9

Then this morning - fresh orange juice, scrambled eggs and coffee brought to her on a tray. So much for the debauchery he had promised with such brio the day before. Still, if his self-reproach provided her with some pampering, why complain? It was only when she had finished the last of her eggs that he made the suggestion.

'I've had an idea to make the rest of the weekend more - fun.'

Her pulse quickened on the final word, so strong was its resonance from the day before. She kept her tone as level as possible. 'Do share.'

'Well since you've actively requested that I continue yesterday afternoon's exploration...' She blushed, it was exactly what she had done. '...I think it would be interesting if you made a certain... commitment to the proceedings.'

'Oh do you?' She raised an eyebrow, sitting up naked in the bed with the covers around her middle. It was impossible not to be intrigued. 'And what's the nature of this commitment?'

He produced the sheet of paper from his pocket. She unfolded it and read the print with a degree of incredulity. The gall of the man. 'Not going to happen,' she told him with finality. 'It's not that I don't like a surprise...' She reddened again at how the previous afternoon's surprise had affected her mind and her pussy. 'But I promise myself to nothing unless I know what it is.' She handed back the sheet.

'I respect that,' said the man who had so recently abandoned all respect. 'And yet I'd love to make this a challenge. I know you always rise to those.' He returned minutes later with a freshly-printed and revised wording. She read and her heart raced. The erotic thrills implicitly promised in those lines... 'What do you think?' he asked softly. 'Why don't we do it this way?'

She was aware of her own hoarse breath in her throat, the thump of blood in her temples, with that dangerous, unpredictable, sexy man so close to her on the bed. 'Okay, get me a pen,' she said, holding his gaze. 'I'll sign.'

His eyes had glinted with secret wickedness as he watched her writer her name to the contract. She could see it now on the coffee table as she sat in her makeshift bonds, the single sheet of A4 plucked from the printer, bearing the legend he had typed:

I hereby submit to the sexual cravings of Eric Lehane for the duration of this weekend, 17-19 July 2009. I will obey his every whim without protest, on the understanding that refusal of any demand will result in the termination of the entire entertainment.

Just too tempting, too playful to resist. And with a get-out clause just in case.

'Care to choose a safe word?' he had inquired, taking the sheet from her hand. 'That you can use if...'

'I know what a safe word is,' she had said coolly, moving in so that her face was inches from his. 'And I choose... 'prick'.' She had leaned on the word, mock-contempt all over her face.

How he had grinned. 'Time will tell if you choose to remind me of that. Go get showered. Make it quick.' His first command? The terse undercurrent to his velvet tone had made her think so and her lower abdomen had squirmed. The daggers her eyes had shot as she padded towards the bathroom had been expelled smartly, when he smacked her naked ass to propel her on her way.

She had not donned a stitch of clothing since. Having towelled herself dry and brushed her wet hair to midway down her back, she had been taken by the hand and led silently to the prepared seat. This was all new - subservience was not a role to which she was used. The tightened thrill she had felt in her tummy was new too. He had stood her in place, makeshift bonds at the ready, and made her slip into her heeled sandals, so that her petite five foot four was pushed up higher against his tall masculine bulk. Then he had drawn her nude body to him, so that her breasts crushed into the crisp white of his starched shirt, raised her head with a light touch to the tip of her chin and claimed her mouth with his.

She yielded to him easily, before his teeth snagged her lower lip and tugged, causing her breath to catch. Then his hands clapped hard to her buttocks as he let go her lip, and she registered the look on his face - all softness, all geniality replaced by lupine hunger. The same look he had worn yesterday, as his finger-fucked her vigorously to orgasm on the chair. He dropped to his knees, palms still impressing themselves against her ass-flesh, and burrowed his tongue between her thighs to tease her budding clitoris, to slither beyond her labia and writhe lustily within her. She wobbled in her heels at the thrill of his mouth's assault, but he gripped her ass to stabilize her and she gave herself up to him, fingers clutching through dark hair to his scalp in her ecstasy at being so claimed.

And then abruptly he had stopped, his tongue fleetly withdrawing. He had sat her down, trussed, prepared and instructed her. Thus she remained, with a swollen bladder and a cunt stuffed full with a plastic phallus and a head crammed with images even more lewd than those playing out on the TV screen. Daniella had become complicit in her own defilement. Eric was going to make her wait, really wait, before the game developed. So full of surprises, and smug with it. Well he'd just better match the build-up, live up to all she expected. Because she was good for it. Come on, you bastard. Her head lolled a little and her hands clenched into fists behind her back. Show me what you've got...