The butterflies in my stomach fluttered restlessly in a fit of nervous anticipation as I finished my lunchtime coffee. Outside the grass needed cutting, but it went ignored in favour of more exciting pastimes. I had at last decided on my ensemble for an afternoon of illicit enjoyment, something of a contrast to the scruffy jeans and sweatshirt I was lounging around in at the time. The coffee mug was hastily pushed aside, and the garden ignored, as I headed for the stairs.
Preparations began with a long hot soak in the sunken bath, with lots of bubbles and oils. Then some meticulous make-up that took ages to get just right, as despite my exciting, I hoped, outfit I didn't want my face to be pure lady of the night, I still wanted to be me. After that I generously splashed my favourite perfume all over and then dressed to thrill. First one of my favourite bras, sheer, black and seamless, designed to be invisible under a close fitting top, it hid absolutely nothing. Combined with a thin white gauzy chiffon blouse the effect was decidedly tarty and my nipples tingled stiffly to attention as I paraded in front of the mirror to gauge the effect. I fingered the matching transparent briefs for a moment before smiling at my reflection and dropping them back on the bed, picking up instead the barely black sheer to the waist tights. These were a concession to the micro leather mini skirt that I wriggled into, as I wanted my long legs, not stocking tops, on display.
Rummaging about for the right pair of shoes I caught sight of my reflection and couldn't help a little gasp. Was that me? I wondered if I'd overdone it, surely you couldn't really see my quim when I bent down, it must be the gusset of the tights? I finally decided on a pair of never worn before red patent leather ankle strap sandals and as I sat and fastened them I crossed and re-crossed my legs to check what could and could not be seen up my skirt. The effect, I decided, was suitably tantalising and thrilling, so I smoothed down the sensual skin of skirt and added the final touch of sparkling dangling earrings.
A coat was the next big decision. Long and ordinary to cloak me in secrecy and enable unmolested progress down the road, or something short to show off my legs? Aha! Look at that, a transparent raincoat. Since everything but my skirt was see through this was tempting for a moment, but common sense prevailed and it went away. I was pretty sure Chris wouldn't want to think me a total slut. There was just time for a last appraisal in front of the mirrors before the knock at the back door and footsteps in the kitchen. Damn! I thought I'd locked that door? Cautiously I felt my way downstairs.
"Hello. Anybody there?" The empty hall stared back at me, sunshine flooded through the lounge and dining room doors and the big clock said half past two. I gave up the support of the banister and teetered across the hall. These bloody sandals, how could I walk in heels this high? It was ridiculous. Click clack I went across the stone floor of the kitchen, trying to walk with a sexy sway as I headed for the outer door. The unexpected rustle from behind transformed itself into a lunging figure and I let forth a piercing shriek of terror as I tried to evade the rough clutching hands that darted out for me. Somehow I reached the kitchen door and yanked at it. It was locked. I was trapped. From the other side of the kitchen came the taunting rattle of keys and I looked up into a pair of eyes that shone pure unadulterated lust. I swallowed hard. God knows how vulnerable I must look dressed like this; I couldn't believe it.
My breathing came in short breathless gasps as the scenario came to life and I unconsciously licked my lips, action that a psychologist later told me was guaranteed to turn a man on. If he was turned on then he was being very relaxed about it, standing there with a broad smile and drinking me up with those wide blue eyes.
"Very nice" he murmured in a reassuringly smooth, relaxed and educated
voice. I remember thinking that as my outfit was intended to turn a man
on I should be disappointed if it didn't. I edged cautiously round the
kitchen and towards the patio doors, suddenly aware of the blouse chaffing
my nipples to even greater prominence. The eyes paused in their appreciation
and flickered over the patio and the garden beyond.
"Tempting" he mused almost to himself, "very tempting". Abruptly, galvanised into action, he strode across the kitchen and cutting me off from the doors, stood peering down the garden muttering to himself.
