"Red"

The blindfold felt like velvety little fingers over her eyes as she sat in
the back seat of the limo. She remembered a little something in the Sherry,
and then she woke up and there was red and her hands, her delicate white
hands were bound together. "Where are you taking me?,” she asked the
driver, who she could not see behind the shadowy curtain of black glass. He
could hear her just fine though. "

You will see," he said in his whispery, sibilant voice, "you will see." Her
nipples, a stiff 27 C stood up against the satin nightgown she had been
dressed in. She wanted to struggle against the linen rope, but in the end
sat still awaiting her destination.

"Who are you?" she asked him.

"That does not concern you, lover." He answered. She was getting more
aroused by the second, feeling a damp spot in the black lace panties she
was wearing. This wasn't the way a kidnapping was supposed to feel, it
wasn't. She struggled with the linen ropes a bit, not to escape but to deal
with an irrepressible urge to stroke herself. She wanted to rub her fingers
in the warmth and succor of herself.

“ PLEASE, OH PLEASE, LOOSEN THE ROPES!” She begged, half breathless.

“Later, lover, later.” She felt almost like weeping, his voice was like the
fingers in her slit that she so desperately wanted. She hated this masked
man, but yet a part of her, a sopping, dark red part of her, wanted him.
She was growing even more frustrated and her face matched the scarlet of
her hair and of her pounding , incendiary sex. She wanted to know what this
man, her captor, the torturer of her aroused body looked like, but there
was merely crimson in front of her dark green eyes.

A few minutes later, he unbound her hands. She smiled and expressed a tacit
thank you as she pulled up the hem of her skirt slightly. With one hand,
she began to pinch her already hard nipples, making them even redder and
harder. Her thumb circled around the large ring of her areola, filling her
with a wash of contentment. She then took her fingers and rubbed them on
the downy surface of her vagina, moving them down to the lips. She petted
it gently as first, like you would a rabbit or a kitten and then she
plunged her fingers in and let them swim in warmth. “Mmmm” she moaned
lightly, feeling the pleasure course through her. Her body began to shake.
It twisted and turned and writhed like a serpent.

“Don’t spend yourself, lover,” the driver warned, but it was too late.

He reached back and removed her sopping panties. He did so in a very
methodical manner, as if they were not dripping with the juices of
womanhood, as if they were not fragrant and sexy and primal. It was just a
garment to these hands and nothing more. A scrap of cloth no more feminine
or sexy than a handkerchief or a scrap of skirt. She resented it in a way,
that he seemed to have no desire to stick his fingers in there with hers,
that there was no heavy breathing. She wanted the stranger to admire her,
to worship her body…to use it.

“Those will not be needed, lover,” he said to her. She took a deep breath
in and began raking her fingernails across her clitoris. She briefly licked
her lips in anticipation of whatever the driver had planned.

The red of the blindfold and the voice led her back to other places. She
remembered her pool and Bryan. They were in the pool and then suddenly, his
red striped swim trunks were on the deck and he was nude.

“Olivia, I love you, he said. He stopped. The words hung in the air for
awhile. “ C’mon.”

And something struck, a sensual lightning. It surged through her, and
suddenly she felt like doffing the black bikini top. Bryan’s eyes lit up at
the rounded treasures as he began to hold them in his hands and feel their
weight. He let his thumbs roll around her hard nipples raising to new
lengths and making her moan in delight. Then, he took her left breast in
his mouth, suckling passionately. Then the right. Soon the bikini bottom
was off and they were together on the deck. Then, he was on top of her,
thrusting rapidly. It wasn’t romantic, it wasn’t gentle, but there was
something beautiful and primal. It was fucking, plain and simple. Then she
felt a sharp pain from the pushing. The walls of her hymen could not keep
his body’s relentless assaults on them. It broke and she saw why they call
it a cherry. There was a little pool of blood beneath her. Instead of
panic, she felt strangely relaxed. What a mess, what a lovely little mess.

As she finished pleasuring herself, the car came to a stop. She heard her
door open and felt a satin glove take her hand. “Come on, lover, there is
no use struggling.” He said.

As if she would, as if she could resist the curious erotic pull of her
situation , as if she would run away from that sexy, sexy voice. She held
his hand and followed him as if she were but a small child crossing the
street, but of course she could see nothing but the blindfold against her
eyes, taunting her in that she had no clue who the magnetic stranger who
had so excited her was. The smell of flowers and luxury filled her nose as
she walked with him. It was silly, but in the recesses of the same deep,
dirty part of her that the situation had touched her in, she wanted it to
be some dark alley. She wanted to be thrown down and used right then. Her
need was so powerful, she wanted nothing else to get in the way, nothing
else to stop it.

