41
Susan's heart beat rapidly as she stood waiting outside the door of
Townend's penthouse apartment. Her mouth was dry. A part of her wanted to run
away, but she knew it was too late. Besides, she couldn't run very well with her
hands tied behind her. And where could she go, anyway, in that condition? Was
that why Philip--the young chauffeur--had taken her jacket from her?
He had told her his name after Bartelli left her apartment. He had been
very kind and helpful; had cleaned her up, put her back into her dress, and had
chosen a jacket from her closet to put over her shoulders, thus disguising the
fact that she was tied. She could only pray that the jacket would not slip off
as he escorted her to the car, drover her across the city to Townsend's
luxurious apartment building, and guided her into the lobby, politely opening
doors for her all the way.
Just inside the lobby was a security desk with a uniformed guard behind
it, chatting with the doorman. "Please tell Mr. Townsend that his package is
being delivered," Philip said to him.
His package! Susan could not look at the men, though she felt their eyes
upon her. Do they know? Can they tell? A hot flush rose to her cheeks, and at
the same time she felt her nipples stiffen against the cloth of her dress.
The man behind the desk picked up a phone and murmured something into
it, then nodded at the chauffeur. Philip led her to the elevator. As they rode
up, he took her jacket from her shoulders, telling her he would return it to her
when she left. She protested weakly, but he only said, "Mr. Townsend's orders,
ma'am."
At the top floor he pointed out the door to her. "Mr. Townsend knows you
are here," he said. "Just wait, please." And with that, he stepped back into the
elevator and left her.
And now she waited, trembling, for the door to be opened. A package for
Mr. Townsend. Wrapped, as ordered, in strapless gown and high heels and nothing
else. And neatly tied.
She heard footsteps approaching the door. Again she had an urge to run.
But she stood there. And the door opened.
The man who opened it was middle-aged and elegant looking. He was not
especially tall, but his body gave the impression of being well cared for, as
did his tanned skin. His head was nearly bald, with a fringe of neat, graying
hair. He was wearing a dinner jacket.
His eyes gleamed at the sight of her standing there. For a long moment
he said nothing; he just looked at her. Again Susan felt the flush on her face
and the tightening of her nipples. And then the man spoke.
"Mrs. Garson," he said softly. "How lovely. How very lovely." His eyes
traveled over her body, not crassly, but with obvious appreciation. "Lovely," he
said again. And then: "Turn around, please."
Trying to control the trembling of her body, Susan forced herself to
move slowly as she did as he asked. She knew his eyes would be on the rope that
lashed her crossed wrists together. She heard him make a sound like a sigh, and
turned to face him again.
His eyes were glowing. "That's fine," he murmured. "Just fine. Come in,
my dear."
He stood aside to let her enter, then closed the door. Susan's heart was
pounding again. There was no way she could back out now.
The moistness between her thighs told her she didn't want to.
Townsend led her through a foyer and into a large, beautifully appointed
living room. There was no one else there.
"I--" Susan began, and had to swallow to loosen her throat muscles. "I
thought...You said a party..."
Townsend smiled, seating himself on a large white sofa. He did not
invite her to sit.
"Yes indeed," he said. "The other guests will be arriving a bit later.
You see, I wanted to savor your arrival by myself." His eyes devoured her as she
stood self-consciously in the middle of the room. "It's a marvelous feeling," he
went on. "A beautiful young woman coming to my door of her own free will, yet
tied up for my pleasure. Helpless. Not knowing what will happen to her. Bringing
me the gift of her defenseless body. Such an exciting gift. So beautifully
bound."
Susan's legs felt weak, and she could not control her accelerated
breathing. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly inside the strapless dress, and she
knew the stiffness of her nipples would be obvious against the soft material.
Townsend never took his glittering eyes away from her.
"You are naked under your dress," he said. It was not a question.
"Yes," Susan breathed.
"Show me," Townsend said.
"But...my hands..."
"Pull up your dress. You can manage."
Susan pulled at her bonds. Bartelli had done his job well; they were too
tight to allow her wrists any movement, but by straining painfully she managed
to twist the fingers of one hand around just enough to grasp at the material of
her gown just above her buttocks. Awkwardly and with some difficulty she began
to pull at it, bunching it up in her fingers. The long dress was drawn tightly
against her legs, then began to rise slowly over her calves. The rope cut into
her wrists, and her twisted fingers ached as she worked at the material,
managing only gradually to tug the hem of the dress up to her knees. She paused
to rest her straining hands.
