The Rules of the Game Ch. 03

The Tradesman's Entrance

It was Friday and Felicity was feeling decidedly wicked this morning. Simon had taken the bait and had become her little plaything―he just didn't realise it yet. Poor lad has no idea what I have in store for him, she thought, as she considered him across the table.

Five days had passed since they last played the game and Felicity had watched Simon's spirits steadily sinking. Each night the Taker would come to her room and try the door, each night it would be locked, and each night Simon would be forced to make the long walk back to his room, mumbling under his breath as he went.

Little did Simon know that on the other side of the door Felicity was lying on her bed fingering her slickness, waiting until she heard him check the door handle before she allowed herself to cum. She took a perverse pleasure in the cruel torture. After pleasuring herself, Felicity would sneak down the darkened hallway to his doorway and watch Simon wank himself off.

Simon was sitting across from her, at the kitchen table, gorging himself on the full breakfast that Felicity had prepared for him. Most mornings, Simon only had time to grab a piece of fruit and a bottle of orange juice before he rushed out the door, so this was indeed a rare treat.

"How's the food?" Felicity asked.

"Mmm . . ." Simon mumbled through a mouth full of mushrooms. "Delicious," he said. "Kudos to the chef."

"You're welcome," Felicity said. "I love to take care of a man, especially a man with a healthy appetite like yours. More juice?"

"Yes, please."

Felicity refilled his glass, deliberately bending over so that Simon caught an eyeful of her breasts, which were spilling out of her loosely tied dressing gown.

"Any news of the burglar?" Simon asked, between spoonfuls of beans. It was the same question he had asked every morning this week―each time with just a bit more desperation.

Felicity pretended to scan the headlines of the paper. "Thankfully, no," she replied, "not a word of him."

Simon stabbed the rasher of bacon with his fork and sliced off a piece. "Haven't heard much from him lately, have we? Do you think he's been caught?" Simon asked, before shoving the bacon into his mouth.

"No, I think we would have heard of something if that were the case."

"You reckon he's given up?"

"I don't know," Felicity said, and then paused for effect. "What do you think?"

"I think I . . . Um . . . I think he wants to rob again. He's just waiting for the right opportunity."

"You may be right," Felicity said, taking a sip of her tea. "I guess it's all just speculation at this point. Isn't it?"

"I guess so," said Simon, no closer to finding out his fate.

"Are you going to be home for supper tonight?"

"No, I'm meeting my project team after class," he replied. "We're having a little get together at a pub near school to get to know one another."

"That sounds like fun. Are you going to be out late?"

"I'm not really sure."

"Well, I hope it's not too late. All of this talk of the burglar is making me worried. I have a feeling you may be right, he might strike again. I'd hate to be home alone―alone and vulnerable―when he strikes."

"I'll be home as soon as I can," Simon promised her. "I'm late. I better get going," he said and hurried off.

"Bye, Simon. Don't forget your mobile."

"Right."

"I'll see you tonight. Have a wonderful day," she said with a grin.

Later that morning, when she knew Simon would be in class, Felicity sent a video to his phone. It was the video the Taker had recorded the last time the game was played. She included a little bonus footage of her playing with herself―a little reminder of what he was missing out on and perhaps a hint of things to come.

Felicity Hammonds nèe Scott was born into money and married into more of it. They had met at a dinner party when she was nineteen. Reginald Hammonds was a successful venture capitalist and was twenty years her senior. She was immediately attracted to him despite the difference in their ages.

Felicity soon realized though that what she had been attracted to was his image, his lifestyle, and most importantly of all his money―and definitely not the man himself. Their sex life quickly became routine and boring. It was always missionary and it was always over too soon. Reginald Hammonds saw no reason for foreplay. He knew what he wanted and how he wanted it. He wasn't interested in pleasantries or the needs of others.

On the nights when he wasn't working late, or away travelling on business, Felicity would find herself underneath him, faithfully performing her wifely duties. Three minutes later, Reginald would roll off of her and fall asleep, leaving Felicity to finish herself to the sounds of him snoring. That was all the sex that she ever knew.

Since she had been a little girl, Felicity had been groomed to be a lady of society. "Prim and proper is the way a lady should behave, Felicity," her mother would always say to her. Felicity was sick of prim and of proper. She wanted wicked. She wanted wild. She had spent twenty years in a loveless, sexless relationship. And to add insult to injury, Reginald had left her, on the eve of her fortieth, for a younger version of herself.

Her ex thought it was dirty and would have nothing of it. Felicity thought it was dirty and wanted every bit of it. She liked dirty. She wanted dirty. Felicity wanted to abandon her inhibitions and experience the taboo. If things went to plan, she was going to get her arse fucked for the very first time tonight.

It was ten o'clock, Felicity was lying on her bed masturbating whilst she waited for him. One hand was gently stroking her wet pussy, the other was sliding a well-lubed toy in and out of her arse. The blue dildo was slender in the middle and tapered out to a rounded bulge on each end, one end larger than the other. Felicity had never tried the larger end and was a bit worried because she knew that Simon was even thicker than that.

The bonus footage she had shot, made it clear what she wanted from the Taker, but Felicity wanted to leave nothing to chance this time. Taped onto the Harrod's bag was a note that read:

No means Yes, Stop means Go, Don't means Do, Now means Now!

Take me! Now!

Felicity heard the heavy oak front door of the mews house close shut. Simon was finally home. She stashed her toy in the drawer of the nightstand and waited for him. Her bedroom door was purposely left ajar. Candlelight spilled from her room into the dark hallway―a beacon, a signal to Simon that the game was back on.

