Free Helene Blackmailed by Elliot Mabeuse Page B

again.
    “Just like when we met,” he said. “Remember? I had you undress for me. You still love it, don’t you?”
    Helene stood there trying to keep from panting with lust, too impatient to answer. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.
    “Lean against the door and don’t move, just like before. Just wait for me. I have to get something.”
    She did as he said, still tasting his cock in her mouth, the male musk of him. He went into the back and came out directly carrying a thin riding crop and a bunch of rope. Helene felt her stomach tighten with a palpable jolt so hard she felt herself squeeze out a rivulet of moisture. Had it really come to this? To ropes and whips? Had she really fallen so far?
    He bound her wrists quickly behind her back. Already it was becoming familiar to her, like a game she knew they would play and yet a game that thrilled her with its precise ritual—now even more so, since he held that whip under his arm as he tied her and she knew what was coming. He was taking possession of her again, taking over her body and once her wrists were tied it was as if her nakedness didn’t matter anymore. Her nakedness was his now, just as her body was his, to play with, to do with as he wanted.
    He made her lean against the door facing him with her legs apart and he stood over her, his gloved hands all over her body. Helene stood there with her eyes closed enduring his touch, thrilling to the indignity of being caressed and used like this. The more callously and harshly he used her, the more excited she became.
    This was not what she’d expected to happen. When she’d gone to meet him for lunch she’d expected some tenderness, some attempt to put their relationship on a level that was more than just sexual, but now that hardly seemed to matter. This was enough. He’d told her that what he did to her was an expression of what he felt and that was more than enough—this feeling of helplessness, this frisson of fear she felt with him, her vulnerability and nakedness and her consuming arousal.
    “No,” she said. “No!” as he pushed the tip of the crop against the insides of her knees, making her part her thighs even more.
    She didn’t know precisely what was coming, but she knew she was about to cross some line—some last barrier was about to fall. He was going to use the whip on her. He was going to cement his dominance and her submission and she was going to go from being a lover to being something else. She was going to cross that line from being the victim to being the accomplice and it frightened her.
    Daniel stopped then. He left her leaning back on her bound wrists against the door with her legs spread and he began to undress. He loosened his tie and removed it, dropped his trousers and took them off, then began to unbutton his shirt. As he did so he watched her and he seemed to be reading her mind.
    “Have you ever been whipped?” he asked her.
    She shook her head no, trying to keep her eyes from the massive bulge in his shorts.
    “Of course not. You’ve never done any of this, have you?” he asked. “All of this, everything we’ve done since that first day is new to you, isn’t it?”
    He unbuttoned his cuffs and slipped his shirt off.
    “You must be so confused. You never had any idea you were like this, did you?”
    She wanted to object. She wanted to tell him she wasn’t like this—that she was nothing of the kind. Again, she thought back to her office persona—the person she knew herself to be—but she couldn’t hold on to that feeling. She liked this version of herself better. She liked seeing the lust in his eyes when he looked at her. She liked the way he took her and used her and she liked the way he stripped down for action with her. She liked the way her nakedness seemed to bring out the animal in him and she loved the sight of his rampant hardness. His cock looked like it would tear through the front of his shorts.
    He came over to her and took her hair again.