Oh, that was...” Her hands squeeze my arms tightly and I can sense her wanting to pull me closer.
“Come here, princesse.” Scooping her up I sit down in her place and settle her in my lap. I’m hard, but I don’t want to make it obvious to her so I shift her away from my erection. Looking down at her, I stroke her cheek with my forefinger. “Look, no tears.”
Her hand goes to her face, and she breaks into a smile. “No tears.”
“Did I get the fantasy right?”
She looks anguished and happy at the same time. “You got it exactly right. The things you said, the way you said them. And I liked you watching me. I felt very safe.”
I liked watching her. There’s something inordinately arousing about seeing her looking so innocent in her pretty dress, enjoying such a dark fantasy. Is that what you want, minette? Something threatening with your lovemaking, someone sinister?
But now that her afterglow is fading she seems to be growing anxious again. “What is it?” I ask.
“It’s such an awful fantasy! So violent and cruel. My women’s studies lecturer would be appalled.”
I could tell her that lots of women have forced sex fantasies, but the “lots of women” explanation won’t help her understand why she finds it a turn-on. “Fantasies aren’t wishes. You can imagine something like that happening and it’s arousing, but only because you know it isn’t real.”
She’s silent a moment, thinking. “Thank you,” she says softly. “I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t alone that I felt this good after. Or anytime, actually.”
I feel a spasm of regret for her. How old is she? Twenty-three or twenty-four, and has never felt really good after coming in the presence of someone else?
“What about you? How does it make you feel?” she asks.
Annoyed on your behalf, chérie. You deserve better. I think how to express the complexity of the things I feel. “I’m happy that you liked it. You did something incredibly intimate and beautiful that I could watch again and again. And I liked talking to you in a way that you enjoyed.”
Her breath catches. “I did enjoy it, Frederic. So much. It was better than if I had just thought about the same thing by myself.”
We look at each other in silence, the unspoken understanding that this is the moment that I might kiss her, or stand up with her in my arms and take her to my bed. I want to do this, but she’s happy as she is, and giving her this good experience is all the satisfaction I need. I stroke her hair, just sitting with her.