KAREN
Have you ever met a man you instantly feared? Who made you quake deep down
inside?
I don't mean a physical fear. I mean a sexual fear.
A fear he would possess you as his own. A fear he would reach deep into your
woman's heart to seize your innermost feelings, making you eager to do what he
wished of you.
And a fear he might do nothing. A fear the deep gut longing for him would be
unfulfilled, leaving you aching and wanting.
I'd heard other women speak of such fears. They're referring to movie stars or
rock musicians they drool over in a fantasy. In my life, my real life, I'd
never met such a man.
I was almost forty. My husband, George Phillips, and I had been married
twenty-one years. We have two wonderful daughters, Polly, 20, and Patty, 18.
For the past twelve years, George and I worked hard to build our business. For
ten of those years, the business grew and prospered. But for the last two
years, the business suffered a steady and steep decline because George's overly
ambitious expansion plans exploded in our faces. We were threatened with
bankruptcy.
George started to drink heavily. Alcohol and stress turned his previously kind
disposition to a sour and depressed mania. Our children suffered with us.
Seeing their parents depressed was hard on them. We couldn't afford for either
of them to go to college.
George is fifteen years older than I. In a way, our relationship was father
and daughter. We began dating when I was seventeen. He took my virginity when I
was eighteen. When I became pregnant with Polly, we married. I'd never had
another man. Our major marital disagreement had been over the number of
children. I wanted four. George insisted we have only two. He had a vasectomy
to prevent additional children. I missed those days. I missed the feel of a
baby, of the life in me, of nursing my child. I missed the closeness with the
man who made that baby with me. George and I began to drift apart after those
early, baby days.
Sex with George was pleasant and sweet, but never exciting. When I married him,
I knew it would never be the bomb bursts my friends gossiped of. Our sex was
more passive than that. When the business began its downturn, he became
impotent. It'd been two years since we made love. For the last year, we slept in
separate beds, not even touching during the night.
I'm five five and in good physical condition. I'm told I'm pretty. My
daughters inherited my dark blonde hair and green eyes, my smile with the one
dimple. My breasts are still high and firm, but my bottom and legs are my most
attractive feature.
I never intended to attract men. I dressed demurely, preferring loose blouses
and long, full skirts to hide myself from prying male eyes. I lived a life
without carnal desires, keeping myself chaste except for my husband. I was a
modest and faithful wife.
During this siege of unhappiness, our bright spot was Polly. She'd fallen
desperately in love with a man. We hadn't met him yet, but she said he was
magnificent, very intelligent, well educated and successful in business. His
name was Eric Winston.
His only negative, from what she told me, was that he was thirty-two, twelve
years older than she was. As Polly pointed out, George was fifteen years my
senior so I couldn't complain about the age difference. Polly gushed about him,
revealing a depth of love and wanting beyond anything I'd experienced.
During the next month, the business continued its relentless slide toward
bankruptcy. George fought to survive, even if the hope of survival seemed dim.
I knew if he failed after redoubling his efforts, the loss would be much more
devastating. Too often it seems, a man's self worth is tied inexorably to his
company and his position. I worried constantly about his mental and physical
health.
George and I were home one Friday night about ten, getting ready to go to bed.
We were exhausted from the demands of the business. As usual, it had been a
long and difficult week. Patty was already asleep. The front door burst open.
Polly, giggling and wiggling with happiness, charged into the room with a man
right behind her.
"Mother! Dad! Eric asked me to marry him! I said yes."
I saw Eric Winston for the first time. Hot, prickly fingers walked down my
spine. I flushed. Lights dimmed except around him. I was giddy and nauseous.
Every sense was overloaded. I stared at him as he shook George's hand in
greeting. He turned to me and smiled. His eyes held me. Heat flashed through
me, like a heavy blush, leaving my nipples erect and a wetness seeping between
my legs.
I'd met him - the man who could possess me. The man who could take me and make
me his. Never before had I felt the intense, demanding, female need to throw
myself at a man.
"Mother, are you all right?" Polly asked, taking my hands. "Why are you
crying?"
"Your mother's just happy for you, dear," Eric said. "Let me help you, Karen."
My right hand in his, his left hand at my waist, he guided me to a chair. Was my
robe on fire from the heat of his hand on me? Could no one else smell the scent
I extruded? When I sat, I looked up at him. He could feel it. He could smell
it. He knew.
Polly and George solicitously murmured around me. Didn't they see the sexual
need in me? Didn't they feel my agony? Oh, god, what was I going to do? I wanted
him so much.
I must resist him! I must! He was my daughter's fianc‚, her man not mine. I
took a deep breath and prayed. Karen Phillips, wife and mother, pushed her
unbridled carnal desire to the background and smiled benignly. For the first
time since he arrived, I took a normal breath.
Physically, Eric was about six three. He was lean and raw boned, with big
wrists and hands. His chest looked powerful, his arms strong. His hair was black
and cut short. He was graying at the temples. His face was ruggedly masculine
and handsome.
His most dominant feature was his eyes. They were large and deep set in large
eyeholes, under thick, long black lashes and below heavy black eyebrows. Their
color was a startling, deep, blue. They were compelling eyes, demanding eyes,
eyes which might well be cruel. Those eyes could be soft and kind, too, as
they were now.
He sat on the couch with Polly next to him, both her hands hidden by one of his.
His voice was very pleasant, a well-modulated baritone. Its smoothness, the
easy rhythm of his words, the timbre, all were pleasing and reassuring. It was
hypnotic.
I was dressed in a long flannel nightgown which covered me head to toe and wore
over it a thick and fleecy terry cloth bathrobe. But when he looked at me, I
felt naked.
Polly was ecstatic, beaming brightly in her joy. She extended her hand to
flash a solitaire diamond engagement ring. Her wriggling fingers distorted our
view, but its size and quality were self-evident. I noticed a new necklace
around her lovely neck. It was a gold choker with a small ring in front. From
the ring dangled another diamond which matched the one on her finger.
We visited about wedding plans and their future. My eyes were constantly drawn
to his, requiring conscious effort on my part to look away. They were as
hypnotic as his voice. He enjoyed our eye game and my distress from it. Once a
special smile flickered across his face. It made me shiver. It was the smile a
man gives a woman when he intends to have intercourse with her.
