I Bought You - Bedroom Fantasies #112

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I Bought You - Bedroom Fantasies #112

I’m sitting at a bar, swirling the whiskey in my glass, when a handsome young man approaches me. He’s wearing a black suit, and his eyes, grey and dark with desire, take in the short, red, skimpy dress that I’m wearing. He smiles and trails his fingers up my smooth thigh, inching closer to my sex as he leans in to inhale my scent. He smells clean, freshly shaven with a distinct smell of citrus and cinnamon, and it makes me clench with excitement.

“How much?” he whispers, and it sends a shiver down my spine instead of making me angry.

“A million dollars,” I say mockingly, and he tilts his head with a smirk.

He extends his hand, introducing himself to me like he had never met me before — and tonight, that’s exactly it. There’s something oddly familiar about the way he’s smiling at me, but he’s a stranger... a stranger I willingly follow into the darkness.

He takes me to his hotel room. The lights are dimmed and there’s champagne cooling in the ice bucket on the table. Red rose petals are littered across the floor, leading into the bedroom. The colour is a distinct contrast to the blacks and greys of the hotel interior. It’s all pretty romantic until I turn the corner and see the bed.

My heart halts in my chest, but before I can turn on my heels and bolt, he pushes me onto the bed and cuffs my wrists to the frame. I fight him, but I fail, and he smiles at me tauntingly, hovering just inches from my writhing body. I gasp, kicking my legs in a fit of panic. “Please,” I cry in a desperate attempt to appeal to his humanity.

“I bought you,” he replies coldly, and my gut twists in anticipation of what he might do next. He blindfolds me, cool black silk against my heated skin, gently caressing my face and nuzzling into my hair as he whispers, "Don’t worry, this won’t hurt...a lot."

I whimper, my heart racing in my chest. I trust him, yet tonight, he’s a stranger. And I don’t have a choice but to let this stranger play with me, torture me, use me, and push me to my limits with his many devices — ones I can’t see but can feel, ones that push me to the peak, push me until I’m standing on the edge of oblivion, ready to willingly leap into the darkness.

And I beg him. I beg this stranger to let me leap, but he stops every time I think I might topple over. I hate him more than I love him right now, and I tell him just as much. Only, when I tell him I hate him, a bite of pain stings me in my sensitive spots, and waves upon waves of pleasure rip through me like I had never really, truly orgasmed before. And I wonder, in this moment, is it wrong to love a stranger, to submit to a stranger, in the presence of my own husband?

Submitted by Linda from Coburg, Victoria, Australia

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