"All the way up," Townsend said.
She resumed. It became a bit easier as the gown slid higher, and soon
she had pulled it up to the tops of her thighs. Townsend's tongue passed swiftly
over his lips as his eyes slid like caressing hands along her naked legs.
"Magnificent," he said hoarsely. Then: "Continue."
Susan forced her pained wrists upward, tugging the dress over her hips
and revealing her brown-furred crotch, then bunched the remaining material until
the hem was pulled snugly around her waist. She held it there. Her breasts rose
and fell rapidly with her heavy breathing, which was due only partly to her pain
and exertion as she stood facing this middle-aged stranger, naked from the waist
down.
"Ah," Townsend sighed. "A lovely picture. Most inspiring.
Most...arousing. You do arouse me, Mrs. Garson. Not only your nakedness. Not
only your helplessness. But your own arousal arouses me. For you ar aroused,
aren't you, my dear?"
Susan swallowed. "Yes," she got out.
"Yes. And you also have the most exciting legs I have seen in perhaps
twenty years. Absolutely flawless. Come to me now, Mrs. Garson. No, leave the
dress just as it is, and come here to me."
Her bound hands holding the gown tightly around her waist, Susan walked
toward the sofa on which he was sitting. As she stopped in front of him, he
reached out both hands to touch her legs. He stroked her thighs almost
reverently, his hands moving slowly over the smoothness of her skin.
"Part your legs," Townsend said.
She spread her feet apart, opening her inner thighs to his hands. His
breathing became audible as he caressed them, moving up and down over the soft
flesh.
"Wonderful," he said huskily. "Such fine legs. And so obedient." He took
one hand away from her to undo his trousers. "I must have them," he breathed,
pulling out his cock. It was long and thin, and fully erect. "I must have you
quickly, Mrs. Garson. Right now, before the guests arrive. A preview, so to
speak." And he pulled her close to him.
Nobody bothers to undress for me any more, Susan thought wildly. Just
open their pants and bang away. Well, why not? A convenient hole, that's what I
am. Legs, tits and a hole.
Townsend was pulling her onto his lap, and she knelt astride him on the
sofa, her hands still clutching the dress around her waist. He brought her body
close to his and maneuvered his cock to the opening of her pussy.
"Now!" he said eagerly, and thrust himself upward, penetrating her
completely with one stroke.
Susan gasped. Her body shuddered, and her hands opened inadvertently,
causing the dress to slip downward.
"Hold it up!" Townsend ordered harshly. "And move, Mrs. Garson. Move!"
She obeyed, moving as best she could in her awkward position, hands
bound behind her holding her dress up, her upper body pressing into his.
Townsend's hands were on her thighs, stroking obsessively up and down the length
of them as they strained to raise and lower her body on his cock. He was
grunting and gasping heavily, his hips jerking in rhythm jwith her movements. It
was obvious that he was going to come quickly. Susan was panting hard, the pain
in her wrists and the subservience of her situation bringing her to the verge of
climax herself.
"Lovely," Townsend gasped, clutching at her thighs. "Oh, yes. Lovely!"
He lifted one hand to Susan's head, twisting her hair and forcing her face to
his. Their lips ground together. He pushed his tongue between them, probing
roughly, raping her mouth with it as his cock was raping her cunt. Susan came
then, and he came too, both of them crying out into each other's mouth as he
shot his sperm into her spasming pussy.
He released her hair then, and she slumped against him. He was
struggling to regain his breath, and she had an irrational moment of fear that
he might expire. But gradually his breathing slowed.
"Forgive me...my importunate haste, my dear," he panted. "I could not
resist...the first taste of you...before my guests take their share." He stroked
her legs again.
"How many...guests will there be?" she asked in a shaky voice.
"About twenty-five or thirty," Townsend said. "All men. Some of my women
friends wanted to come, but I decided against it. You will be the only female,
my dear. The guest of honor, so to speak."
Susan's throat was dry. "What--what will I have to do?"
"Whatever they want," Townsend said.
