Enraptured, Encaptured

He took off his dark blue Tom Ford jacket and the blue linen shirt, pouring a drink for us both from the minibar. My brown eyes devoured his toned body: those hard biceps and abs that I wanted to run my fingers over and then bite and kiss him like a maniac.

Jay went into the en-suite bathroom and came out with a white towel around his waist. As the towel slipped I could see his cock was large and semi-erect. His skin felt so smooth as I gave him a massage. His back, crack and sack were pristinely waxed. I wanted to please him. I wanted to give him that BJ...to impress him. I remember now the spunk dripping off his cock into my open, submissive mouth.

Afterwards- then and for weeks after- he was so perfect, such a gentleman, his charm sweeping me up and away, making me lose touch with harsh reality. He knew exactly the right things to say at the right time...and he still does.

But I crashed right back down to earth again when he told me he was married. That really hurt. He took off his mask and I was still drawn to the devil beneath. I still wanted him, even after crying myself to sleep for days.

Gradually his darker sexual desires emerged...insidious and sweetly dangerous. First the games, the ropes, the blind fold. Then the slapping. Slapping me on my arse or across the face when we made love. But then, it was not making love- it was fucking, just hard fucking, pain and control. I loved it.

I needed it, needed you.

He had the power to cause so much pain and to heal me afterwards with his balm. He became hooked on me too. His orgasms were so immense and intense. I gave him power.

So, where are you now? Are you with her? Are you thinking of me? Of course you are...you have to be, you still have the scratch marks on your back from my rose red nails....just as I have these kiss-sized bruises from you.

I am standing in the tree lined avenue. These mock Tudor houses with lawns, evergreens and the occasional white statue, contain such exquisite lives. Walking past Jay's house, for about the tenth time this week....there she is, stepping out of the door, searching in her bag, a dark green jacket over a flowing print dress. Unmistakably Alexia. Unmistakably pregnant.

The silence between us has begun to grow as the days grow longer and lighter. He is there on the horizon yet out of reach. If I venture towards the horizon it always remains as such. My messages remain unanswered. My intuition tells me he still wants me. Yet he does not express it.

Chloe calls me and we meet Julia at Starbucks. Chloe is dating a woman, a BBW, and enjoying losing herself in her big tits and thighs. Julia is still single and ready to mingle, getting evenings out and thrills from Tinder. I let them know there is someone I like but I am not sure if it will lead to anything. I casually brush off their questions as I brush the granules of sugar from the table. Then, as H & M is calling, we leave the cafe. As I walk out, I notice her, in green velvet jacket and with baby bump, stirring her latte macchiatto. Alexia is sitting alone. I feel as if someone has just thrown an icy bucket of water over me. I almost slip over on my way out.

A week of brooding silence. Then a curt message. He will come to me. No, no, I must wait. And I wait. And wait. I must wear my dress. The translucent black dress that cups my breasts and has silver studs in the collars. The dress that he bought me. My favourite dress.

Jay's sapphire eyes are shining yet there is something ruthless hidden in their depths. Standing above me as I sit as instructed on the chair, the ordinary wooden kitchen chair, in my ordinary flat. Yet the rest of the room fades away as he holds the rope in his leather-gloved hands and bounds my arms behind my back. I am somewhere else, a shadowy dungeon and there is fire, flames leaping in his eyes. Fire and ice. He tells me he wants to keep me, tame me and stares into my eyes, running a smooth finger across my throat as I breath in the lust and danger that I crave.

He looks around my kitchen, a sadistic smile on his face, searching through the hand-painted jar where I keep my utensils. He picks out the scissors and holds them up, making me wait in nervous anticipation. Then, beginning first at the hem, he begins to snip, snip, snip at the dress, the beautiful dress that he had bought me.

I remember that fun, carefree afternoon where I danced around in just a pair of bright pink socks and my white panties in the dressing room.

Now he snips at the delicate folds and pleats. I cry out as if in physical pain...he cuts and snips from hem to waist, tearing it open cruelly, placing the scissor blades finally at the delicate cuffs and the neck with the ornate metal buttons at the collar.

I can hardly breathe. It is as if he is cutting away the good memories of that afternoon. He knew the owners of the boutique and they had welcomed us in with a flourish. He admired my curves, my legs, my radiance, as I tried on one trendy designer dress after another. I chose the black one, another to add to my gothy collection.

