Sandi checked the clock on her dressing table. It had gone one, Kevin was late.
Whenever he came on one of his daytime visits, she felt a mixed sense of anticipation and a delicious excitement. The last months had been an awakening. No man she had met had excited her the way he did, and no man had ever suggested they try the things she now enjoyed so much. And no man could have persuaded her to be waiting in her house alone, dressed as she was now.
It had started slowly. In hospital, as he recovered from a bullet wound, they had started talking. He was chatting her up, she knew that, but unlike with the other overly amorous patients in the men’s ward, she had been flattered by his attentions. There was something special about him, something mysterious that she found enticing. There were stories on the ward – confirmed as she got to know him – that he was a soldier-turned-cop who’d only just survived a terrorist attack. After exchanging phone numbers, she’d sent him a text. Nothing too forward, just a hello, first contact. It was an hour before he responded. An hour during which she must have checked her phone a hundred times.
His first, uncertain, messages were nice, polite. He apologised for being so familiar, for teasing her, and for risking getting her in trouble with the hospital authorities. Soon, they arranged to meet.
In the days that followed she had been unable to concentrate at work or think of anything else, frequently checking her phone and finding reasons to text him. She felt as if she was regressing into a love-sick teenager, constantly thinking about Kevin. Even her two boys – her darling teenage sons – had commented that she’d seemed distracted.
When she and Kevin finally met in a car park near the hospital they had talked incessantly and only when the time had come to part had they kissed.
The next day was her day off. It was also the first time he came to the house. Living in a suburban close, most people were out at work. Even so, he parked in a nearby street and then walked the rest of the way.
With the boys at school, she’d spent hours tidying, getting the bedroom just perfect so he wouldn’t think her a slob. She even experimented with different light bulbs, trying to create the right mood lighting. Her hands had been shaking as she’d hit the switch to judge the impact, such was her excitement. That first time they didn’t make it upstairs. She made coffee and, as she passed him his mug, her excitement had made her clumsy and she spilt it. He took her hand, held it gently and kissed her. He was tender, and to her surprise, it was she who leaned into him, held him closer and began to deepen the kiss. They made love there, in the sitting room – on the sofa and then the floor. Even with his injuries so fresh, Sandi was aware of his hard muscles and exciting strength.
As the weeks passed they met more frequently. She introduced him to the boys, cooked for him, even helped him with his own house. They became very much a couple.
One day, just as an experiment, she had dressed up for him. It was a surprise, a treat – something spicy to give him pleasure. She’d been nervous, but she’d remembered how he reacted to her teasing him in hospital. Not having the confidence to risk a face-to-face encounter – or God forbid an actual conversation with a shop assistant – she had performed a discreet Google search and then maintained her secret as she waited for the specialist lingerie to be delivered.
It worked and, for the two of them, it opened up a whole new world. They tried new things and she found just how much being tied up excited her. At first he was hesitant, checking with her frequently, but as their trust in each other grew he experimented. He would bind her to a chair, to the bed, anywhere he could take her at a time when she was his captive. It excited him, and it almost shocked her how arousing she found it. Now they had reached a point where he would text her in the middle of the day, when she was in the house alone, tell her what to wear and how to place herself ready for his visit. Sometimes he would have her stand over the bed and blindfold herself, other times she would lie on the bed waiting. She had to leave the front door unlocked. She would hear him arrive, climb the stairs and then he would take her. On some occasions he wouldn’t even undress.
He had sent her such a text today. She was to be laid face up on the bed, dressed and blindfolded, with her wrists secured to the headboard.
The bedroom was now ready and so was she. She’d showered and perfumed her skin, and then dressed very slowly, savouring the anticipation that grew with every minute. She’d picked one of his favourite basques together with sheer black stockings and high heels. As per his instructions, she tied ropes to the headboard, knotted so she could easily insert her hands and give the appearance of restraint they both enjoyed.
She listened carefully for the sound of the front door and, when it came, she shuddered. One day, she feared, that sound would be her son arriving home early. Not today though, her eldest boy didn’t finish school until after three, so there was plenty of time.
She heard the door close. Sliding the eye mask on, she lay back and slipped her wrists into the ropes. There were footsteps on the stairs, the familiar heavy creak of the fourth tread. It was him. Her nerves eased, neither of the boys was heavy enough to make a sound that loud. The bedroom door swung open and a gentle draft teased her already erect nipples. Squeezing her thighs together, she shuddered with excitement. She sensed, rather than felt him. He was close. Something – a hand – stroked her knee, her leg, pulled gently at her suspender. He was teasing her.
Something touched her face. A glove? No, a hood, maybe plastic of some kind. He was pulling a hood over her head. A new toy, she mused, as she gave way to the anticipation of what was to come.
Then something took hold of her feet. It was tight and felt like hands but no, it couldn’t be, he was still pulling the hood around her neck. What was it? As the hood tightened around her neck, the grip on her ankles hurt and breathing became harder. A first sensation of panic hit her. She tried to twist her mouth away from the hood, tried to call out, but it was too tight. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. The grip around her legs was now unmistakeable. There were two pairs of hands. There were definitely two people.
She tried to scream but the hand on her face held tight. He was hurting her. What on earth did he think he was doing? She felt sick, giddy.
For Christ’s sake, Kevin, she tried to say, stop…