"No, it's no good" he muttered. "The neighbours might see. Come on you, upstairs." With this latter remark he reached out, seized my arms and propelled me down the hall. I clung futilely to the post at the bottom of the stairs. "Up!" he snapped, "or it will be the worse for you." My weak smile acknowledged defeat, the bulge in his jeans indicating there didn't seem much point in worrying about what he was merely going to see up my skirt as he followed me, I imagined he was going to do far more than look. And that imagination of mine was so wicked. Even now I could feel my pussy flooding at the thought of how big he looked. I half turned to sneak another look, but the sharp slap of the back of his hand across my thinly veiled buttocks turned me around again with a cry of surprise. The bastard; that hurt.
In the bedroom he flung me headlong onto the bed and locked the door behind us, but then instead of leaping on top of me as I'd expected he prowled around with a wary eye. I sat up on the edge of the bed and defensively pulled at the rising hem of black leather, trying to breathe gently in a vain effort not to draw attention to my heaving breasts. Having finished his survey of the room he turned and smiled and again I found myself wrestling with my emotions. Then with a curt toss of curly hair he ushered me across to the wall of built in wardrobes as he delved into the cavernous pockets of that big greasy coat, the rustle of which had first revealed him to me. Reaching for my arms again he pushed me non-to gently face first against the wardrobe doors. Then I felt those hands reaching around and fondling my breasts, firmly and confidently as if they had a right to be there and yet ignoring my burning nipples. I tried to twist around but his body enveloped me and crushed me against the doors, his hugeness pressing into my buttocks as his hands busied themselves.
Then I felt the rope. He was tying soft white cord around my chest, criss-crossing my boobs, passing around my back and then tying a knot at my throat. He pushed me even further into the door as he reached up into the cupboard above and tied the ends of the rope away out of my reach. I trembled with overpowering emotions; I'd never been tied up before. The taut white ropes emphasised my black sheathed breasts under the filmy blouse and I watched them stand even prouder as my arms were drawn back behind me and secured with the click of ratchet handcuffs. My visitor stood back and nodded approvingly in that cool and oddly reassuring manner.
"Very, very sexy" he drawled. I twisted around to keep him in view,
catching sight of myself in a mirror as I did so. My flickering eye caught
his attention; it seemed this guy missed nothing.
"Yes, quite a picture, aren't you?" he mocked, looking around to see what other mirrors he could taunt me with, manoeuvring no fewer than three into my field of vision. One nearby on a wardrobe door was swung so as to give me a full-length picture of my helpless bondage. Another smaller mirror was moved from my dressing table and set up near my feet, so I was looking up my skirt, he was very enthusiastic about that, and finally a portable dressing mirror was set up near the door so I could savour the whole picture, so to speak.
He advanced wordlessly towards me and ran those massive hands all over
me, pushing his body into mine so I could feel the heat radiating from
that throbbing, bulging groin.
"Ah!" I shrieked, more surprised than injured, as his forefinger materialised between my thighs and with exquisite delicacy traced the outline of my overheated lips through the sodden gusset of expensive black nylon. Here it comes, I thought as I clenched my eyes shut and braced my whole body. Didn't he know these bloody tights were more than £6 per pair? It was hurting to wait. I cautiously opened my eyes and sagged with gasp of surprise and relief. My tormentor had silently retreated to the door and was watching me. Playing with me.
"You damn swine" I screamed. His smile momentarily faded.
"Now if you make a noise people will hear" he admonished, and slipping easily out of his coat tossed it over the banister rail on the landing, before turning and delving into the pockets again. I lunged forward, only to be frustrated by the rope that bound me. I could stand, albeit with my hands behind my back, I could turn around, but that was all. With ankle strap sandals I couldn't even kick a shoe at him. Instead all I could do was watch. Watch as that denim sheathed bum, that oh so delightfully trim, taut bum, atop those legs that promised to be oh so slim, bent over so thoroughly out of reach.
When he returned his roaming eye fell with a twinkle upon the discarded
black briefs I had elected not to wear. He reached over, oh that bottom,
and advanced again, the briefs in one hand and a large roll of adhesive
tape in the other.
"This is waterproof and guaranteed not to come unstuck," he announced conversationally. Then with sharp jab he thrust the roll into my midriff.
"Ommfff", I grunted. The panties were thrust unceremoniously into my mouth and the tape was going round and round my head before I had time to swear anything at him. "MMPPHH!" I shook my head. "MMMMM!" I glared at him. "Hmmm!" It made no difference whatever I said, he just smiled.
