Enraptured, Encaptured

He pushed me away again, gently yet commanding, looked me up and down. He traced his fingers from the waist of the corset, tracing over the intricate lace patterns. Looking me in the eye. I felt overwhelmed. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, "Now, are you sorry? Mmm?" He had pulled down the straps on my corset, leaving my breasts exposed. He opened the sliding wardrobe door, took off his jacket and shirt and hung them up carefully. I watched him slip off his trousers, a bulge in his white pants that clung tightly to his buttocks.

"Get on the bed, on your knees." He pulled the lace thong down and off. I felt his tongue licking my arsehole. Licking so urgently. My moans got louder, I could not stop them. He pushed my face down into the pillow as he thrust his cock into my cunt from behind. "Are you sorry?" He began to pound harder.

"I'm sorry," my voice was muffled, face down on the pillow as he fucked me hard. "I'm so..rr..y". I began to come....this climax shivering through me as my moans turned into a stifled scream. It was not long before he came too, pulling out his cock and lying panting on the bed, glowing with a shield of perspiration.

Then he was stroking my hair, looking into my eyes and smiling. I just wanted him to hold me, keep me in this dreamy state, this different dimension, forever. Or at least for the rest of the evening. But no, too soon, he was buttoning his shirt, pulling on his suit, looking respectable once more. How easily he hides from the world what a bad, bad man he really is.....how deceptive he is.

Now I wait for him again, as the rain pours down outside. Tracing the tear-drop as it slowly rolls down my face in the lonely bedroom mirror.

This time I knew I would not be the one to break, to be the first one to show I am needy and missing him by sending that next illicit text. So, I waited, waited, ready to snap as I checked my phone over and over. One day, two, three...He would be wondering why I have not contacted. He should be thinking of me obsessively, possessively, wondering if someone else's lips are upon mine, if I have someone else's fingers exploring my body, giving me pleasure. No, no, I would not break.

I knew I had power over him. Making myself more present with my sudden absence. He would feel my spirit, smell my perfume, imagine my tongue exploring him, fantasising of all the times we fucked in the hotel, in my flat, his marital bed, the shower and in his office through the back of his bar.

Oh, yes, I remember. He really was the king of his castle. Jay had asked me to show up at the bar whilst he was working. As I stood in my leather jacket, jeans and high ankle boots, sipping on my wine, he acted as if he hardly noticed me at all. He joked with the young flirty couple to my left, he ordered his doormen to the right, the young blonde girl serving the drinks got attention and smiles. He just served me another drink, on the house. He waited until everyone had left, sending staff away, before they could suspiciously check me out, or ask any questions. In control, as usual.

As soon as the doors were locked he pressed me up against the bar, kissing me hard. I could feel the slight roughness of his chin, his cock hard, his muscles hard, stroking his back through his midnight blue shirt. His kisses became more urgent. My arousal became overwhelming, overpowering the stale smell of wine, the darkness and loneliness of an empty bar. My jacket was half off my shoulders, his hands cupping my breasts...then he led me through to the back room.

Jay unbuttoned his shirt and pulled off his Montblanc brown leather belt. Good strong leather with a horseshoe buckle. He held the belt in one hand whilst stroking his cock through his Levis with the other. His eyes were hungry, looking intensely, from my Next black boots all the way up to my long dark tousled hair. "Strip," he ordered.

I had to slip off my cropped jacket and my Mango vest top. I looked up at him as I leant to pull off my boots and then peeled off the skinny jeans. Belt, still in one hand, he pushed me down, onto his desk, in my black lace Marks and Spencers bra and matching bikini panties. My legs were splayed and falling over the edge of the desk.

The belt around my throat, yet not constricting- as a threat, as a thrill- he pulled the panties, to one side, stroking my clit and breathing hard. I opened my legs for him as wide as I could.

I lay back on the desk. My breasts exposed over the cups of the bra, my knickers on the floor somewhere. The belt was released from my neck and then again constricting, this time around my wrists as he pressed my arms above my head, binding the wrists together. He had pulled his cock out of his jeans. His brow was wet, he was still working on my clit. Then it was time to work out all his frustrations on me. He hit my clit with his rock hard dick a few times. I lifted my cunt up to him, my body and bound arms straining. He thrust his cock into me, his eyes full of beauty, fascination, evil and longing as he fucked me.

