Wilderness Road Ch. 02

I closed my eyes, picturing myself sobbing with desire as Abby tormented me, imagining her mean hands alternately spanking my aching buttocks and reaching beneath me to stroke the moist cleft and tease my throbbing clit. I'd be a complete mess by now, my hair a tangled mess, hot tears spilling over my cheeks as I begged her for mercy. Abby would be taunting me, telling me what a horny slut I was, as she slid a long, slim finger inside me, my pussy shamelessly clenching around it, wanting more, always wanting more. I mirrored her actions, lying on my back, and spreading my hot thighs as far as I dared, my pants stretched tightly between my knees. I twisted my head away from Jay, burying my face in the pillow, as I played with my pussy with both hands now, gently tugging at my swollen labia and circling my aching clit with my honey-drenched fingers.

"Hot little tart, you're loving this, aren't you?" I heard Abby's ghostly voice hiss as I began to dipped a finger into my wetness, then painted the juices along the length of my aching slit. My hips began to undulate as I played with myself, two of my fingers rubbing my pussy in tight, little circles as I tried to remain silent.

I used my feet to ease my pyjama bottoms and knickers down until they were tangled around one of my ankles, and spread my knees wide, one leg slipping over the edge of the bed. I couldn't stop now, even if Jay woke up and asked me what on earth I was doing. My body had waited so long for this. I had two fingers buried deep inside me now, frigging myself with a steady rhythm as I strummed my hot, greedy clit with a wet fingertip. My eyes squeezed shut, my heart racing, my body as taut as a bowstring, my breathing shallow and ragged as hot surges of pure pleasure rushed though me, carrying me higher and higher.

"That's it come for me, come for me like the horny little tart you are," I heard Abby whisper, her breath hot against my ear and it was that thought that pushed me over the edge, my body twisting and shuddering, my face buried in my pillow as I came with a long, silent howl, all the sexual tensions and frustrations of the last few weeks washed away, in a perfect moment of forbidden ecstasy.

I held my breath as I floated back to earth, alarm bells ringing in my head as my husband stirred.

"Are you okay?" he muttered drowsily as I held my breath.

"Just a bad dream, babe, go back to sleep," I whispered breathlessly, quickly rolling out of bed and shuffling awkwardly towards the bathroom to clean up.

April

I'd felt guilty for days after that hot restless night when I'd secretly pleasured myself , my husband Jay sleeping peacefully next to me. I'd sworn off reading the journal, telling myself that it was wrong to be reading someone else's private, personal sex diary and even worse, to be using it to fuel my own lewd fantasies.

But the journal was never far from my thoughts, and after a while, I started to give in to temptation, my willpower evaporating in the early spring sunshine . I still felt that I should try to return the journal to Abby and, I reasoned, how could I do that if I knew nothing about her? Maybe I should read a little bit, I figured that would be okay as long as I skipped the more racy bits.

It had taken a month, but I'd finally managed to finish unpacking most of our boxes and painting the bedroom, including the ceilings and the skirting boards. I'd also managed to get the broadband connected. Virtually the first thing I did was Google "Abigail Walker". It turns out it's quite a popular name though and there were plenty of Abigail or Abby Walkers that were dentists or estate agents or lawyers. None of them seemed to be the one I was looking for though. Well I suppose I was kidding myself if I thought it was going to be that easy. After a while, I gave up and tried "Terry Ilford" instead.

Luckily, there was only one Terry Ilford working in the area. I found him on a local trade website, listed as a "gardener and general handyman". He sounded gruff but polite when I called and asked him if he could come round and give me a quote for cutting our trees back. If he recognised the address I gave, I didn't hear it in his voice. He promised to come round before the end of the week. April had started unseasonably cool and wet, but had gotten steadily warmer and drier, and I'd finally got back into the habit of going jogging every day in the local park. After I called Terry, I put on my shorts and running vest and tied my keys to my laces.

It was a beautiful day, the early summer sun floating in a perfectly blue sky, the park a noisy chaos of children and dogs. It was the kind of day that made you feel glad to be alive and I pushed myself extra hard, my legs pumping, my ponytail swinging behind me. I ran until my lungs burned, only stopping when I got back to the front door, pausing bent-double my breath rasping in my throat as I sucked in the thick, humid air.