I don't know why Polly and George were oblivious to his flirting with me.
Couldn't they see what I saw? Couldn't they see how he appealed to me, how I
wanted him? Couldn't they see this seduction in progress? Couldn't they see I
was helpless?
Polly's exuberance invigorated us, but it was the presence of Eric Winston which
energized me. We'd talked almost an hour when Eric changed the topic.
"Polly told me a few things about your business problems. That's my area of
expertise. I'll be happy to assist you anyway I can," he said.
We talked until two in the morning. George and I unburdened ourselves,
releasing our business worries like a dam burst releasing the water of a
thousand brutal rains. Eric acted truly interested. His knowledge, insight and
certainty impressed me. Every thing about him impressed me.
During those hours, our eye game continued. I saw that look again and again.
Its implications were constantly in my mind. As a mother, I was angered my
daughter's fianc‚ would look at me like that. As a wife, I resented his giving
me that look in my own living room with my husband present. As a woman, I was
terrified. He wanted me. He'd stop at nothing to have me. My anxiety bubbled
like a cauldron.
Karen, it's you that's flirting with him. Stop it, a voice in my head said.
It's not me, I thought in reply.
"I think I can help," Eric said. "When can I take a look at the books?"
"I've got a golf tournament with my biggest customer this weekend. How about
Monday?" George answered anxiously.
"I'd like to do it tomorrow," Eric replied. "Karen's the accountant, isn't she?"
"Of course! She can show you everything. You two won't need me," George said.
"No, I couldn't," escaped me.
"Sure you can, honey," George said emphatically.
George's tone of voice and expression were clear. He wanted me to meet Eric on
Saturday. Polly still hadn't noticed Eric's dance with me. And Eric smiled at
me in a way which drove me mad. I was horrified I would be spending the better
part of my Saturday alone with him, no matter the reason. I hid my
reservations, warmly saying I'd be glad to meet him. We set a time and ended
our evening. After he left with Polly, George and I went to bed.
"Karen, he's the answer to our prayers. Don't hold anything back. Give Eric
whatever he wants," George said intently.
I slipped out of my bed and walked to his. I knelt beside it and took his hands
in mine.
"I love you, George," I whispered.
"I love you, too," he replied. "Why are you crying? You've sure been teary this
evening."
"It's been an emotional evening, what with Polly getting married and help in the
business," I lied.
"Can you believe it, Karen? Eric may help us. He's the first person in two
years to give us hope. Real hope. We've got to make it work! There's something
about him that makes me trust him. I know this will work, unless we blow it.
We can't do that."
"What if he wants more than you're willing to give?"
"He can't," George said with a snicker. "I'd give anything. Damn it, Karen.
This may be our last chance." George patted my hand. "But I'm exhausted now.
I'll sleep the sleep of the dead tonight."
"I hope I do," I replied.
"Get some sleep. You need to be sharp for him tomorrow. He'll probably run you
through the wringer."
"I'm sure he will," I said and kissed him on the cheek.
Sleep was long in coming. I was dreading tomorrow. When sleep finally came, I
had an erotic dream, a dream stronger than I had in years. The dream was of
Eric Winston . . . and me. Agitated and fearful, I awoke in a sweat. George's
snoring and my labored breathing were the only sounds in the room. I prayed for
strength and fell asleep again.
I was tired and confused in the morning. I selected my least appealing outfit.
I wore no makeup and old, scuffed, flat-heeled boots.
George greeted me in the kitchen with a kiss. He was ready to walk out the door
to go to the golf course.
"Karen, you look frumpy. Put on something nicer. Something with some oomph. We
want Eric to think the best of us," he said.
I cried when I redressed. My husband had ordered me to make myself prettier for
a man who wanted me. My emotions were overloaded just thinking about Eric
Winston. As I looked at myself in my full length mirror, I felt like a lamb
being led to the slaughter. No, you don't, the voice in my head said. You're
looking forward to it. No, I wasn't. I wasn't.
As I drove to the plant to meet him, I reviewed my situation. It was surreal. I
was eight years older, his mother-in-law to be, and married to someone else. He
was considering assisting my husband and me in our business. For him to give me
such sexual signals didn't make sense, not in my experience, at least.
The drive to the office was slow. I talked to myself the whole way, telling me
this was wrong. The last block of the drive I saw Eric in a blue Mercedes in my
rear view mirror. He followed me into the driveway, parking beside me.
Apprehensively, I watched him walk toward me. He was dressed in a button down,
Oxford cloth, blue shirt, blue jeans, and white sneakers. He looked long and
lanky and strong, like a modern day westerner.
"Mr. Winston," I said coolly.
"Mrs. Phillips," he replied, a twinkle in his eye. "Shall we begin?"
Eric and I worked hard. Like a huge vacuum, he sucked up information I struggled
to feed him at the pace he demanded. His clarity and precision of thought, his
quick mind, had me in awe. However, I lived those six hours in fear of what
would happen later. I was constantly aware of his maleness and dominant air,
even as we discussed such mundane and non-sexual things as lease financing. I
felt the sexual tension the entire time.
It wasn't my imagination. He touched me every chance he got. First, it was
finger tips on my hand when I passed a file to him. I didn't respond, telling
myself I didn't want to offend him. The touches became bolder. When he looked
at me, he had a devilish twinkle in his eyes. I knew what he was thinking. He
was thinking about taking me. He wanted me to think about it, too. I could
think of nothing else.
His toying with me was discreet except for one overt comment made after we'd
been there about four hours. I'd finished telling him the relationship with our
largest customer.
"Do you have any questions?" I asked.
"Tell me, is your pussy wet from wanting to fuck me?"
The room reeled as I started to faint. He grabbed me, his strong arms around
me, his body hot against mine as he guided me to a chair and eased me into it.
His hands slipped down my body, leaving a trail of fire.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"What? What did you say?"
"I said, 'Tell me your percentage net on the Fulton contract'. What did you
think I said?"
Was I going crazy? He hadn't said that! Had he? Had he asked a question so
innocuous? No. No. He was playing with me. He must be. He must. I couldn't
read his expression. Had he said it?
"Oh. I thought you said something else."