He came hard and he came quickly. His jeans had fallen down to his ankles. Then he was resting his head on my stomach, caressing my breasts. He made me come with his tongue; a gentle tongue lapping at my pussy after so much violent fucking.

Jay left me tied, as he got cleaned up. He brought a glass of water and some wine for me, pouring the wine between my lips.

He did not release me but kept me captive, until early morning. Fucking me, fingering me, then shooting his load in my face and hair. As the sun came up, he untied the belt. He came one last time, wanking his cock as he firmly whipped my arse and thighs. I remained submissively bent over his desk, exhaused, only able to let out feeble cries and moans.

This time I knew I would not be the one to break.

But I thought wrong. I broke. I got a taxi. I held my head up and walked in to his bar, faking confidence but feeling so fragile, so weak- like a vampire, empty, hungry, drifting towards him. Needing him to give me life, needing his power.

I stood at the bar, my glass in one hand, staring into the flickering tea light in the painted glass jar adorning the bar. Remembering the night he had encaptured me. I wore the same cropped leather jacket, jeans and ankle boots. I wanted to have that pleasure and pain all over again.

I heard his voice. Then he walked through, from the back room, cocky, cocksure, laughing, in his dark blue suit, looking so perfect. Laughing like he never does with me. So confident, masculine, warm.

His eyes met mine, like a husky, eyes startling and unblinking. His laugh faltered. She stepped out from behind him, grabbing his arm, giggling, a tight little dress showing a perfect figure. Bronde highlights, bronzer. She looked so young and golden, from her high gold Roman sandals to her shimmering dress and gold necklace.

I guess this is just a friend.

That burning of jealousy, burning like fire, so destructive. With one sweeping stroke I swept my glass of wine and the burning candle, smashing them onto the floor. I left in shock, I cannot even remember the taxi ride home.

I cannot believe that I actually thought I had some kind of power over him.

He messaged. He told me to move on. To stop being a silly little bitch. Before I get any ideas, his wife knows about me, about everything he does.

So, I am part of the sex games he likes to play. Find some slag, fuck her, use her, abuse her, then go back and tell Alexia all about it. He tells her everything and gets off on it.

Move on, move on. He had no feelings for me. I was a joke. It was just a game.

I cried all night, my head hurting from his lies. His lies and games. His control. Yet all through the hurt I still wanted him. I fantasised of only him, came over him. And cried and cried.

How I hate you. Liar, liar.

He saw that it did not take me long to move on. Just a month, in fact. Yet as we all know appearances can be very deceptive.

I did not hear him walk up behind me when I was standing at the bar, laughing with my date...having a lot of fun, actually. More fun than I have had in a long time.

But he had to come along to spoil it.

It was nothing to do with you.

I lost respect for Jay; threatening him- my date- a gentle guy with curly brown hair, intelligent and kind. Jay pushing him, getting one of his egg-headed bouncer friends to drag him outside and onto the kerb.

It was nothing to do with you.

We did not go in his bar. I was going to, yes, it was tempting. Instead we went to the rock bar on the corner. I did nothing to provoke him. What on Earth was he doing? Spying on me or something?

"We control this street," he had spat, his jealousy erupting into the night.

Before this night, I still had some feeling for Jay. Now I have nothing. Just the memory of him with his shirt pulled out and covered in blood, my innocent date lying on the ground covering his head from kicks and blows.

I hate him. I hate his controlling nature, his demonic temper. I despise him. I thought there was something more to him. I was seeking an angel inside of him. But he is just a thug. A thug in designer clothes.

Why do you keep on calling me? I don't ever want to see you again. I hate you. Stop texting.

Empty days and long nights pass. I ignore each message, each call, each voicemail ranging from calm and direct, pitiful and sorry, to angry and mean.

He comes to me. Jay is standing at my door. Despite his well-kept hair and stylish Dior shirt, he looks tired. Alexia has left. They are getting divorced. Or so he says. They will have to come to some kind of arrangement about the baby, his son. He puts his hands over his face. His shoulders are shaking. He is crying, hunched over slightly, rubbing his eyes with his hands, like a vulnerable boy. I hold out my arms and stroke the smooth shaved skin on his head, down the back of his neck. I breathe in the scent of him. He nuzzles his face into my hair.

He had felt trapped, imprisoned by her wants and expectations. He tried to escape using fantasy and deception. He got caught up in a web of his own making.

I want you. I love you.

He lies upon my bed. A sculpted body with the most perfect imperfections. I slip the handcuffs onto his wrists.

You are mine.