Free Do it like Magic Mike (Regular Sex Issue 3) by Kitty French Page B

girl itching to get out.
I think Laurel is silently screaming for a bit of kinky fuckery; she’s probably
read Fifty Shades and fantasised about painting her bedroom red. I bet she’s
even trailed a brave finger over the fluffy handcuffs in Ann Summers and imagined
herself buying them before leaving the shop to buy sensible knickers in M&S.
    Oh, I see you, Laurel.
I see the sex goddess within you, hiding beneath your conservative dress and your
practical, short french polished nails. I glance around the bland lounge,
wondering if I can improvise for her before she gets back from the kitchen with
the coffee.
     
    ‘I slipped into
something more comfortable. I hope you don’t mind.’
    I hear her words
before I see her, because I’m standing by the fireplace with my back turned for
an added air of mystery. Maybe that’s why I’m so fucking shocked when I turn
back around.
    ‘Who are you and
what did you do with Laurel?’ I almost splutter, shoving her discarded silk
scarf into my pocket. I’d picked it up to slide playfully around her wrists and
gauge her reaction, but there’s no space for it beside the MASSIVE LEATHER
CUFFS she’s now wearing.
    Holy fuck! I couldn’t
have read this girl more wrong.
    The black dress
has gone in favour of a PVC catsuit that looks as if she’s just sprayed it on; frankly,
I’m baffled how she’s got herself into it so quickly. Practice, I assume, a
thought which sends prickles of unease down my spine. Call me old-fashioned,
but I like to be the one in charge and Laurel suddenly looks like she isn’t
going to take kindly to being told what to do.
    Oh god. I want my
mum.
    ‘Did you make
coffee?’ I squeak.
    ‘Did I tell you
you could speak?’ she growls.
    I swallow hard.
She looks a lot taller than she did in the restaurant, probably down to those skyscraper
thigh-high boots she’s wearing. I try not to look at the rows of lethal looking
studs running down the sides of them. Bring back the wedges, all is forgiven!
    Is it hot in
here? I’m breaking out in a sweat.
    ‘This way,’ she
says, then turns and extends her arm for me to walk ahead of her down the
hallway. I shuffle forward, shooting a hopeful glance towards the front door.
Belatedly I remember her turning the key after we arrived. At the time, I
marked it down as another sign of how organised and practical she is, but now I
see it for what it really was.
    I’ve been
kidnapped.
    I consider
telling her that my parents don’t love me enough to pay anything over twenty
quid as a ransom, but then she boots me up the backside to hurry me up and I
can’t help but be struck by how high she just got her leg. Man, she’s bendy. I’m
torn between being turned on and terrified, which is a novel combination even for
me.
    ‘In there,’ she
says, close behind me as I hover in the bedroom doorway. I squint through
narrowed eyes, but I’m relieved to see it looks relatively normal. Well, it’s
not red, so that’s a start. Maybe she’s not so scary after all, I think,
grasping at straws. Perhaps she just watched those Cat Woman movies and fancied
the outfit.
    Oh shit. She’s
just locked the bedroom door, and when I turn to look at her, all I can focus
on is the strap system on the back of it. God, I hope it’s some kind of extreme
exercise she does.
    ‘I’m going to
strip you naked now.’ She strides towards me purposefully.
    ‘I can do it myself,
no trouble,’ I whisper.
    She narrows her
eyes and yanks my tie until we are nose to nose.
    ‘My house, my
rules,’ she breathes, and I swear her eyes flash red.
    I nod. I want to
please her because I fear she might actually kill me if I don’t. She could
rupture my windpipe with one of those spike heels without even breaking a
sweat. The words praying mantis run around unhelpfully inside in my head.
    She makes short
work of my tie, sliding it off and then hanging it around her own neck like a
trophy, not dissimilar to the way a warrior might wear fresh scalps.
    ‘Do