His hands were on my knees. The pressure was gentle but increasing. He was
trying to pull my knees apart! No. Was he trying to hold them together? Oh,
god, what was happening? I started to cry again, burying my head in my hands as
I sobbed. He disappeared and returned with a Coke. He took my hand and wrapped
it around the cold can. I shivered from the coldness. Or was it from his
touch?
"It's going to be all right, Karen," he said softly. His hand stroked my hair.
Stop! Stop! Don't touch me! I wanted to scream. I'm a wife, not a slut. I'm a
mother. My daughter is your fiancee. This is wrong. It's wrong for me to want
you so much.
I fought for composure. Eric waited patiently. When I was ready, we started
the business review again. He continued his game of cat and mouse, leaving the
mouse exhausted and her feelings raw and exposed.
After six hours, he said we were through with the business review and excused
himself. I collapsed in the chair at my desk as I tried to sort through my
confused mind the reason behind Eric's treatment of me and my acceptance of it.
Acceptance? No. Desire. Why was I silent when he touched me? That's the reason
his touches became bolder. The last time his hand slid down my back to stroke
my bottom before pulling away.
When I looked up, he was sitting in the straight chair across from me. One leg
was bent, his foot on the edge of my desk; the other was splayed straight, foot
on the desk. He was displaying his crotch to me.
The bastard was teasing me! I felt the blush rise. My face was beet red. My
hands trembled. I took several deep breaths, trying to control myself. I could
feel his eyes burning into me, see him rocking gently back and forth as he
leaned back in the chair. Finally, I looked him in the eye.
"What do you want?" I asked. My voice was tense, forced.
"I know what I want," he replied quietly. "I know what you want. We both want
the same thing. The question is how do we start."
No. Not now. I'm not ready to resist. I'm too weak right now. Please god, give
me strength.
"What do you think of the business?" I asked.
"Don't change the subject," he said. There was a twinkle in his eyes.
Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he means something else.
"What do you think I want?"
Why did I say that? Why?
"You want to be hot and sweaty and naked, writhing in desire on my bed, begging
me to fuck you."
"You disgust me, you perverted bastard!" I spit out at him without thinking.
I was in a rage! Every muscle and sinew tightened. I shook in anger at this
overbearing male. My fists were clenched, my jaw set. In my mind, my own
mother stood over me. Was that what my resistance was about? My mother's
mores? My mother's prejudices?
"I'll tell my daughter! And my husband! How dare you treat me like this!"
He laughed. The sonofabitch laughed at me.
"I'm glad you're resisting, Karen. I love playing the taking game with a woman,
particularly a woman who desperately wants to be taken."
"Touch me and I'll charge you with rape!"
He didn't respond as I glared at him. His expression was inscrutable. His eyes
held mine. The emotion drained from me. Anger ebbed; frustration and
helplessness flowed. I looked away as I started crying again. I couldn't
stifle my sobs. He waited, letting me stew in my own juices. I was unable to
get away. A prisoner in my own office, I sat awaiting his next comment. It
seemed hours before he spoke.
"Karen, look at me."
He spoke so quietly I had to struggle to hear, but there was no doubt it was a
command. Once again, I looked at him. Those eyes. They held me as if he held
me in his arms.
"Karen, if I'm wrong, get up and walk out. Walk out the door and leave. I won't
stop you."
Stand up, my mind screamed. Stand up and run from him. Run. Get away. Hide.
Don't look in his eyes. Fight for control of your emotions, Karen, Polly's
mother in me said. Oh, please god, help me. The tension's killing me.
"Eric, I can't leave."
"Yes, you can. Go ahead."
"I can't. Our company needs you."
"I'll assist the company no matter what happens between us. This is between us,
you know. I want you and you want me. You're afraid to admit it, that's all."
"I can't trust you to help us if I don't give myself to you," I gasped out. Of
course you can trust him, you stupid woman, the voice said. You've told him how
to take you. Isn't that what you want? Eric Winston to take you? Yes! No, no!
I don't know.
He looked puzzled. Then a big grin crossed his face and a devilish gleam
appeared in his eyes.
"Ah. I understand. I'll build a box around you so you'll have no choice."
No choice? I already had no choice. I wanted him so much I was dying inside.
Couldn't he see that? A storm rose on his face, but the sunlight glimmered
through the clouds in his eyes.
"Don't fight me. I'll leave you and George homeless and penniless unless you do
exactly as I want. Karen, I want you on your knees. I want your obedience. I
want your surrender."
"George would rather lose everything then have me give myself to you," I said
weakly. George's words rang in my ears. 'Give Eric whatever he wants,' he'd
said. Did George know that meant me? Was he trading me for his financial
future? No. He couldn't mean that. Could he see I wanted Eric? Was he giving me
permission to have an affair? Why had he told me to dress in something nicer?
Did he know?
I wanted five minutes. That's all. Just five minutes alone someplace quiet
where I could think. I couldn't think. The world was spinning in wild, erotic
gyrations. I wanted it to stop so I could think.
"Undress, Karen. Let me see your body."
I shook my head no. Quickly he stood, towering over me like an implacable giant.
My tears started anew. I staggered to my feet and stumbled to the plate glass
window overlooking the plant floor. It was a magnificent overview, letting me
see the product of so many years of hard work. George and I would have nothing
to show for those years if we lost it.
I sagged against the air-conditioning unit that extended from the wall at desk
height. I sensed him behind me. I started to turn. He drove his body against
mine. The timing and force of his assault drove my legs apart, his knees inside
my thighs. His height and strength trapped me with only my toes touching the
floor. He crossed my wrists in front of me. The long, powerful fingers of his
left hand wrapped around my wrists and forced them downward.
"No! Goddamn you! No!" I screamed.
"Sshh. It's okay, Karen. It's all right for you to surrender to me," he
whispered soothingly.
I slammed my head back, hoping to hit him in the face. He trapped my head with
his right hand and held it there. Trapped, unable to get leverage with my legs,
his strong arms wrapped around me, I screamed and cursed, fought and struggled,
using every ounce of energy and power in me. When my struggles slowed, he
relaxed his grip, giving me false hope of escape. I struggled harder which
exhausted me more quickly.
Like an insect in a spider web, I futilely struggled against an unavoidable
fate. Like the insect, I was ultimately exhausted. I collapsed against him,
lying still and helpless in his arms.
