Taken, Part II: Catching up with Becky

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I imagine Ian’s anger, his bruised pride driving him into a frenzy. But what is taking place here tonight is something his blokeish imagination could never conjure. In that carefully ordered world of his, a wife abducted from her home is not conceivable. Even if I sat him down, looked him in the eyes and began a full confession, he would never believe what I was telling him. A secret assignation with a colleague from work in a Premier Inn is as far as his paranoid delusion might stretch.I stand in silence, shackled by the wrists to iron rings embedded in an old whitewashed wall, my mind frantically playing out the variations of what Ian might be saying to Josh at the other end of the connection. I promise myself — vow to myself — that one day I will sit Ian down and explain everything in delicious detail, the blow-by-blow minutia of what has taken place here tonight. The thought of that future tete-a-tete with that future Ian satisfies some perversity I want to acknowledge, get to know better. I imagine a dawning truth finding a footing in Ian’s pathetic excuse for a brain. How wonderful my schadenfreude will be when every certainty he has ever held about me comes crashing down.I wonder what expressions will storm across his features as I narrate everything: how Josh stole me away from him, carried me to his car and kissed me so passionately while his wife drove us to their sex dungeon; how they undressed me, how I allowed Becky to spank me, how their fingers pillaged my pussy — hers, then his. How I became their plaything.Things are critical. The way Josh plays Ian will determine my future. I do not move, am frigid with apprehension straining to hear Ian’s voice at the other end of the phone, striving to divine meaning from between the uh-uhs Josh periodically utters. I imagine Ian’s tirade but remain reassured by how calm Josh remains as he endures it. Respect for my new master makes me smug.But my backside is raw steak tenderised for the pan, both nipples sore as bruised egos. I want to soak all my aches away in a hot bath.Josh puts his hand over the phone and says to Becky, “He’s fucking furious, parked up at the front gates, wants to know where his wife is.””Why does he think she’s here?” Becky asks.”One of the neighbours saw us driving away,” I tell them. “Mrs Warbrick, the stupid old busybody.”Becky looks into my eyes, comes to me beaming empathy as she reaches out and strokes my cheek. “You can’t see him tonight, Cass. You’re in no fit state.”Josh is talking to Ian now. “Calm down, mate. Yes, your wife is here, and she is fine.” There is a pause as Josh listens and Ian talks. “No. She’s asleep. I’ll tell her you came by. No! Tomorrow! We’ll get her to call you tomorrow. Okay?”He takes the phone from his ear, says, “He’s going off on one. Says he’ll ram the gate with his motor if Cassie doesn’t see him.” He returns the phone to his ear and says, “For fuck’s sake, calm down, mate.” Josh listens again, then says, “That’s enough! I’m coming down. You and I need to have a little chat.”He turns off his phone and says to Becky, “He’s talking like a lunatic, saying what he’ll do if we don’t let him see her.”Fear impales me. “Oh, God, Josh, you won’t let him in, will you?” “I would never let anyone harm you, Cass — and that’s God’s own truth.” Then he turns to Becky, “I’ll have to sort this muppet out once and for all. Give me five minutes before you take Cassie up to the house.As Josh goes to the door, I call out to him, “You don’t know what he’s like!””Josh can handle himself,” Becky says.When he has left, Becky studies me. It’s almost as if Çankaya Escort I’m an inlaw who has outstayed their welcome. “That prat of a husband of yours has ruined everything,” she says. “I’d better undo you.”She unfastens my restraints, and I rub my wrists, my backside too. Then she walks to the closet at the far end of the room and retrieves a magenta silk kimono, slips it over her nakedness and pulls the waist tie tight before reaching back into the cupboard and extracting its clone.”Thanks,” I say, and slip it on, hold her eyes and smile before knotting the silken cord around my waist.Dressed, I am no longer a slave. I study Becky and try to understand what has just happened between us. Her spanking me, her fingers inside me! It all seems so absurd now, a bad dream mercifully fading. I wonder if the people we used to be are gone forever. And then there is Ian; I’ve walked out on Ian. How the-fuck did that ever happen? For all my talk, I never really thought that possible.Becky is talking. “Come on, Cass. Let’s go up to the house and have a nightcap.”I follow her outside, stand and watch her lock up their sex den, then trail behind as she guides me up the narrow path, its flagging picked out by torchlight’s