"See you soon. Oh!" he reached over and carefully turned the bedside clock so that I couldn't see it. "Don't go away". He danced lightly down the stairs, ignoring my muffled intelligible protestations leaving me to ponder on my multiple reflections and what he might do when he returned.
Through the open window, from the real world outside, came the drone of lawnmowers and the playful screams of children playing. I strained my ears. Was that the creak of our garage door? What was he doing in the garage? I fretted and pulled at my bonds, but it was no good. The handcuffs were of course foolproof and the rope that held me in such firm embrace was knotted well out of reach. I gazed at my reflections and wondered why he'd bothered with the mirrors. Certainly looking now I couldn't believe I'd been so brazen in my dressing. Heaven knows what my husband would have said if we had met that afternoon. Now I could do nothing but stand and contemplate the flames of lust it would fire in my captor. I even tried a shout or two but gave it up when I realised my meaningless utterances could barely be heard downstairs, let alone 100 yards away next door. What did surprise me was how wide-eyed and helpless the gag made me look. In the silence following my writhing I felt certain I could hear our greenhouse shutters being wound, and then kitchen cupboards being banged. I squirmed again; this helpless feeling was so frustrating, and with no clock I soon lost all track of time.
Footfalls in the hall brought me back to reality. He was coming up the stairs again. My heart pounded and my breath whistled through my nostrils, but all I could do was stand and watch him approach. He had stripped off all his clothes at some point and now massively erect he came towards me. I fell back against the doors but the rope held me, and then his hands were turning me effortlessly around to face the wardrobe. My skirt was jerked up around my waist and his fingers delved into the waistband of my tights, one swift pull leaving my bottom totally exposed. His knee was thrusting my thighs apart while his hands dived eagerly under my blouse to tug at my nipples. I tried to cry out but the wordless nonsense seemed to delight him and drive him on. His burning heat ran up and down my bum and a sudden horror filed me. He wouldn't would he?
Surely my sopping pussy would be more inviting. Sure enough it was. He slid abruptly but effortlessly into me and commenced a pile driver motion that left me weak at the knees and gasping, if only I could have gasped. I tried to move but it was a vain effort. I couldn't do anything, I was held totally defenceless whilst my pussy flooded once and then again. It seemed an age before at last a massive grunting explosion signalled the end to this experience and my invader orgasmed mightily and loudly behind me. I slumped against the wardrobe, shattered and exhausted. Movement from behind eventually regained my attention as I felt my right hand seized and more of that impenetrable adhesive tape wound round and round it, binding it into rigid immobility.
"That line", my arm was tugged to draw my attention, "That line is over
a hundred yards long". The broad hands gestured at what looked like a fishing
line that snaked out of the bedroom door. "On the end of it" he continued,
"is the key to the handcuffs. This end is now well taped into your right
hand so you can't drop it, but I reckon it will take you an age to wind
in all that line with only the fingers of your left hand." He paused as
he returned once more to that great big coat.
"Meanwhile this might keep you entertained". He held up a pink, realistic looking vibrator and whilst I squirmed and futilely squeaked into the gag he slipped the pink intruder home and then, to my astonishment, carefully pulled my tights snugly back up. He even took great delight in smoothing the nylon up my thighs, gently caressing my now puffy lips, before switching the beast on and easing my skirt back down. I stared at him with a mixture of surprise, helplessness and then, as the first plastic orgasm swept over me, embarrassment. He was standing there smiling, watching me writhing in front of him as I came yet again like some exhibitionist whore.
When I opened my eyes I was alone. Then, as I was trying to cope with
yet more rising turmoil in my pussy his head reappeared around the bedroom
"I've cut the grass and sorted out the greenhouse, so err... same time next week Mrs Culver?"
I nodded vigorously.
"Call yourself a gardener you fiendish bastard" I tried to say, but of course only a meaningless mumble came out.
"You're my favourite customer Mrs Culver" he went on. "Doing the gardening for anyone else just isn't a patch on doing it here".
I tried to nod appreciation of his comments but I was far to gone with the enforced ecstasy of this week to look forward to his usual visit next week.