Somewhere in my bifurcated mind, the woman who was me watched us from above. She
saw me in his arms. She felt his strength and my struggles and futility. She
felt his cock hardening against my bottom as I rubbed against him. She felt our
muscles war. She smelled our sweat, mine made pungent by my fear. She heard
our sounds, the gasps and grunting, the words spewed mindlessly by me. She felt
the heat.
The woman knew the outcome before it occurred. She relished the delicious
male/female battle she observed. She tingled in anticipation of the female's
surrender to the male who entrapped her.
His erection laying against the crack of my bottom and his arms around me
dominated my thoughts. My bottom moved against the bulge in his trousers. Stop
rubbing against him like some wanton hussy, the voice said. I can't, I cried.
I didn't feel him unbutton the two lower buttons of my blouse. I first felt his
fingers on the wet, hot skin of my belly. His fingers moved over my rib cage.
I groaned as they unsnapped my front attaching bra. Gently, those fingers
wrapped around my breast, squeezing, testing, evaluating, and, yes, tantalizing.
Thumb and forefinger closed on my nipple and rolled it back and forth. Desire
raced through me.
"Please. For God's sake," I whimpered.
"You've lovely breasts, Karen. I'm going to enjoy them," he whispered in my
ear. "I'm going to enjoy all of you. You're a very sexual woman. Why you've
repressed it, I'll never know. But you'll repress it no more. You're my woman
now and I expect unbridled sexuality from my women."
His woman? How could that be?
His voice was soothing and reassuring. It was warm, the kind of warmth a man's
voice has when he has bedded a woman who has pleased him, or when he is pleased
with the woman he'll soon bed. I didn't misconstrue warmth as weakness. He
intended for me to fully comply with his demands.
"You have a lovely neck, too," he murmured as he nuzzled the side of my neck
under my hair.
His lips, his tongue nibbled and caressed my neck. Electricity flickered through
me. Chills went down my spine. He pulled my head back and kissed me, nibbling
at my lips, tongue caressing mine, his breath hot and sweet in my nose. He
kissed me again.
Strange, isn't it? Cursing and weeping, I'd struggled until exhaustion. Now I
lay passively in his arms as he kissed me and fondled my breasts. I felt secure
and warm. I was weightless, his body still supporting mine as my toes brushed
the ground. His hardness throbbed against me. Heat was rising again and sweat
oozed from me. Heat from a different source; heat of a different kind.
My resistance ceased. Limply my hands lay before me. Eagerly his hands sought
the button and zipper at my waist. Resistance flared. I grunted and pushed
against him. He jerked me hard against him, knocking the wind from me. His teeth
dug into the muscles of my neck, like a stallion holding a mare in place as he
mounts her. Something happened: maybe release of hormones from primordial urges.
A warm tingling sensation overcame me. I resisted no more.
He slipped my blouse and bra off, lay me back on the soft carpet and finished
removing my clothes. I watched as he dropped his trousers and boxers. When I saw
his cock, I gasped. It was so red and hard. I wanted it so much. He knelt
between my legs. My wrists were crossed and pinned over my head. My legs were
doubled and trapped under his arms. His cock nestled between my lower lips. Our
eyes were open. His face was a picture of male pride and conquest. I felt every
millimeter of his skin as he slowly entered me. I juiced to ease his way. I
spasmed around him, expanding for him. He stopped, only partially in me.
I lifted my hips to hurry him. "Please don't stop." I whimpered.
A victor's smile on his face, he slammed against me, driving me into the floor.
His cockhead hit my cervix.
"Oh, God. I'm cumming," I murmured.
Large, hard, demanding, his cock plundered me again and again, drawing from me
orgasms I didn't believe possible. I, who'd never experienced more than one
orgasm, felt the power of multiple ones crashing over me. Sweat covered us. Heat
radiated. I whimpered and mewed under him, rewarding his taking of me with my
pleasure at having been taken.
"Look at me!" he demanded. Buried in me to the hilt, he stopped. His face
contorted. He began to shake as he pumped his seed into me. Ecstacy covered
his face as he emptied himself. He released his hold on my legs and slumped on
me.
I should've pushed him away. Instead, I put my arms around him and held his
hard body tightly against mine. His cock softened in me as our bodies cooled. My
hands stroked his back. My lips nuzzled his neck. He raised up to look in my
eyes. I saw a gentleness in him. I saw pride: pride of bringing a woman to
sexual nirvana; pride of ownership. What did he see in me? Happiness?
Satisfaction? Joy? They were there.
"Now Karen, we'll always end the same way. Use your mouth to clean me," he said
after he rolled to lay beside me.
I had no urge to resist or disobey. I took him in my mouth, tasting our juices
coating him. He stroked my sweat soaked hair as I eagerly complied. His hand
was gentle, his touch reassuring.
"Well done," he said softly.
I stopped to gaze into his eyes.
"Take your hand and gather my cum from your pussy. Lick your fingers clean.
No, Karen. Always look at me when you do it so I can share your joy at tasting
me."
My eyes were locked to his as my fingers sought the nectar he left. The
tingling urge to again open myself for him crept over me. As I licked my
fingers, I saw his cock jump and swell. He wanted me again. Me! I was thrilled
and eager for him. "I'm sorry to end this," he whispered in my ear, "but we
need to go to dinner. Polly's cooking. We're all eating together."
I cringed at the mention of my daughters and husband. Shame filled me. A cold,
sick dampness crept across my skin. Even my tears seemed cold on my face. With
my back to him, I sought my clothes and quickly redressed. When I turned to face
him, he had a soft smile.
"Why are you doing this to me, Eric?" I asked timidly.
"Does it matter? It's happening."
"Please tell me. I need to know."
"You shouldn't feel guilty about this, Karen. You resisted, but I was too
strong. I took you. All you need to know is that you're mine now. Mine. And
I'll do with you as I wish."
Guilty? My guilt was an albatross around my neck. It devastated me. I was
crushed by the weight of it . . . but, oh god, why did I feel this way? Why did
I feel warm and happy? Why did I enjoy him so much? He extended his hand to
me. He helped me to my feet and pulled me against him.
"You're a good lover, Karen," he said softly. "You'll be better when you
surrender. You'll be a sexual animal. My animal." He kissed me. "I'll see you
at my house."
He kissed me again and left me in the quiet of my own office.