After I'd showered I was still hot, so I just pulled on an old pair of denim cut-offs and a white crop top. I wasn't going out again, so I didn't bother with a bra. To be honest, my small, boyish boobs didn't really need one anyway. Jay was always a little prudish about how I dressed, so I'd put one on later along with some full-length jeans and a long-sleeved top before he got home.

I needed a break from painting so I'd planned to spend the day steaming the wallpaper off the walls of the spare bedroom. It was a rather dated floral pattern, and neither of us liked it so it had to go. My plan was to strip the paper back to the bare plaster, then repaint. We'd bought a wallpaper-stripper at the weekend. The largest bit was a rectangular water container about the size of a large shoebox. Protruding from this was a long, flexible hose and attached to the other end was a flat paddle. When plugged in, it worked like a large kettle, the water in the container producing steam that hissed through the hose and out of the paddle that I pressed to the wall, until the paper softened enough to be scrape off.

It was hot, messy work and even with the window open, then room quickly filled with steam making it more like a sauna. Before long, I felt my hair sticking to my damp forehead and the sweat pooling in my armpits. Yuk. It was hard going so when I heard the doorbell, I skipped down the stairs, glad of the chance to get some fresh air.

"Ah hello, sorry to bother you, I'm Detective Inspector Rob Crenshaw, are you Mrs Catesby?" said the man standing on our doorstep. He flipped open a leather wallet to display an official-looking badge. He was lean with dark close-cropped hair and wearing a beaten-up, dark brown leather jacket over a smart pink shirt. He was probably about thirty, although his dark, neatly trimmed goatee made him look a little older.

"Yes, I'm Ellen Catesby," I replied, leaning forward to inspect the badge, which confirmed his name.

He paused whilst he opened a small notebook that he'd taken from his inside jacket pocket. He scanned his notes then nodded, as if verifying what I'd said.

"And you moved in here about a month ago with your husband Jay, is that right?" he continued. His lightly-tanned skin, dark grey eyes and narrow, angular face made him look vaguely eastern European although he had no trace of an accent.

"That's right, what's this about?"

"Do you know anything about the lady that lived here before you, Abigail Walker?" he continued, ignoring my question.

"Oh well, only what my neighbour told me, that she lived here alone, maybe lived here a couple of years, was in her mid-twenties..."

"I see. Did she leave an address so you could forward mail to her, or do you have a number for her?"

"No, sorry, nothing at all," I replied, shaking my head.

"Uh huh. How about the house? Did she leave anything behind? Anything that could help us find her?"

"Find her? Oh, is she missing then?"

He looked up from his notebook, his piercing dark eyes roaming over my body, sliding over my bare legs and my tight denim cut-offs. His lips curled into a thin smile as they slid over my bare stomach to my crop top. Glancing down, I felt my cheeks colour as I saw what caught his attention, the thin damp cotton of my top clinging to my bare boobs. My nipples had reacted to the cool breeze and it was all too obvious I wasn't wearing a bra.

I saw in his face that his detective's eyes had missed nothing and I quickly folded my arms across my chest, embarrassed at my accidental exhibitionism.

"Yes, Ms Walker's been reported missing," he explained, not bothering to try and hide his wolfish grin at my reaction.

"Oh! I had no idea, I thought she'd just moved out."

"So you don't know Ms Walker?"

"No, we never met here. All of our dealings were done through the estate agent and her lawyer; I don't even know what she looks like. Sorry I can't help," I said, stepping back and grabbing the door, eager to escape.

"Did she leave anything behind, anything that could help us find her?"

An image of the journal lying at the bottom of my underwear drawer immediately sprung to mind and I briefly wrestled with my conscience. Impulsively, I decided not to tell him. Something about the hungry way he stared at me made me uneasy and I decided I needed to find out more before telling him anything.

"No, the house was empty when we moved in. I think there was an old lawn mower in the shed, but my husband took it to the local dump."

"So, you didn't find a diary, or an address book, anything like that?"

"No, sorry," I said. Why had he specifically mentioned a book, did he know something?

"Uh huh," he said, making some notes on his pad. "So, just to be clear, you've never met her and she didn't leave anything behind, not even a forwarding address?" he said, and I thought I could detect a little disbelief in his voice.