beam.In their kitchen, she pours us chilled white wine from the big glass-fronted cabinet style cooler before going through to the lounge with our drinks. For a moment, we sip in silence. Then she pulls up her legs onto the leather and turns to face me, tucking her feet beneath her, resting her elbow on the backrest of the couch, sipping from her glass from time to time. I turn to her, bring up my legs, become her mirror image.”Want to talk?” she says.”About what just happened in your dungeon?” I’m not so sure that I do.”You were so brave… Braver than I could ever be.””I never expected all this. I’m still getting my head around it.””It’s just our game, Cass. Roleplay. Friends introduced us, taught us so much. You’d like Marshall and Cora.”I sit quietly, averting her gaze by staring into my glass. I think about how being the centre of their attention made me feel. My Road to Damascus moment: pain as pleasure. And as I evoke the smells, taste and sensations of the previous evening, the memory of her fingers inside me, the core of my cunt distends and contracts. “It was intense,” I say, “but fun too.””I knew you’d enjoy it. So when we talked about you joining us, I said to Josh that you’d be perfect. And Josh agreed you’d make the perfect little slut-of-a-slave. The last girl had issues.” “The last girl?””I’ll tell you about Evie one day. But not tonight. I don’t want to think about her.”She drains her glass, turns and places it on the side table and then wriggles her way across the leather to me. She is close now, her breath faint on my cheeks as she holds my gaze. It is a timeless moment in which seconds go astray, struggle to maintain chronology. Her eyes are full of affection. Or am I fooling myself, the light I see blazing there merely excitement and desire? Then her hand reaching for my hair, fingers hooking a wayward strand behind my ear.”I’ve always loved you, Cass,” she tells me. “Why were you so jealous when I met Josh?””No, really, I wasn’t — well, maybe a little.­ No! I was glad for you. It’s just that what you had with him made me see how what I had with Ian seem so sad, so pathetic.””I warned you about him all those years ago, didn’t I?””I don’t need reminding. Can I have a top-up?””Help yourself.”I go back into the kitchen, take the half-full bottle of Chardonnay Keçiören Escort from the cabinet cooler and pour myself another large glass.Becky has followed me through and stands behind me as I pour my drink. She reaches around me and slips both hands inside my kimono. One hand is as chilled as the wine glass left in the lounge, the other lukewarm, tepid. My breasts become nested in her palms.  I sense her breathing, each intake of breath and how it subtly disturbs my hair, feathers my scalp when she exhales.”We were always so close, Cass. What happened between us?” she says dreamily, her breath laden with all the emotions that compel her to be close to me.”Josh and Ian are what happened.””Will you stay with us for a while?””If you can put up with me. But I’ll have to go back and face Ian ­eventually — If only to put things straight, let him know where he stands. I owe him that at least.”I gently take both wrists and extract her hands, even though I feel a pang of loss when they slide from my breasts. Immediately they ache for her touch. I turn around to face her, look up into her enormous eyes, which are always heavily mascaraed, extravagantly lashed.And I begin to think how she doesn’t don’t need to do her eyes like this. Without makeup, Becky has the eager eyes of a young girl. Her freshness is always a revelation when I see her face au naturel. No! She does not need to do her eyes the way she does.I go up on tiptoe, and her head tilts as her lips come to meet mine. We kiss gently, unhurriedly, and I allow my tongue to skim where ever it will, curl and cartwheel with hers. What I endured at her hands earlier in the evening is a dream now. To kiss Becky like this is what I have always wanted. Her tongue coaxes, draws me deeper into her mouth where it is so lush, all metal-tang and Chardonnay. As we kiss, my mind tries to untangle the knot of her contradictions.The house phone rings. We ignore it, continue to kiss.The ringing becomes an intrusion. “Shit,” she says, relinquishing me. “It’ll be Josh. My mobile is in the car.”She picks up. “Hi.”I watch her face, then wonder if someone died.Then she seems relieved. “Okay. I understand. Yeah, Cass is fine. No, she really is. Yes, I will. Love you.””What’s wrong?” I ask when she hangs up.”He had a call from the States. He needs to fly to New York. Be there for the morning.””What! Now! Really?””Business.””Doesn’t he need stuff —?””