I thought of nothing else but his taking of me as I drove home to bathe and
change. As I drove to his home, I lectured myself. You need to end this affair,
I said. You must stop it for Polly's sake, and for George's. I was George's
wife. I was Polly's mother. I couldn't be Eric's woman, too. Could I? Could I
answer the sexual call my body gave me each moment I was with him?
By the time I parked my car in front of his house, I was eaten by turmoil and
indecision.
I fought back tears as I rang the bell. Polly answered and greeted me warmly.
Dinner was delicious. My daughters were scintillating. My husband was buoyant
from a day's victory at the golf course and the promise of relief in the
business. Eric was the perfect host and son-in-law to be.
No one noticed the change in me. What did you expect? the voice said. You're
not wearing a scarlet letter. But do they know?
At first, I was very self-conscious. Numbness infused me. With great effort, I
successfully compartmentalized the day, letting me enjoy part of the evening
with my family.
George's golf tournament continued through Sunday. Eric and I agreed to meet at
the plant in the morning to "continue what we started." The others believed
what we'd started was his review of our company. Only he and I knew what those
words really meant.
He spoke but once of the relationship he insisted we have. We were alone in the
kitchen. He cupped my mound through my dress. He squeezed, his finger finding my
opening. "Mine," he whispered in my ear. Chills went through me.
Standing there in his kitchen, I bolstered my resolve to fight him. I decided
to tell my family his plans, to tell them right now. I couldn't allow further
assignations with him. But when I reentered the living room, they were on the
floor in an intimate and animated discussion.
"Oh, Eric, will you really pay for my college?" Patty was saying.
"Of course, until your dad gets back on his feet again," Eric replied
positively. Patty threw her arms around him and hugged him warmly, her
happiness radiating from her face.
"And that'll be real soon, honey," George responded, getting his warm hug from
Patty as he did.
I couldn't confront him in front of them. I couldn't crush their hopes and joys
even for my own protection. As I looked at Eric with them, he appeared to be
happy and a part of the group.
I wondered what in him was driving him to do what he was doing to me. How could
he be so sexually tyrannical with me and pleasant with them? Whatever it was, I
must deal with it by myself. Deal with it? Relish it. Be honest with yourself,
Karen.
That night at home, George quickly succumbed to sleep. My sleep was
intermittent. Wild sexual dreams repeatedly awakened me in a hot sweat and with
a pounding heart. Once my hand was between my legs when I awakened. I cried
myself back to sleep. Each time, a troubled sleep brought dreams again.
When the alarm aroused me, I stumbled into the bathroom dazed from lack of sleep
and hurrying not to be late. I don't remember dressing. I was half way to the
office before I realized what I wore. Once again, I'd selected one of my all
encompassing blouse and skirt combinations. This one was the most revealing I
owned. Its materials were silky and clingy and tight around me. And I was
braless. I'd never gone braless in my life. The weight and movement of my
freed breasts was a constant reminder of the conflict in me.
Twice I pulled off the street to cry. I told myself it's only a lack of sleep.
It's guilt. Yesterday won't happen again I said. But I knew it would. He would
have me again. Only this time, there'd be no going back. This time I'd belong
to Eric Winston.
I called George from my car phone. He was pulling into the parking lot at the
golf club. He didn't even notice I was crying as he told me to make sure Eric
was impressed. Impressed? Yes, Eric was impressed. By me. By my wanton
surrender. By my whimpering as he fucked me. I cried I could cry no more.
I resolved to resist Eric. Why? Who knows? The war in me was titanic. I
wouldn't let him take me as he had only yesterday. I must end what he had
begun.
When I arrived at the office, Eric was sitting in his car reading the Sunday
newspaper. He hopped out and gave me a big smile. When he leaned over to kiss
me, I turned away. Both his arms were full so he couldn't grab me and make me
kiss him. He lugged a suitcase and a sack of food as he followed me to my
office. As I was making coffee for us, I heard the furnace roar to life. Soon,
hot air was blowing into the room. I wondered why he'd turned up the heat.
In my office, he'd moved a straight chair to the center of the floor. In front
of it was a blue exercise mat big enough to lie down on. The mat extended to the
edge of my desk. He was sitting in my chair. His blue eyes locked onto me.
"Coffee's ready," I said, trying to make my voice light and happy. I placed his
coffee on the desk in front of him and started to sit down.
"Don't sit, Karen," he said. "Today's devoted to our pleasure. I expect total
obedience from you."
"No, Eric. I'm ending it," I said as I sat in the chair in flagrant
disobedience to his order.
Don't listen to my words, Eric. Please. Listen to my body language. Take me.
How could I think that? How could I not think it? End my turmoil, Eric. End
it!
"Don't try to resist, Karen. I took you yesterday. I'll take you again today
and every day I desire."
"Eric, I'm to be your mother-in-law. I'm married to another man. This is wrong."
"No. It's right. I won't allow you a way out. If you disobey me, you'll be
punished."
He opened the suitcase and removed a flexible leather shaft about three feet
long. Blood crashed through my veins. I feared his answer, but I asked.
"What is that?"
"A whip. I'll whip you for your disobedience."
"You wouldn't?" I gasped.
"Yes, I would. I'd do it without hesitation. Would you like a demonstration?"
My head shook "no."
Gracefully and quickly, he moved beside me, taking my hand. He guided me to the
mat and instructed me to kneel on it facing the chair. The sweat broke out
between my breasts, a droplet running down my belly. For a moment, I considered
resisting. His grip tightened on my arm. Trembling and red faced, I knelt on the
mat. My eyes teared and overflowed, silent wetness running down my cheek.
"Spread your knees shoulder width," he ordered.
What was I to do? He'd left me no choice. I couldn't risk the loss of everything
for an act of disobedience. Now he had added the fear of swift and painful
punishment if I resisted but a moment. Slowly, I opened my knees, making me
acutely aware of my femaleness. He's making me ready for him, I thought.
Eric handed my coffee to me and sat in the chair I faced. He moved it forward
until his knees, which were spread wide, were on either side of my head.
Suddenly, my world was the small v-shaped area bound by his legs. Acutely aware
his cock at the tip of the V would soon be in me again, I unsuccessfully
struggled to look away. I sipped my coffee and waited. Waited for him to take
me again.