She could hear the bustle of bellboys moving about and the sound of voices
at a hotel bar. She didn’t think to shout or scream or declare she was
being kidnapped, no,. she wanted this man to do whatever he desired to to
her. She felt an incendiary shock rush through her vagina at the thought.
She wanted desperately to be touched by him, really touched, to feel the
satin gloves inside her. She heard the voice that drove her wild again.
“Mendelson, room 280.” He told the desk clerk, who responded in a voice
filled with hauteur.

“Go on up, sir. I hope the room is to your liking?’ Mendelson…she knew the
name somehow.

“Certainly.” Her captor responded. She made no move to tell the desk clerk
that she had been kidnapped. The rational part of her mind was telling her
that she should have screamed. But, no. That would mean losing the
experience she anticipated so eagerly since the limo. She smiled just a
little through her fear. She wanted this, she wanted it so badly. And as
they went up the stairs, she could feel his hand subtly moving under her
skirt, momentarily running through her exposed pubic hair. She moaned very
lightly , about to beg for more, when he silenced her with a kiss. “Not
yet, lover,” he whispered. Her enthusiasm was visible on her dress.

Then he opened a door and she felt herself being lain gently on a bed and
then a series of kisses up and down her neck. “Please,” she begged him,
“let me see you.”

“Not yet,” he said. She felt something soft and moist being wrapped around
her hands. When the fragrance reached her nose, she knew what it was. The
smell, the feeling of her juices drove her wild. She shifted on the bed,
her curvaceous form full of ecstasy.

She then felt something smooth and silky being wrapped around her feet. It
was a silk scarf, red as her hair and the blindfold over her eyes, but of
course she didn’t know that, the sensation didn’t so much arouse as relax
her, though there was a secret joy to being tied up, one that she didn’t
understand at all, and didn’t care to. She didn’t know whether or not she
wanted her freedom, but she knew for sure that she wanted whatever her
captor had to give, no matter what it was. “Are we pleased?” asked the
concealed man.

“Yes,” she answered breathlessly, “help me.”

His lips touched her face oh so lightly, and then once more her neck. Then,
his tongue followed suit. She quivered a little. His teeth worked the same
spot but with care and precision that she had never felt in any man before.
He knew that she liked the pain just a little and was careful not to hurt
her too much. He kissed her once on each kneecap and then on the outer part
of her thighs. He laughed softly she made a disappointed little noise,
knowing exactly where she wanted him to go. Her removed her white stiletto
heels so he could place tiny kisses on her ankles and the tops of her feet.
She gave a gasp of delight and surprise when he drew her big toe into his
mouth. She had never thought that it would feel good to have this part of
her kissed and sucked on, but the nerve connecting to her clit was ablaze.
He knew not to linger there for too long since she might be spent early. He
gave meaningful little kisses to each one of her other toes and then, he
reached up and removed her blindfold.

He looked up at her and she recognized him instantly. She knew him. She
knew his dark brown puppy dog eyes, she knew his pink, feminine lips, his
dark hair, and she knew the scar. She had stared at it the last time they
conversed. Large and red, it dominated much of his face. It was from a car
accident earlier in his life. His name was Edward Mendelson and he was a
photographer. A hot new thing on the art scene, mostly a recluse, but he’d
been forced to show up at the party by some of the local gallery personnel.
They spoke for a long time about his photos, his erotic photography, mostly
bondage photos. She noticed the serenity on the faces of the models even
though they were bound. The passive-aggressive sexuality of being tied up.
She blushed a bit, but she was brazen with her commentary. He invited her
for a drink and they discussed the dynamics of bondage art. He was
surprisingly shy and sensitive about showing his face. They had to sit at
the darkest table in the restaurant

“I’m sorry, lover,” he said, his voice . And that was the last thing she
remembered. He had slipped something into the wine. tinged with a bit of
silence.

She smiled. In spite of it all, she was having the time of her life. “Bring
your face up to mine.”

He complied and raised his face to hers. She placed a long kiss on the
scar, ran her tongue along it. “You’re beautiful, lover,” she said to him.
He crept up the bed and held her. She begged once more and he gave her
exactly what they both wanted.