8

Daniella's pulse raced. Her discomfort was real, but it was countered by a sense of wild excitement. She could have freed herself by a single sharp tug of her wrists but she did not want to. Not for an instant. Never in her life had she felt like this.

She was irked that he had left her so damn long, but then it should hardly have surprised her now she had submitted to his games. So she remained seated on his kitchen chair, naked and waiting. Her ankles had been secured with thin nylon rope to the outside of either front chair-leg, heels propped up in her stiletto sandals, so that her thighs were splayed wide. A sleek state-of-the-art vibrator had been plunged deep into her pussy, so that the protrusion at the base might have nudged her clitoris, had the device not been twisted an inconvenient one-eighty degrees inside her.

She could have adjusted it, switched it on and set it growling within and against her, rather than just fitted there tight and inert. But that would have meant ripping the crepe-paper bonds with which he had tied her wrists behind the chair-back. Her restraints he had improvised from the wrappings of a recently-purchased silk shirt; 'Tear yourself free if you want,' he had whispered in her ear having completed the delicate knotting, 'but if you do I'll truss you up properly and deprive you for the rest of the day. Either that or the deal's off.' So she was behaving herself, staying in place, shunting back and forth as much as she could to create friction between her cuntal walls and the smooth surface of the sex toy. All this while the images played out before her on screen.

He had picked a DVD from his modest but carefully put-together treasury of hardcore pornography, set aside as it was from the Scorsese, the Almodovar and the Kirosawa. Placing the chair in front of his fifty-inch flat-screen in the nexus of the surround-sound, he had maximized her audio-visual experience of the sweating, groaning, foul-mouthed fuck-action. 'Pay special attention to the third scene,' he had advised her prior to his departure. 'Because everything he does to her, I'm going to do to you.' How her toes had curled at the velvet intensity of his promise. How her nipples had hardened and her cunt turned moist.

The sometimes limited appeal of p**no visuals was hugely enhanced by her current situation. She watched, enthralled, as a parade of p**n slutlets drizzled themselves liberally with oily lubricant, massaging it lovingly into their curves, while the hired studs looked on in grinning anticipation, stroking those big erections. The same girls were then worked over vigorously by their hung-and-hoisted admirers, as Daniella gazed, shifting vainly to increase the sense of traction inside her own filled pussy. Not for the first time that weekend she was writhing frustratedly in an effort to bring herself to climax.

Then the other sensation began to compete. There had been an excited knowingness in Eric's eyes at odds with his calm demeanour as he had encouraged her to drink. Two litres of water flavoured with lime cordial she had downed, while tied there to the chair, her not-quite-captor encouraging her softly in between her long gulps. Now the liquid was draining south, filling her up and thwarting the desire which had been mounting, as she clenched her groin muscles to stem the flow. 'You let it out and the weekend's cancelled,' he had warned her mildly. The weekend's cancelled... She found herself unwilling to countenance that prospect, not yet at any rate, so she endured her swollen bladder, resisted the urge to relieve herself all over the bastard's living-room rug.

She sat and squirmed and endured, watched as the DVD's third scene kicked in. Physical discomfort could not squeeze out the thrill and the shame as this particular p**n scenario unfolded before her. The slender nymphette with the ringletted hair oiling her body to a slippery sheen. Submitting herself to the smug fuck who got to nail her. Now there was a guy with a work ethic, Daniella thought in no little trepidation, as he set about his allotted task comprehensively and with fierce enthusiasm. Everything he does to her... Her eyes widened and her throat held in her breath. Oh my God. Oh my sweet Christ, just look at that... Then the urge to pee and the need to wrestle it overtook her concentration and she cursed Eric all over.

Just another date, that's how it had started. Twenty-four hours ago she'd been expecting a leisurely day of sipping wine with the man she'd thought she might be falling for, following a bout of hot sensual love-making. Maybe cooking something together later, nestling into one another on his plush sofa with a DVD. But then she had been persuaded to let him bind her, properly that first time, to this very chair. A campaign of mortifying tease and casual disrespect. He had fondled and spanked her like a plaything, then fucked her outrageously hard, and through every second of outrage she had been slick with sexual need. Even with the realisation that her debauching was Eric's revenge against her father, hell maybe because of that, she had come with an intensity that shook her to her bones.

I've got a whole fun weekend all planned out. He'd delivered the words midway through that furious fuck and they'd stuck in her head. She would have walked out on him afterwards, though, however much he flattered himself she wanted him, had it not been for his sudden muted contrition. No full-spate outpouring of remorse, far from it, but enough to temper her fuming anger and make her stay. Stay for more. Her blood still seethed with desire; she had wanted to know what this sexy fucker had stored up in his imagination for her. Hell, she had craved the knowledge.

The disarming Eric of their first dates had returned. The beast lurked once more beneath a charming, attentive surface, but her nipples had still tingled with wariness. 'I'll see what I've got in the fridge,' he had said lightly, and suddenly it was pork stir-fry, Pinot Grigio and snuggling on the sofa. In his bed that evening the sex had been tender. He had caressed her contours and pressed his face into her yielding mound as though trying to erase the memory of the afternoon's harsh thrusting. She had straddled him and gently ridden his impressive cock, Eric letting her establish pace, so sore was she still from his earlier reaming. No screams now, rather a long aching moan on climax. He had hardly moved within her as he reached his own peak, just clasped tight to her hips and exhaled a slow voiceless breath as he jettisoned his load. As she had drifted to sleep she had declined to let him enfold her in a full-body embrace, but her hand had lain softly in his.