The office and the coffee were hot. My blood was churning. Perspiration rolled
down me in torrents. My blouse was soaked. It was plastered to my over hot and
wet skin, making me more visually tantalizing than if I wore nothing. My nipples
were erect and easily seen. I didn't pull the blouse from my skin to hide myself
from him. My skirt stuck to my legs. I adjusted it, smoothing it over my
thighs. After I did, I realized my legs were more visible that way. Why hadn't
I thought of that before?
I waited, the minutes numbing my senses, the tension playing with my mind.
Finally, he lifted my chin to look in his face. His countenance was hard, his
sexual need open and obvious. He sat back. When I looked away, the stiff tip of
his whip under my chin brought my eyes to him again.
"We both know you wouldn't hurt your family. I saw that in your face when you
left the kitchen last night. Is that correct, Karen?"
"Yes."
"My taking of you is between us. You and me. We both know I'll win. We both
know I'll have you as mine."
"You can take me. You can rape me and I won't report it. But I'll never be
yours."
I said it with all the strength in me. Was I convincing? Was I believable as I
knelt obediently between his legs, my own legs spread in inviting supplication,
my body hot with wanting?
"You've already mine, Karen."
Was he right? I thought as he sipped coffee and stared at me with those
hypnotic blue eyes. I was on the edge. - the very edge - of that great canyon
called surrender. I was at the precipice: herded there as a sheep herded by a
sheep dog; trapped there by the box he built around me. The unwalled side was
the precipice.
I'd go off the edge. I had no doubt about that. He would accept nothing less.
Would I make him push me off that edge? Or would I jump?
All my senses were on full alert. The color of his jeans was vivid and bright.
Their tightness around his muscular legs enthralled me. The bulge at the V of
his legs was never out of sight or mind. The weight of my breasts was full and
heavy. I felt them move enticingly with each breath I took. My spread legs
created an emptiness needing to be filled. My cheeks were wet with my tears. I
could feel each drop of the sweat slipping down my body. I could smell us, both
of us. I could smell my moisture excreted between my legs. When,
absentmindedly, I stroked my skirt taut over my thighs, it seemed I could feel
the pattern of the cloth.
I waited. The tension increased.
"I'm going to give you a mantra, Karen. When I say 'mantra', you'll repeat it
continuously until I say 'stop'. You'll live by this mantra. It'll be the
thought which governs you. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"Yes, sir, is your proper response," he said.
"Yes, sir," I repeated. If I had any will to resist, my voice didn't reveal it.
"Good. This is your mantra. 'I'm Eric's hot, willing woman."
"I'm not yours. I'm not," I whimpered.
The whip hissed through the air, slamming into the blue mat beside my leg. It
sounded like a rifle shot. I screamed in panic, doubling over, holding myself
in fear. Eric was a patient man, a patient man with laughter in his eyes he
struggled to hide. He'll never use that whip on you, the voice in my head said.
I know, I answered, but isn't it erotic to think he might? Eric waited until I
composed myself. When I looked up at him, I saw the message in his expression:
Surrender. You have no choice.
"Shall we try again? Say your mantra, Karen."
You know he'll win, why are you fighting? The voice inside my head said. Yes, I
know it. I want him to take me. I want to surrender. Why am I resisting?
"Eric, please," I begged, my tear filled eyes on him.
"Say it!" he demanded.
"I'm Eric's hot, willing woman," I said. Each syllable caught in my throat like
gravel. I forced myself to form the words and utter them, my voice constricted
as if bound in steel. I wanted to scream this is wrong. Instead, I repeated my
mantra. I knew I would live by it. That thought terrified and excited me.
The tip of the whip moved into my sight. I froze, not breathing, as it traced
the outline of my nipple plainly visible through my blouse. I jerked in reflex
at the thought of that rod striking me on such a tender spot. "Keep saying
it."
"I'm Eric's hot, willing woman."
I repeated my mantra again and again, but my eyes never left the whip resting
against my nipple. I'd said my mantra maybe twenty times, when the tip of the
whip slowly pulled back a few inches from my nipple. It flicked against me.
The flick of the whip on my erect and tender nipple was a match, creating a
bright and white but short flame. It lit a fuse which sizzled down my body to
ignite the firecracker nestled between my legs. My thighs and back tightened. My
breasts were pushed toward him as my back arched. I shuddered. A groan escaped
me. Through my unfocused eyes, I could see his knowing smile.
"Say it," he whispered gently as his eyes shone at me.
I said it, the words coming easier this time. Again I said it, and again. I
repeated it until it was a natural to say those words as calling my children's
names.
Eric took my head in his two giant hands. His thumbs wiped the sweat from my
forehead. The rhythm of my voice, my hypnotic chanting, never wavered as I said
my mantra over and over. With his thumbs, he closed my eyes. All was dark as I
continued chanting. I felt him stand, heard the rustle of his undressing, felt
his movement to kneel behind me.
Slowly. He did everything so excruciatingly slowly. He moved my hair from my
neck. I felt his lips at my nape. Tingles shot through me. The top button of
my blouse moved. The air, warmed by the heater but so much cooler than my skin,
chilled me where my blouse was opened. Again, his lips on my spine. Again,
tingles.
Coolness of the air. The heat of his lips, of his hands, as they released
another button. The greatest heat was between my legs. It was a swamp of
wetness and heat. I felt that moisture on my thighs.
Slowly. Another button. Another tantalizing touch of his hands, his lips.
I don't remember leaping off the precipice, but I knew I was in the air falling
toward him. I'd surrendered.
He made me wait, torturing me by the slow removal of my blouse as his lips and
hands and the very air itself teased and caressed my naked back. When he pushed
the blouse over my shoulder and it floated toward the floor, I ached for relief,
ached to have his hands on my breasts, ached to have him in me. I felt each
finger tip slide from back to front across my rib cage to close firmly on my
breasts, to feel their softness and tweak my diamond hard nipples. I moaned.
He whispered in my ear, "Stop and keep your eyes closed."
My heart pounded in my throat as he gently lifted me into the air. I extended
my legs and stood. His hands were on my skirt. The cool air rushed over me when
the skirt fell away. He slipped my panties down and pulled them off my feet. I
was naked before him.
"Mantra," he whispered.
Smoothly, easily, without effort and with desire, I said, "I'm Eric's hot,
willing woman."
The words flowed from me. They were true. I was his. I was burning with heat.