He tears the sad remnants from my body and I am shaking, not so much with cold but with something else, like a spirit passing through me, as I sit head bowed, tears falling from my gently closed eyes, in my dark-red silk bra and knickers.

Jay slides down the strap on my bra, looking at me with something like pity and scorn, then the other strap, until exposing my breasts and cupping one breast in his hand, licking and biting me as if I am his succulent, forbidden fruit. All his.

"So," he smiles again. My face lights up too. This is a game. This is what he wants to satisfy his needs. It is ok, he will buy me another dress, I am sure, ten dresses if I want. "How does Alexia know about you...about you and me?" My smile disappears. That cold spirit makes me jolt in my chair.

"What?" my voice is trembling and then real ice cold fear creeps through me, "I...I...don't know..."

....The feel of leather gloved hands on my skin. The rope around my wrists. My arms aching as they are held behind me. The way he questions me, the blade of the scissors tracing patterns on my body, enough to bring fear yet he is careful not to break the skin. The way he finds objects from my everyday life and turns them into objects of torture. The pegs on my nipples, my pussy lips, my clit. The wooden spoon to rap me into an answer, on my thighs, the knife to my throat.

I stayed loyal only to myself: my act of deceit, of revenge and spite. I did not tell him about the hair I left in her brush, the earring she must have found down the side of the sofa or even the lipstick mark on the wine glass, that I hid away unwashed among the others.

I am not sure if he believes me now but I kept my secret well. And usually, you know, I can be so careless....like when I lost the card on the miniature roses that he gave me, when he knew he had to switch up the charm...I think I lost it somewhere in his bedroom....maybe....

"A, my Queen, my rose, so sweet yet addictive. I will never give you up because I can't, J xxx".

There is poetry hidden in his hardened heart.

I call Chloe and she tells me she cannot meet up. She seems in a hurry to say goodbye. I text Julia. No answer. I go to the cafe by myself. Then I scour the shops to find a new dress to replace the one I have lost. I buy plenty of other things I do not really need: mascara (already have about four), sparkling eyeshadow (why not?), sparkling wine (I do not need it but I want it), denim handbag (ditto), lots of knickers, random t-shirts and some perfume to impress Jay (I Want Choo by Jimmy Choo).

I wondered out of Sephora, through the mall and I found myself looking at baby clothes, thinking about Alexia; Knowing I have destroyed her good memories of this pregnancy. I am poison and somehow I do not even care.

"We're going for a drive,'" Jay smiles mischievously, a little bit of shadow on his chin. 'Dressed down' but in Alexander McQueen t-shirt, Levi's and Moschino leather belt. He looks hot. Hotter actually. I was not expecting him and my flat is a mess, my hair kind of tousled, flustered by his sudden appearance. It is early summer, a luke-warm wind flutters through the window.

"I..er... don't know...I.." I look around the flat, hopelessly thinking of all the million and one things I had to do. Wash the pots. Do the laundry. Clean the bathroom. I should get changed first, at least, out of the flimsy off-the- shoulder t-shirt and leggings I had been wearing just around the house.

"Hold out your hands', he looks amused at first. "Hold out your hands," his voice suddenly has a hard edge to it, a military command. I know how he can switch so fast, so dangerously, so I do as he commands. I always do when he speaks to me like that.

Out come the handcuffs. He flicks them expertly onto my wrist, my arms in front of me, placid and beginning to breath heavily. So now he is in control, complete control.

I, your prisoner, your bad girl who needs to be led away and punished.

He takes my keys off the table, locks the door and he leads me outside, his strong arm around my shoulders, to where a white van is parked; like a generic work van, he being a generic kidnapper.

I sit up in front, my hands submissively on my lap and he is in the driving seat. He drives silently, me turning my head to look at his profile, feeling an intense wetness at the crotch of my leggings. He looks ahead, as if this is perfectly normal, a perfectly ordinary day for a trafficker. He has a serious, strict expression on his face, even making trivial remarks about the warm weather, or other drivers, or the work he had been doing that day. I cannot take my eyes off him, his fighter's nose, his sexy stubble, his perfectly styled hair. I feel like an unruly girl who has to be taken from her cell by the guard, one who knows he is in absolute control and can do anything to me at anytime.