"I'm sorry I can't be more helpful, like I said we just dealt with the agent and her solicitor. You could try the neighbour across the road. A guy called David Wilson. He seemed to know her a little," I said, shrugging my shoulders.

"David Wilson," he said, scribbling on his pad.

"Yes, he lives right across the road," I said, wishing he'd go so I could escape back inside, away from those darkly intense eyes undressing me. I tried not to show it, but he'd made me quite flustered; another minute and I was worried that I'd confess everything.

"OK, well if you think of anything else, or you hear from her, can you give me a call?" he asked, taking a card out of his inside pocket and handing it to me.

"Yes, of course," I said, taking it from him. I tried to avoid his hawk-like eyes but noticed him stealing one last glance at my chest. "OK. Well, it was nice to see, Mrs Catesby," he said, closing his notepad and flashing me a last grin over his shoulder as he walked back down the drive.

I stomped back up the stairs, his words still echoing in my ears: "nice to see you, Mrs Catesby". It had been pretty clear what he'd meant and it made me feel both angry and embarrassed at the same time. I had to confess to feeling a little flattered too, as I attacked the wallpaper with renewed vigour. I was still wondering why I hadn't mentioned the journal. Why had I lied to a detective? It wasn't like me, usually I'm intimidated by the police. I've always been a bit of a coward with authority figures, unable to stop myself feeling flustered and over-explaining at the first sight of a uniform, the briefest glimpse of a badge. Could you get into trouble for this sort of thing? What did they call it on all those cop shows I watched? Withholding evidence? Obstructing an investigation? I guess I could always say I forgot, I thought to myself lamely.

And just what *had* happened to Abby? (I'd started to think of her as 'Abby' now. The more I read her journal, the more it felt like I knew her.) Before, it had seemed odd, but not suspicious that she'd left without leaving a forwarding address or telling the neighbours, but now it seemed really odd. Could she really be missing? Why hadn't she come back for the journal? Where had she gone? I felt a shiver run through me as a more chilling question popped into my head. Maybe the question was 'where had she been taken?'

All these thoughts made me even more determined to try and figure it out for myself from her journal. I liked a good mystery and I told myself that I could always call creepy detective Crenshaw if I found something significant. I did another hour of wallpaper stripping then after lunch, I found myself drifting upstairs as if magnetically drawn by the journal.

The white pages glowed in the sunlight spilling through the open bedroom windows.

I had several rules that I always stuck to when I was working. One: I never let myself be tied up. And I always kept my phone near me, in case of emergency.

Two: I never had penetrative sex unless I was working with a trusted client, and even then he had to wear a condom.

Three: no kissing. I know that sounds odd given that I spent a lot of my time performing oral sex, but somehow kissing just seemed too intimate.

I was always a bit of a rebel though, so I never one for followed these rules too closely. In particular, that last one was more like a guideline that I might ignore for a client like "G".

I'd been recommended to her by C, the housewife with a penchant for spanking, and G's interests were similar. Like C she as outwardly a happily married woman but had a recurring fantasy about being seduced by a lesbian. She liked the idea of being tied up too, and came up with various scenarios she wanted to act out with me. I remember the time she wanted me to dress up as a policewoman, and the way her eyes lit up when she answered the door to her hotel room. It had taken me a few days to put the costume together but I was pleased with the result. The sober navy blue trousers and shirt, the wide black utility belt, the official-looking badge and sturdy black shoes filled me with a sense of authority that I needed to perform my role.

I'd barge in without waiting to be invited, making her stumble backwards, her hands tightening the belt of her silky dressing gown. I'd shut the door behind me, before explaining that a gentleman at the bar had had his wallet stolen and she fitted the description of the thief.

"But I haven't even been to the bar this evening, " she'd stammer.

"Then you won't mind if I search you and your room," I'd reply, stony faced as I detached the handcuffs from my belt. "Now give me your hands."

"What are they? What are you doing?" she'd ask dumbly, watching as I swung the shiny silver 'cuffs from one finger, her face a perfect mixture of fear and barely suppressed excitement.

"Hands! Now!" I'd repeat sternly.

Slowly, hesitantly, I'd watch her extend her hands towards me, palms up, a little gasp of surprise escaping her glossy pink lips as I snapped the bracelets on her slim wrists with two loud metallic clicks.