I desperately wanted him to take me.
How I longed to see his face, see his reaction to my nakedness, to the hot and
willing body which belonged to him. But, obediently, my eyes were closed. He
knelt behind me as I remained standing. His touch, his lips were hot on my
skin, his hands insistent as they traversed the plains between my legs, sliding
on the lubricant my desire had excreted. I was ready, so very ready, yet he
caressed me further. A groan escaped my lips as his lips traced the tendon down
the back of my leg.
"Oh, God, yes!" I moaned as his two long, strong fingers plumed my depths and a
thumb found my clitoris. The strongest orgasm I could remember exploded in me.
I collapsed on him, softly landing in his arms. He rolled me on my back.
He took me quickly, my legs bent and pushed against my breasts, pounding into me
in a carnal rhythm. The power of my explosions was beyond my experience, even
beyond my fantasies, as he brought me pleasures undreamed of. There on a Sunday
in my office, on a blue mat slickened by our sweat, he introduced me to the
power of our sexuality. I orgasmed until I was too weak to raise my head.
He hadn't cum when he pulled out of me. His strong hands moved me as he wished.
His cock touched my lips. Without thinking, I took him there, tasting my own
sweet juices on him. Like a child on its mother's breast, I sucked him as I
drifted in and out of consciousness.
Something very cold fell on my cooling, but still hot, body. Startled, I
squirmed to get away. His hand was tangled in my hair. His cock was in my
mouth. My head was anchored against him. I squealed against his cock as he ran
an ice cube down my spine. He laughed when he released me. I twisted away to
look at him. His eyes were tender, twinkling. A broad smile covered his face.
"Back to the land of the living?" he asked with a sweet softness in his voice. I
blushed and smiled back at him.
"Refreshments?"
He offered me a glass of juice and a donut. I ate and drank as I knelt as his
feet with my legs spread. Deliberately, his eyes moved from mine to traverse
down my body. His eyes were like fingers. I could feel their touch on me, feel
their caress. My breasts tingled when they lingered there. I felt them tracing
down my stomach. I twitched between my legs from the heat they created.
Refreshments finished, the guided me to the position he wanted. I knelt on all
fours. My legs were spread wantonly, but not to his satisfaction. He spread me
wider. My breasts swung freely under me.
"Mantra," he said softly.
"I'm Eric's hot, willing woman," I answered.
His hand touched my leg. I groaned. After a lifetime of small, infrequent
orgasms, I'd experienced the greatest ones ever only minutes ago. How could it
be?
I wanted more. I wanted him to fuck me until our fucking comprised my entire
reality. This is wrong, the voice inside my head said. Be quiet, I told it.
His hands traced my tendons. They slipped over my skin which was again slick
with sweat. I felt his fingers at the back of my left knee as he gently stroked
there.
"Eric, please." My voice caught.
"Mantra," he replied.
"I'm Eric's hot, willing woman."
His fingers leisurely caressed my leg and slipped over my ass. One finger traced
down the crack until it rested on the opening. I felt it quiver as he tested it
and withdrew. My voice continued as his hands kneaded my ass cheeks and
tantalized my stomach and legs.
"Stop," he said as his hands left my body.
"Karen, I want you to be more vocal. When we make love, you're a quiet as a
little mouse. I want to hear from you. Share your joy, your passion. Talk.
Talk when I touch you, when I fuck you."
"Yes, Eric," I replied.
"Not only do I want to hear screams of passion from you, I want you to talk
freely about your feelings."
"Yes, Eric."
My voice was soft and sexy, making the saying of his name a caress of us both.
He heard it as I did. He gently stroked my face. Like a kitten, I pushed my
head against his hand.
"Where do you want me to touch you?" he asked.
"Between my legs."
"That's your pussy. Say it. Say 'pussy'."
"Pussy."
"What do you want?"
"Stroke my pussy, Eric. Oh. Oh. Yes. Like that. No. Don't stop. Please."
"What are you?"
"I'm your hot, willing woman. Please take me again."
My words reverberated in my head. I'd said it voluntarily. I said what I'd
been denying. Tears moistened my cheeks. The admission was a weight lifted from
me. A weight of sexual denial. I sobbed tears of joy. Oh, god, it felt so
good! Free of the weight of denial. Free from self- imposed restraints on my
sexuality. Free to be his. But you're not free. You're George's wife, the
voice said. No, I'm Eric's hot, willing woman. I'm his, I told the voice.
Eric pulled me into his arms. Crying, I curled up in his lap as he whispered
sweet nothings in my ear and comforted me. He was tender and loving. It felt
good to be there, surrounded by him, held against the strength of his body. He
kissed me. Not a controlling, demanding kiss, it was soft and gentle. His hands
caressed me.
I looked up into his eyes.
"What are you? Tell me again."
"I'm yours, Eric. I'm your hot, willing woman. Please make love to me."
"Make love?"
He was teasing me. Yes, I wanted him to make love to me, to possess me sweetly
and tenderly. Later. Now I wanted him to fuck me, to overpower me, to pin me
against the floor with his cock.
"Fuck me," I whispered. "Fuck me long and hard. Fuck your woman until she
passes out."
I turned beet red and goose bumps popped out all over me. My own shyness and
modesty had always prevented me from using dirty words like fuck. Those words
weren't dirty now. They were good words, words which expressed how I felt about
a man.
Eric smiled as he said, "Get on all fours again, Karen."
As I took the position he wanted, I began to shake in eager anticipation of what
we were doing, of his commanding me, of my own willing surrender. Wetness again
oozed from between my legs. Sweat formed on my skin.
"Talk to me," he said. His voice was soft but firm. Very firm. "Tell me where
my hands are, what they're doing to you, how you feel."
"Yes, Eric. No. Don't stop."
"Stop what?"
"Eric, please."
"Talk to me."
"Stroke my breasts again."
"How?"
"Oh. Like that. Your fingers sliding down. Pulling my nipples. Squeezing
them."
"You like that?"
"Yes. Please."
"And this?"
"Yes."
"Be still."
"I can't be still. Your hand. On my leg."
"What do you want?"
"Move it. No. Not like that. Higher. More. Eric, why are you torturing me?"
"Is this torture?"
"Yes. Oh god. Don't stop!"
"Stop what? Tell me."