She heard his footsteps in the hallway, her heart was beating loudly in rhythm with them. As they approached her doorway, the footsteps suddenly stopped, as did her heart, only to start again and accelerate rapidly towards his room.

The Taken was wearing a French Maid's outfit―one that she had bought especially for this occasion. High heels, a garter belt and seamed, black silk stockings completed the ensemble. She didn't have any knickers on―they would only get in the way.

The idea for the maid outfit came to her one day when Felicity noticed Simon ogling the housekeeper, who was an attractive nineteen year old Lithuanian girl. Felicity sacked her the very next day and replaced her with someone who wouldn't cause such problems.

Her back was to the door; she was bending over, pretending to make the bed, offering up a peek of her lovely round bottom, when the Taker entered her room. The masked intruder forced the Taken down onto the bed and secured her wrists behind her back with the handcuffs that Felicity had left in the Harrod's bag.

She was bent over the edge of the bed. "Please, Sir, no!" the Taken pleaded. "I only work here. I'm not the one you want."

The Taken felt his probing hand on the soft flesh of her inner thigh, as it crept its way up to her wetness. "Oh, but you are the one I want," the Taker said. "And I'm the one that you want. You just don't know it yet. Spread your legs apart."

"Please, Sir, I can't. I'm married."

"Married? Does your husband know that you come to your job dressed like this?" the Taker asked, lifting her dress up to give himself a better view of what he was about to take.

"Yes, he is the one that makes me do this. He wants me to do things― things with a stranger, things I am not comfortable with, things I would never do."

"And?"

"And he wants me to tell him about them. That's his fantasy."

"And it's not yours?"

"No, Sir."

"And yet you show up dressed, or should I say undressed, like this. You could have shown some modesty and put some knickers on before you got here."

"I used to do that, Sir. I would keep them in my handbag and put them on first thing when I got to work. And I would take them off at the train station before I went home. But . . ."

"But what?"

"But I started having thoughts―bad thoughts. I started feeling things I have never felt before, things a married woman should never feel."

"What sort of things?"

"Shameful things."

"And if I fuck you, will you tell your husband?"

The Taken didn't respond.

The Taker shoved two fingers into her sopping wet cunt and started stroking them in and out. "You want me to fuck you, don't you?" he asked. "You want me to do shameful things to you?"

She didn't answer him.

"Answer me!" The Taker demanded. "I know you want it," he told her. "Don't you?"

"Yes," the Taken finally admitted. "Yes, I want it, but you can't fuck me."

"And why is that?"

"Because I'm not on the pill."

He pulled his fingers out of her. "I suppose you're right. I'm not ready to be a father, but that doesn't mean that I can't fuck you," the Taker said, as he rubbed the swollen head of his cock against her puckered little arsehole.

"Please, Sir, not in the arse, anything but that."

The Taker looked down upon her. "I don't think you're in any position to make demands," he said, and then he pushed inside her.

The Taken screamed out, "No, please, Sir. It's too big. It's too much. I can't."

"Oh, but I think you can, if you try," he said, pressing further into her reluctant hole.

"Sir, I beg you. Please take it out," the Taken said, praying he would do the exact opposite.

"Okay, I'll take it out, but not till I've finished first," said the Taker, and then he buried his cock balls-deep in the Taken's arse. She screamed out as she started to cum on his cock.

"You're awfully tight," the Taker said. "How many times have you done this?"

His cock felt huge in her arse. The Taken wondered if she could indeed take it, knowing full well that she had no choice―she had to. "Never, Sir. You are the first," she replied through tightly pursed lips.

He pulled out a bit and pushed back in. "Really?" the Taker asked. "Are you trying to tell me your husband has never done this to you?"

"No― Ah!" she cried out, as he made another small stroke. "Never."

"And why is that?"

"He― Ugh!" Each time she tried to speak the Taker would plunge into her, breaking her speech and breaking her in. "He thinks it's dirty."

"And what do you think?"

"I think―" The Taker pulled back and pushed back into her again, taking her breath away. "Ah― fuck! I think― I think I like dirty!" The Taken finally blurted out.

The Taker started fucking the Taken's virgin arse in small, slow strokes. "Yes, I think you do. You're starting to open up for me. Does it still hurt?"

"No, Sir," she admitted, "not anymore."

"You like it, don't you? You dirty girl."

The Taken didn't reply.

"Don't you?" the Taker said, increasing the pace of his penetration.

"Yes!" the Taken finally screamed out. The pleasure she was feeling was insane, intense, incredible.

The Taker paused for a moment. "Are you going to tell your husband that you let a stranger fuck you in your arse?"

"I didn't let you, Sir, you took it."

"I suppose you're right. I should probably stop then," he said, and he started to pull out.

"No, Sir. Please, Sir," the Taken begged. "Don't stop. I'm so close."

"Very well then, you asked for it." The Taker grabbed her firmly by her hips and began to unleash the pent up sexual desire that had been building throughout the week, pummeling her helpless little hole.

The tight muscles of the Taken's arse, which had at first resisted the intruder, had now surrendered and were relaxed, welcoming the pleasurable pounding. She had never been filled like this, never been fucked like this. "Fuck me hard!" The Taken cried out. "Make me your whore!"

Every thrust of his cock brought her closer. The Taken could feel a massive orgasm building inside her, like a powder keg about to explode.

With one hard thrust the Taker released inside her, pushing her over the edge. The Taken came hard, harder than she ever had. The orgasm sent shockwaves of pleasure through her trembling body.

The Taker left her lying there, breathless and light-headed, basking in the afterglow.