Claire Thompson - Tracy in chains

She saw Paul's image in her mind, the dark eyes, the enigmatic expression, and something in her softened. Kyle's cock thrusting in her didn't hurt so much now, and she barely heard his grunting in her ear.

Licking her own fingers, she shifted so she could touch her pussy, and began to rub herself in time with Kyle's thrusts. Confused images of herself this morning, panties down, legs spread, of Paul's photograph, of Guy's large thigh pressed against hers, and her usual fantasies of a faceless man holding her down and raping her, filled Tracy's mind and body, loosening her to the point of orgasm.

She barely noticed as Kyle came inside her, moaning a primal grunt as he shot his seed into her. Her own hand was busy as she finger fucked herself to orgasm, unaware that Kyle had slipped out of her and rolled away from her, leaving her back covered with his sweat and her pussy gooey with his come.

Paul, she thought, Paul, can I come? She didn't hear his answer in her head, as she exploded into a lovely orgasm, and fell asleep next to the man she'd vowed to love till death did them part.

On Monday, Guy and Tracy went to lunch. Tracy didn't usually take lunch, preferring to eat at her desk and run errands. They went to a little Italian place near the bank and Tracy kept looking around nervously, waiting for some of their coworkers to enter and accuse them of something.

"Relax, girl," Guy had admonished her. "You look like a cat that stole the canary. There's nothing wrong with colleagues having lunch together. It's perfectly natural for the head teller and the new loan officer to have lunch and discuss business, and how we want to fund the next loan and all that stuff." He grinned laconically. Guy was one of those good ol' boys who didn't believe in working very hard, and who were used to having the world handed to them.

Sailing through Southern Methodist University with mediocre grades, the frat boy partied so much, he barely learned a thing. It didn't really matter, since Guy was offered a job at his daddy's bank, immediately after college, where he made real estate loans and played lots of golf with Houston's movers and shakers down at the Houstonian. He did discover he had something of a knack for it, luckily. His move to Tracy's bank was really for a change of scenery. He was tired of Daddy's watchful eye.

He brought a sizable account with him, mostly comprised of his parents' friends and his own wealthy friends' personal loans. He didn't need to work himself, but he liked to get out, and liked the idea of having his own office, and wearing nice suits.

In spite of his seemingly shallow lifestyle, he was a decent fellow and a nice enough man. He married young to the 'right' girl, from the 'right' sorority, with the 'right' background, who would have dropped dead in horror if he'd dared to mention his own fantasies of whips and chains and taking a girl by force.

On the contrary, he was the Southern Gentleman to her Southern Belle, and for a long time it had been enough. But, two kids later, the bloom was definitely off the rose, and Guy was looking for adventure.

Guy took control, as he ordered for both of them, then sat back and eyed Tracy appreciatively. "You're a beautiful woman," he said, his voice lazy and southern.

Tracy looked down, pleased, but embarrassed. She truly wasn't used to other men's attentions anymore, or to Kyle's for that matter. Guy knew how to play her. He was slow and careful, not bringing up the subject they both really wanted to talk about, until she was fairly jumping with eagerness.

When he finally turned the subject that way, she responded just as he'd hoped she would. "So about those whips and chains," he said, grinning.

"I've thought a lot about what you said," Tracy admitted, feeling relaxed with the glass of wine he'd persuaded her to have. She leaned toward him, her body language clear.

"I take it you haven't had much chance to explore your thoughts along those lines, am I correct?"

Tracy shook her head.

"I can take you there, Tracy. No pressure, no hurry. Whenever you feel ready, I can take you there. I can show you what it feels like to be chained, to be whipped, to be taken by someone against your will."

Tracy sat in stunned silence. He had been so direct about it all. His words burned a path in her brain right down to her pussy. She didn't process all the words, or the serious intent behind them. What she heard was his offer to make her fantasies come true.

Guy continued, emboldened by her silence, which he took for acceptance. "The beautiful thing, Tracy, is that you and I come with no strings attached. We're both married, happily I presume, and we both want one thing – to explore our mutual interests, without hurting anyone. We don't even have to have sex, if you don't want; just the game – the excitement of a little rope, a little restraint. Shit, it's better 'n sex!"

"Let me think about it, Guy. This is a lot to consider." Tracy was twisting the edge of her napkin into a little point, seemingly so focused on it she couldn't look over at him.

"It is. And you take your time, sugar. No rush, none at all. If it never happens, hey, that's cool. Just knowing you're out there. Another compatriot after my own heart. Hey, it's good to have a friend. Now let's get back to work before anyone misses us."

Later that evening, with Kyle tapping away in the other room, Tracy found Paul and confided in him. She told him about Guy, the happy hour, lunch, and what Guy had proposed.

A little piece of her wanted Paul to protest, to say she was his property, and who the fuck was this Guy person, but he didn't. Not, in retrospect, that she would have expected him to. One thing Paul never did was to press her in any way. After that one sentence telling her sweetly that he would wait 'a thousand years' for her, he had never mentioned any possibility of their getting together in any way.

He never mentioned her marriage, or the fact that it mustn't be too great for her since she was always online, and lately also on the phone, with him. Now was no exception. He asked questions, making sure she felt safe with Guy, that he could be trusted.

"Oh, and his saying it's better than sex? He's lying. He wants to fuck you, make no mistake about that. Just be ready for it is all I'm saying," Paul warned.

He reminded her that fantasy, which was all she'd really had to this point, and reality, could be two very different things. She might find out, after all, this wasn't her cup of tea – which was fine, but was something she should be prepared for. She should make sure Guy understood and respected her limits.

"Are you asking for my permission?" he finally typed, when Tracy kept going round and round about it all.

"I guess I am, kind of," Tracy admitted.

"You don't need my permission, Tracy," he responded. "You don't belong to me; not in that way. Not in 'real life.' That's something you'll have to decide on your own. Just remember, sweetheart, to be careful. Don't get yourself in a situation where you could be hurt, or compromised. Make sure you know this guy and his motives, before you commit to something that could have ramifications you aren't ready to deal with. And, Tracy, just to be safe, please tell someone where you're going to be. A trusted girlfriend, someone. I know you work with the guy and all that, but people can get crazy. I want to know you're safe."

"And now," he went on, "topic change. I want to know how you felt the other day, after our little phone call. How did it make you feel when I made you stop?"

Tracy paused for a while, her fingers poised at the keyboard. She pressed her lips together, her eyes bright with embarrassment as she remembered what had actually happened that morning, when, instead of pulling up her panties and obeying his command, she had wantonly made herself come. Did she tell him? Admit it and confess? Or did she pretend and make up how it had felt to be left on the edge?