"My . . . my pussy. Stroke my pussy. And my breasts. Pull my nipples. Oh,
yes."
"You like that?"
"Yes. Oh, yes."
"And this? Do you want me there?"
"Yes. There too. I want you everywhere."
"Do you like this, Karen?"
"Yes."
"Talk. Tell me what you like."
"I like you touching me, your hands caressing my body. All of my body. I like
you commanding me, taking me, owning me. Please, Eric, don't ever stop."
"Stop what?"
"Pull them. Pull my pussy hairs. It sends shocks through me. Oh, god, Eric.
Fuck me! Eric, enough foreplay! I need to be fucked!"
"When I'm ready," he said.
In a flash, I spun. Like a tigress, I sprang, knocking him on his back. He
looked startled as I straddled him. I grabbed his cock and held it where I
wanted it.
"Now! Like this!" I snapped as I slammed my hips downward, burying him in me.
An orgasm started in my curling toes. I threw back my head and laughed. I heard
him grunt as I was lifted up. His cock came out of me, leaving my orgasm
unfulfilled.
"No!" I screamed as he slammed me on my back. His strong hands held my crossed
wrists over my head, pinning me. I squirmed trying to find his cock with my
pussy. I struggled to breathe, gasping loudly. My skin was on fire. I was
crying again.
"Goddamn you, Eric," I yelled in his face which was over me like an animal over
its prey. "Fuck me, you sonofabitch! Fuck me hard! Fill me with your cum! Make
me preg . . . "
The word caught. Pregnant.
We were frozen in time: he over me; I pinned under him. He looked shocked.
It'd never occurred to him I wasn't using birth control.
Why was I unprotected? Why had she tricked me? She - the woman who wanted to be
possessed by him. Why didn't I realize it? I hadn't thought of it before that
instant. It dawned on me like a light clicking on. She wanted it. She wanted
this powerful, masculine creature to give her his child. She wanted her belly
bloated from him. Hers? My belly. Me. Not she. Me.
Stop! You can't have another man's child! the voice is my head screamed. The
humiliation, the shame. Stop! Do it! You want another child. You want Eric's
child. What am I doing? What?
I screamed "no, stop" and pushed with all my might to free myself. I didn't
break his hold on me as he pinned me to the floor. I didn't budge him. It
wasn't my decision. Not now. It was his. One word. One thought. Such power
in one little thought.
Eric's intensity exploded. His face was red and wild. His were animal's eyes,
like a lion on the scent. Roughly his hand spread the lips of my pussy. His
cock slammed into me. He rutted like a wild beast, with small grunts - uh, uh,
uh - each time his pubis hit mine.
He wants you to have his baby, the voice said. Yes, I replied.
I felt the warmness again, the same warmness I felt when he bit my neck. My
body opened to him, my legs wide and relaxed, my arms flaccid above my head.
Externally I felt a numbness. Internally, I felt my pussy relax on each
powerful thrust to give him the deepest access to me, and tighten on each
withdrawal to keep him from leaving.
I felt like my womb was opening, like a flower in the sun - a flower who wanted
to be pollinated.
"Fuck. Me. Fuck. Me. Fuck. Me," I chanted.
Eric growled as his face contorted. His frantic pounding intensified.
"Hard. er. Hard. er. Put. your. seed. in. me."
Incoherent words spewed from me as his fingers dug into my shoulders. He gasped
and thrust with a last mighty lunge, holding himself deep in me. I felt his
explosion. I heard his laugh.
The muscles of my pussy spasmed in a rolling, pulling motion. My pussy held him
in her and milked his seed from him. She pulled his seed toward the opening of
her womb - toward her egg. There was no blinding orgasm, only a series of small
ones: an orgasm each time my pussy milked his cock.
"So good. So good," I mewed.
He collapsed on me. Neither of us moved except the twitching of relaxing
muscles. He softened there, his cock plugging me to prevent the escape of his
precious liquid. When he slipped from me, I cleaned him as I'd been taught. I
took from me what he had left, tasting his nectar and licking my fingers clean.
We dressed in silence. He had not spoken since he pulled out of me that last
time. He was lost in thoughts he didn't share. He locked the office door and
helped me to my car.
"Eric?"
He looked at me for the first time since he was in me.
"All you all right?"
"Yes. Are you?"
"Yes. I'm very much all right."
"Are you fertile?" he asked.
"I'm ovulating now," I answered.
I said it proudly. I stood erect with my shoulders back and breasts thrust
forward. My head was held high. Unabashedly, I looked him in the eyes. I was a
female animal, confident of my sexuality. I relished myself, my gender. I was
woman. I was the woman this powerful, virile man wanted, took and made his.
His eyes were questioning, probing. Then, his expression changed. He smiled
and exuded masculine power and confidence. It was not evil or cruel. It was
loving, showing the pride of a man with his woman.
"You're my woman now, Karen. You belong to me."
How can that be? the voice said. He's engaged to Polly. You're married to
George.
"Yes, Eric. I do."
"We're just beginning. I'll expect much from you."
I moved against him, pressing my breasts into his chest, my arms around his
waist, my face raised toward his. His leg was between mine. I rubbed my pussy
against his thigh.
"I'll take whatever you give. I'll do whatever you ask," I said before I kissed
him.
No one was home when I arrived. I took a long, hot bath. My shoulders and hips
were bruised where he'd held me. I could see the tips of his fingers blue in my
flesh. My muscles ached from exertion. My pussy was sore, a good soreness from
the pleasure we'd shared. My heart soared. My over wrought mind day dreamed
of him.
I'd surrendered. I was Eric's. His woman. His hot, willing woman. Anyone
could see that in me. See it in my face, my eyes, in the marks on my body he
left when his passion took me.
What they could not yet see was the greatest evidence of my surrender. It was
hidden deep in my body. It would grow there until it was hidden no more, until
I blossomed as proof of my belonging to him.
Exhausted and satisfied, I crawled into bed.
You've given yourself to him, the voice said. Yes, I answered. You'll feel
horrible about what you've done. Maybe, but for now I'm floating on air.
You're pregnant with his child, she said. Yes. I am. But what about tomorrow?
I'll worry about tomorrow tomorrow. Hush now. I want to sleep.
In a moment, I was in a deep and sweet slumber.
Please! Give me your comments.
E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com