— He has a wardrobe at our apartment over there, and all his papers are online. This is urgent. A big financial project he’s been working on for months is in danger of falling through. But he sends his love,  says I should look after you.””What about Ian?””Oh, him. Josh says it’s all sorted now.””Sorted? How is it fucking sorted?” “All I know is Josh has sorted it.””How?””He just has.”I let it drop, sense she’s hiding something. I just know she is.”I’m dying for a pee,” I tell her.”Let’s go up then. We can shower together.”We move through the downstairs of their enormous farmhouse hand in hand, up the stairs and into the master bedroom, then through to an en-suite, which is the largest wet room I have ever seen. I remove my kimono, sit and pee and watch Becky remove hers. Becky is busy preparing the shower, gathering products, shampoos and gels. Then, a twist of her wrist, the jetwash thrash of torrents on porcelain. Soon a fog of scalding steam has filled the room.I wipe myself and go to her, reach for her before she can step beneath the hissing cascade of water. I am behind her, have both her breasts in my palms. Etimesgut Escort “You have gorgeous tits, Becks,” I tell her, my cheek between her shoulder blades.”So Josh is always telling me.” She laughs.Becky’s are the only female’s breasts I have ever touched. Having them cupped in my palms­ brings back memories of our magical night under canvas in Cornwall.”They’re so soft and smooth,” I say as I lift them together appraisingly, marvelling at their form, their density and weight.And when I go to kiss each one, I do not have to stoop or realign my head because Becky is much taller than I am. We step into the shower together, stand facing each other. I watch water cascade over her breasts, the rivulets that form and track down her flesh. My cheek rests flat on the soft swell of her breast. My tongue peeps, tentatively tasting her. Soon I am a nursing babe, then a proper little tit sucking whore. I do not have to turn cartwheels to take each nipple between my lips in turn; my five-foot-one is built for this — for suckling on the tits of Becky’s five-ten of fabulousness.I suck one tit and then the other. Gently at first. And then I snap and growl, worrying one breast and then the other. Each time my teeth clamp a swollen nipple, she lets out a girlish squeal of appreciation that goads my teeth to cruelty. I clamp down hard. Slowly release.When she can stand no more, she takes me in hand and says, “Turn around. I want to do your back.”Both hands slick with creamy shower wash, she slathers my shoulders, working slowly down.”You have such a sweet little body, Cass,” Becky says. “No matter what you might think of us, Josh and I will never hurt you.””Promise?”She does not reply, mind fixed on the pleasure to be had from the suds and foam her fingertips send skating over my belly, tits, back and buttocks —  eight soapy digits symmetrically parting my haunches. I subtly arch myself to encourage her, wriggling onto her fingers, encouraging them. She repeatedly uses both hands to stretch the cheeks of my but, their cumming and going lathering up a storm of suds. Then it is one hand, its finger repeatedly transiting the tight stitch of my anus as the other hand rest at the base of my spine, pulling me tight to her. She is a person drowning, one hand clawing at me to save her life, the two fingers inside me have abandoned ship, probing for safety beyond my sphincter’s seal.”I want you nice and clean just here,” she gasps. “Later, I’m going eat you in places you have never imagined.” “You want to lick my bum? Really!””Oh, God yes, Cass, want to lick it way more than, ‘Really!'””Just, no one ever has. Never imagined anyone would want to.” But the thought of Becky’s tongue between my bum-cheeks becomes a mental twist that crushes juice from the half-lemon of my cunt, causing my nipples to surge with static, fizz and tingle. Yet, underneath all the excitement her words have caused, I feel ashamed — ashamed for wanting this taboo so badly.We become lost in a fog of steam that is so utter I cannot determine her facial features, her hand now fumbling for mine, passing me the tube of shower cream. Her voice is barely an exhale when she whispers, “Do me now.” I squeeze chilled creaminess into the basin of my hand, reach out blindly to find her. The pleasure of her skin under my palm when I apply the viscous jell is such a guilty one. But I am sick of secrets, want to shout to the world that Becky Grant is my lover.The sumptuousness of her buttocks collapsing around my fingers is a sensation I had never sought, imagined. It halts all intentions, stalls my massaging for a moment to savour the silken, dark warmth. There is subtle pressure, the squeeze and release of independent muscles anticipating the slide of my finger into her. As I press between her cheeks, the swathe of her flesh offers my hand a subtle, welcome comforting squeeze.Her fine hair has become wet dog straggles that cling to her skull.

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