We drive. I do not know where we were going or even if we have a destination but I am already coming in my tight leggings. We drive and he talks, remaining always in control. Like a police officer to a criminal. We drive through town, out of town, my wrists held by the heavy steel handcuffs. My cunt dripping. The feeling is divine, the helplessness and my head dizzy with excitement.

Then we are out into the countryside, bumping down some little windy lanes. I look at him, eyes pleading. I long to release my hands and stroke his strong arms that are dotted and dashed with black tattoos. Jay turns into a side road, trees on either side, like we are heading into some woods. I see a lay-by ahead and that is where he parks. He jumps out, slamming the van door and holds open the door on my side. He leans forward to undo my seatbelt and I try to reach to kiss and bite his neck. I catch the scent of expensive cologne as my lips graze his skin.

"Get out'" he orders, calm yet strict. His blue eyes are bright and shining, beautiful yet cruel, as if reflecting the nature around us. I stumble as I step out. "Follow me." I obediently walk behind him into the woods; tangled masses of ivy and grass on the floor, pine trees towering above our heads. He turns to me every now and again, enjoying me tripping and struggling, noticing the tear in my leggings from some brambles or twigs. I begin to cry. This is not fun anymore....

Jay stops suddenly, noticing my tears and suffering. He presses me up against the thin, rough tree trunk, kissing me hard and passionately. Tears are running down my face and I began to moan into his mouth.

He grabs my hair, yet in a slow almost gentle way and holds me, his body against mine. His cock is hard in his jeans. He is looking into my pitiful eyes, ready to fuck, ready to tear off those leggings and stick his big cock right in.

He rips the leggings away then pulls down the sodden bikini knickers that I did not have time to change before we went out. He places his mouth against mine again before I can protest. He keeps that firm grip on my hair, pulling me down onto the dirt, my arms helpless and bound by the handcuffs in front of me.

I am sitting, leant against the tree. He spreads my legs, my knees bent and upwards, pulling my handcuffed hands above my head with one hand, fingering my wet cunt with the other. He unbuckles his belt and takes out his rigid cock, standing above me as I suck dick like a good slave should. He orders me to lie down, and begins to laugh as I struggle on the ground, onto my back. He pulls up my torn t-shirt, biting each nipple, squeezing my breasts.

My handcuffed arms are above my head, the pain in my shoulders and arms is overidden by my want, my need, my desire. He pulls his jeans and Balenciaga boxers down, just far enough, composed. He shoves his cock in and pummels me into the dirt. He fucks me hard until he is losing control too, his moans become high, and soft. As we reach climax our cries echo into the woods.

Sitting back in the van, silence. The sound of birds and a slight, rustling wind. He picks the leaves out of my hair, wipes the dirt from my face with some baby wipes. Then he takes a key from the dashboard and releases me from the handcuffs. On the way back he is so gentle, so kind. I am so grateful. He places his hand on my leg, stroking me slowly up and down my thigh as he drives. He stops off at the high street and buys some jeans for me and a new t-shirt.

When the van stops back outside my flat I do not want to leave you. I have no more tears just a deep yearning. You said you had to get back. And you drove off back to her.

What is this?

Are we soulmates? Twin flames? There is something special between us, so powerful, like a drug, better than any drug. To share these fantasies, to be turned on by the same thing, without even having to talk about it is like stepping into another dimension. Once there, no-one else matters, nothing else matters. Yet when we are together, we are risking everything.

He has told me about his business, about the man who tried to destroy him. He has told me about the CCTV around his home and his guns. He has told me how he could kill a man, easily. I looked at him and wondered if he ever had. I told him my fantasy of killing that man, his enemy. I could see his strange smile, as if he was turned on by my twisted violence.

We have told each other things we could never tell anyone else.

What is it that draws him to me? I am older than him, than his wife. I thought guys like him would go after young, pliable women. I am on the whole unambitious, not career driven at all. My job is hardly even worth mentioning. But....

Is it because I am dangerous? I know he smiled and said that I do not look dangerous on that first meeting....putting his hands on my hips and pulling me into him for that first kiss....

Yet that is what makes me dangerous...like black ice that will leave you reeling, your life spinning out of control before you even know it. Like a cool, calm sea that you dive into yet find yourself being pulled under by hidden and hazardous forces.

