James Evers - Hungry wives

Marge settled herself at the bar and ordered a drink. For the first time all evening she felt somewhat comfortable. She had tried three other bars, and each one had only succeeded in making her too nervous to respond.

But somehow, this one was noisier, brighter; in general, a more festive, and less intimate atmosphere. She could judge from the comments around her that most of the patrons were actors, and this relaxed her.

Well, at least I feel safer, she thought. Damn it, Jenny, why did you have to go home? I'd feel a lot better if it was the two of us.

The bartender placed her drink down, and she was fumbling in her purse looking for her wallet when she heard the booming voice.

"I'll get it, Kurt, put it on my tab."

She looked up, ready to thank her patron, but found the words choked off by the sight that greeted her. He was a ruggedly handsome man of about forty, with each feature of his face seemingly caned into place. His face was alive with the play of light and shadow, his eyes no more than burning sparks from beneath the inky shade of his jutting brows.

"Would you mind a little company?" he asked.

"No, please join me… and thank you for the drink."

He eased himself into the stool next to her, positioning his lean, sinewy frame in a pose of pure sexual masculinity. Marge could not help feeling the stimulation of his presence, his molded features radiating confidence, and a certain element of danger.

"You're new, you an actress?"

"No," she stuttered, redirecting her focus to the safety of the drink before her. "I'm from out of town. My name's Marge Sommers, and you're…"

"Jerry… Jerry Cannon. An actor of great insignificance, and little employment."

Her ability to laugh at his humble assessment of his own talents was enough to finally relax her, and the next few hours were spent in pleasant conversation. As the evening progressed she grew more and more susceptible to his charm and sexual manner, surprising even herself with how quickly she accepted his invitation to join him at his apartment for drinks.

He lived in the Hollywood Hills, and as Marge stood at the large picture window overlooking the city, her heart pounded with the anticipation of what was to come. She knew it would be unnecessary for her to create an opening for sex, as she had the night before. This man was more than capable of handling himself in any situation.

Even as this thought was registering in her mind, she felt his body approach her from behind, his arms circling the narrow expanse of her waist.

"Beautiful view isn't it?" His lips came down and pressed against the white flesh of her graceful neck.

Almost as a reflex, her head dropped over to one side, opening the long line of her neck to his gentle kisses. "Yes, it's… oooooohhh! It's… so… so beautiful!"

His mouth climbed the sinewy perfection of her neck, and began nuzzling her behind the ear, his tongue coming out to circle and push at the soft fleshy lobe. At the same time he pulled her to him, the hard bulge of his crotch digging into the full cheeks of her ass.

The firm touch of his cock against her lit the fuse of sexual longing in her panting body. She could feel the hot juices of her cunt filling the tight crotch band of her panties. Carefully she began grinding her hips in a slow, weaving dance, pressing his throbbing cock even harder into her pillowy buttocks.

His hand began lifting, crossing the flat plane of her belly, and creeping towards the globes of her tits.

Marge gasped in delight. The contact of his hands, built so carefully by his gradual rise, jerked her body like ice water on a sunburn.

"Is it good?" he whispered, his tongue snaking into her ear. "Do you like being touched by me?"

"Oooooohhhhhh yyyyeeeeeessss…" she breathed, her nipples stiffening between his twirling fingers. She was helpless. Her head was cocked to one side, her eyes tightly shut, the warm, vibrant sensations of her rising lust radiating from the burning chamber of her cunt.

And now he began walking her slowly towards the open door of his bedroom, his hands still pressing the rubbery flesh of her tits. "I think we'll both feel better in here. The view's not as breathtaking, but the action is far more exciting."

Marge followed, her brain numbed by the euphoric mists of her rising passions, and the soft lilting tones of his whispering voice. Robot-like, she entered the bedroom and began removing her clothes, his hands departing long enough to undress.

She could hear him stripping behind her, his voice still chanting in its hypnotic register as she removed, her clothes.

"Yes! Take it all of it," he said. "Let me see the perfection of your naked flesh… I want to touch you… and taste you… and show you pleasures I'm sure you've never experienced before."

"Yes!" she echoed, "show me… show me your pleasures… take me!"

Marge turned and opened her eyes, drinking in the joy of his manly body. Her gaze fell instantly on the huge cock that leaped at her from his bushy, dark groin. She gasped at the realization of just how well hung this man was.

But her excitement turned to fear as she became aware of the object held so firmly in his right hand. It was a whip, its handle wrapped in black leather, with only the very base, carved ivory in the shape of a cock, exposed. From the top hung several long strips of leather.

"Yes, lovely lady, I'm going to show you what fucking really means."

"Wait! Wait a minute!" she stuttered, her fear registering in her eyes. "I don't want this! This is… it's… You can't do it… I won't let you."

"But you'll love it," he hissed, starting to move toward her. "It won't hurt a lot… just enough to make you me… come like you've never come before… lust enough to make us both come."

Marge backed off clumsily, almost tripping over her own clothing. She continued her retreat, maintaining her distance until she felt the hard surface of the wall behind her.

And still he came on, his eyes burning at her in sadistic delight, his lust inflamed at the sight of her trembling resistance. "I'm telling you… you'll love it. It win burn, and hurt… and fill you with its cutting bliss. I promise you… you'll beg for more… just feel it."

With this he lashed out, breaking the thin strands across the milky flesh of her thighs. Marge squealed as the hard leather bit into her, and feeling herself trapped moved with all the suddenness of a threatened deer towards the open door.

But he was prepared. In one swift, catlike move he grabbed her wrist, twisting it behind her back, and diverting every ounce of her forward thrust into a downward motion towards the floor. She landed face first in the carpet, her arms pinned helplessly behind her back.

"I was hoping you'd be more willing, but if I have to take it I will!" he growled. Suddenly Marge felt herself being lifted from the floor, and rudely shoved into the bouncing surface of his bed. "It doesn't matter to me. One way or the other, I'll get what I want, and I think you'll find it's what you want too."

Holding her firmly beneath him, he reached over and pulled something from the bedside table. Almost before she could figure out what it was, he had placed it on her wrists, tightly binding them; and just as quickly she found her wrists harnessed to her equally bound ankles.

"Nice little contraption, isn't it?" he chuckled. "It's a little harder on you… but it'll be worlds easier for me."

Marge was locked in a battle between fear and outraged anger. She was totally vulnerable, angry at the feeling that she was no more than strung meat, to be used or abused at the whim of this strange man. But she was also frightened, unsure of the extent to which his sadistic desires could go.