"Now up against the wall," I'd order and without waiting for her to comply, I'd quickly spin her around and push her up against the wall, face-first, a firm hand between her shoulders.

"What are you doing? You can't do this," she'd protest , twisting her head to one side as I 'searched' her.

This was perhaps my favourite part, an excuse to run my hands over the lean curves of her body as she protested her innocence. Although she was a similar age to C. she was quite different physically: tall and lean with small breasts set high on her ribcage, her long, straight dark hair parted on one side and loosely swept over one of her soft, brown eyes.

"Look, is this really necessary?" she'd complain as I ran my hands over her back, along her arms then cupping her breasts, fondling her cute, apple-sized boobs until I coaxed a contented moan from her lips.

"Quiet! Legs apart!" I'd order, tapping her naked ankles with my shiny black shoes till she reluctantly complied. I'd crouch down, slowly running my hands up over her long legs. Sliding my fingertips over the backs of her knees, her smooth thighs, sliding beneath her dressing gown, between her wide-apart legs.

"Please, stop" she'd pant, the handcuffs jingling as I thoroughly searched her there, squeezing her soft buttocks, teasing the inside of her thighs, exploring the textured lace of her panties, smiling as I felt her body respond. I knew that having her hands 'cuffed in front of her, making her helpless was making her horny. I could feel how turned on she was, the warm stickiness seeping through as I gently stroked the thin material.

After a few minutes, I'd hear her soft groan of disappointment as I spun her around and grabbed her wrists, making her stagger on jelly legs over to the large queen-sized bed that dominated the room. Smiling cruelly as I removed my belt and threaded it through her handcuffs and the bed's headboard, so that her hands were trapped, her slender arms stretched above her head.

I'd pretend to search the room then, still playing the cop looking for the missing wallet.

"Well, well, well, what have we here? Planning a night in on your own?" I'd say, pretending to be surprised at the impressive collection of sex toys crammed into the little wooden bedside table.

What happened next depended on my mood. Sometimes I'd sense she wanted me to play 'good cop', tenderly kissing her neck, her shoulders, her earlobes, as I slowly pulled open her silky gown. Spending long minutes tasting her plump lips, enjoying the warm scent of her perfume. Easing her bra up over her cupcake boobs, softly kissing the pale flesh, carefully caressing each inch of newly exposed skin. She had small, dark red nipples as sweet and hard as strawberry jellybeans. They were very sensitive and I'd take my time licking and sucking them as she happily writhed and squirmed beneath me. Once, I made her come like this, her hot body undulating, her pussy grinding against the lean hardness of my thigh as I knelt over her, playing with her bullet-like nipples, licking and sucking and squeezing them until her body couldn't take any more.

Sometimes, I'd play 'bad cop', telling what a bad girl she was as I roughly pulled her panties off her slender legs, crumpling them into a tight pink ball and forcing them into her mouth, her eyes wide. Listening to her muffled groans as I kissed her neck, her stomach, her legs but avoiding the place her body ached to be kissed. I'd laugh cruelly as her large, brown eyes pleaded with me, her hands straining against her 'cuffs as I teased and tormented the taut contours of her helpless body. Running a vibrator up and down the inside of her widely-spread legs, lightly brushing it against her erect nipples until she panted with hot frustration, her hips lifting up of the bed, her pussy demanding my attention, until I finally relented drawing it back and forth along her throbbing pussy lips as she moaned gratefully, her hot breath whistling through her nostrils.

Either way, before too long she'd be coming, her body shaking, jerking wildly, the headboard bumping against the wall as she wailed happily.

"Phew!" I thought as I let the journal fall onto the bed. Outside the warm, sunny morning had turned into a hot, muggy afternoon. The sunlight spilled through our large bedroom window warming my bare legs. That wasn't the only thing making me hot though! Whilst I'd been reading the journal, I'd been gently caressing my mound through the worn, faded denim of my cut-offs, feeling the all-too-familiar warm, tingling sensation growing between my thighs as I read Abby's seductive words.

I lay back on the bed, my head against the cool pillow as I closed my eyes and saw myself as her victim, handcuffed and helpless, tormented by her devilish tongue till I couldn't take it anymore. Teasing me mercilessly, ravishing me as I protested (although not too loudly!) How would that feel? It had been so long since Jay had played those sorts of games with me that I simply couldn't remember.