But let us not talk of ice, or iciness, on this beautiful summer evening.

I feel he has melted, as we lie on the beach together, his head upon my breasts. We seem almost equal, like lovers should be, rather than being under constraint by the shackles of sexual control, he being the dom.

Perhaps we do have a future together after all, rather than this prison sentence where neither can escape (who is the jailer and who is the jailed?)...perhaps freedom together. The sea looks so cool, so calm.

A seagull flies over the two souls entwined.

I wait for your next call. Do not leave me out in the cold.

Summer storms come so suddenly, dark clouds looming above our heads, like heavy words unspoken and secrets...then the rain comes down, pours down...never seems to stop.

His eyes flash, and contain many hues of blue and green, like the depths of the ocean. Our words are thunder, as I hastily grab my bra, my dress, my handbag- everything in a mess- as I run from his bed, out of his home, slipping on my shoes along the way, tripping down the stairs.

So, he will never leave her. She will never leave him. They are trying to work things out or work something out. He cannot leave because....because of the baby. At last, he released this secret into the darkening air.

He talked as if he still loves her. He said he wants to be there for his child, it is not long now, just weeks away. He did not even know his own father, who was a con man, an addict, a criminal.

So what am I? Your mistress? Your whore? Your bit on the side? Your bitch? We made love- no fucked- so desperately, as if he needed me. I satisfied his craving. I was his whore, gagging on his cock as he held my hair. Looking down at me, so nasty and so, so sexy.

He told me that he will never leave her. He cannot let me go either. I know I am his addiction. I can tell because of his erection.

I have got to him, crawled beneath his skin, filled his mind with desire and imagination that has no limits. He knows I will do anything, live out any fantasy. He can tell me the taboo fantasies that he cannot trust to disclose to anyone else. I have no inhibitions. This cannot be an ending. No, this is a beginning.

I will leave you alone for now, let you play happy families with your wife. But, watch out...you never really know when lightning is going to strike.

I waited for him, tracing the tear-drop of rain as it slowly rolled down the lonely hotel window.

I have not seen my friends for months. The weird silences. Avoiding meeting up. Going out without me. I was so wrapped up in my obsession with Jay that I hardly missed them. But now I do.

"We know about Jay", Chloe, had explained eventually, when I asked, half-jokingly, whether she was ghosting me. "Alexia messaged Julia, she messaged everyone on your friends list. Julia has had a meltdown, she can't believe you would do this, his wife is having a baby! Why him, anyway? You could have anyone."

I told her it was a lie. I was not seeing, this, this Jay person.

She said....

I was not the person she thought I was. I was deceitful, a stalker, a homewrecker. She could not believe that I kept this secret from her. I guess she was not the person I thought she was either.

So the magic, the secret is gone, like a disappearing rainbow. Everyone knows and they are contaminating my dream, curdling what was mine to keep.

Alexia is trying to destroy me. But really you cannot destroy someone or something that is already broken.

Jay had told me the time, the place, what to wear, even how to get here- as if afraid that someone would follow me. My earlier excitement had dwindled into disappointment as the time ticked by, the fluttering butterflies in my stomach receding to an anxious churning. I read through the room service menu, switched channels on the huge TV on the wall, sneaked a miniature bottle of vodka from the minibar.

Fuck you Chloe. Fuck you Julia. Fuck you Alexia.

Please come and fuck me, Jay.

I felt let-down, ridiculous. Perched on the bed, in my stockings and corset, the long gloves just over my elbows. Checking my phone, again and again. Fifteen minutes, thirty minutes, fifty minutes. Then I jumped at the faint knock on the door...quiet but just loud enough to startle. Now all my senses were heightened, my heartbeat booming, as I crashed, sliding in my stiletto heels towards the door. "Is it you?"

"It's me baby, I don't have much time". Then he walked in, a dark blue suit, Swarovski crystals sparkling from a Stefano Ricci tie and that irresistible grin. I was drawn to his eyes, deep, shining, then his muscular arms pulling me in further. He kissed me hard and rough and said "Sorry." Every day, he had messaged, sorry, and to hear the word from his lips at once cured my doubts, my emotional hurt. At this point you would imagine that the lover would pull out a bunch of flowers as a surprise. But no, not Jay. Not this time.