Betty is worried about the sex. Not the sex, really, Betty thought as she turns to admire the fit of the pale green gown she’d chosen for the honeymoon. Still, Ed was certainly more experienced and she didn’t want to disappoint him. ‘Oh yeah’, her mind mocked back. You mean you’re worried that he’ll disappoint you!’ Sighing, Betty stripped off the long, gauzy gown, laying it neatly over a chair to wait for tomorrow night to do its seductive magic and climbing into bed wearing only a pair of black nylon panties. After switching off the light, she lay there tossing, unable to sleep and still not willing to admit–even to herself–that her subconscious was right.

She’d chosen Ed as her future husband despite the fact that he was 45 to her 34 and had a slightly receding hairline and what could be the beginning of a middle-aged paunch. Oh, he was tall and dark-haired and had beautiful, crystalline blue eyes and a wonderful sense of humor. He did work out a few times a week, so he wasn’t really soft, exactly, just not muscle-bound. He was stable–financially, socially, emotionally. Certainly sexually. Oh, he might not be the roller coaster of sex, but he would at least be the merry-go-round. Dependable. Pleasant. And thinking about the ride didn’t make her want to vomit, so that was a plus. She never was one for roller coasters anyway. In bed, Ed would be exactly what he was out of bed: kind, considerate and always attentive to her needs. While she was lying here wondering if she was about to make a BIG mistake. Rolling to her side, Betty smiled at the vase of perfect red roses Ed had sent to her first thing this morning. Red, she knew, represented love, and his note had told her how much he loved her and how difficult it would be for him to not be able to see her all day, as they had agreed to remain apart the day before the wedding. Finally, remembering that one man’s love was surely better than a dozen lovers, she fell into a fitful sleep.

She isn’t sure what woke her, Betty opens her eyes to a pitch black room . The curtains, which she is certain she’d left open, are not only pulled tight, but something–a blanket, maybe?–must have been thrown over the big window, because not even a sliver of light broke the black void around her. She finds herself thinking, then, that she must still be asleep, because only dreams are this dark and besides, she didn’t think she’d started compulsively covering her windows while sleepwalking. Then she becomes aware of something else. Air from the ac puffed sluggishly into the room and over her breasts, teasing her nipples with a cool sigh. Her blankets are gone and she lay in the center of the big bed, wearing only her panties. Her arms, which she thought simply stretched out above her head in sleep, refused to be lowered away from the vicinity of the headboard. She’d been tied to the bed. Terror slithers through her but Betty holds back a gasp of shocked awareness and the sob waiting to escape her throat. Instead she tries to be smart; tries to listen and determine if the someone who had done this to her is still here. Still a threat.

A shadow in the darkness snags the corner of the limits of her vision as she opens her mouth to scream, a large, warm hand slams over her mouth before anything can escape. The scream becomes nothing more than a high-pitched, terrified moan.
” Don’t.” My voice seems to come out of the darkness itself. My hand over her mouth is my only physical contact with her, despite the fact that she expects much worse–and very quickly. I surprise her by not moving for a long moment; she can hear my slightly ragged breathing, as if I’m warring with myself about whether I should do this. My hand, she realizes belatedly, is gloved. Not with latex or some other material designed to avoid forensic science, but in some thin, soft material designed to caress.

” I won’t hurt you, Betty.” She jerks in surprise and anger. How the hell did he–” You want to know how I know your name.”
When I pause, she hears a soft rustle of fabric while I finish my explanation I replace my hand with a silky length of material, effectively gagging her. ” I know you, Betty. I’ve been your lover for four years.” My hands, finish with the gag. Barely touching her, the velvety tease of my gloves skimming over her throat, her shoulders; the sides of her breasts. She jerks again, despite the fact that the touches are hardly touches, and shook her head in mute denial when her nipples tighten; aching. My hands play feather-light over her hips; her thighs. At the foot of the bed I wrap my fingers around one of her slim ankles fastening a velvet-lined cuff around it.

Suddenly understanding that I meant to tie her feet to the bed as well, Betty kicks out at me, managing only to force a broken curse from me as I took one blow in surprise before subduing her. Spread eagled with only her panties between her and me, Betty hates herself for crying. Still, tears running from her eyes, running down into her hair. She tries to beg but the only sound she made is a pitiful sob behind her gag. ” Don’t cry, Betty,” I whisper, coming back to her and lying in the bed, stretching alongside her without touching her. ” I will give you pleasure. This is our final time together before your married, Betty.”
When my mouth brushes her ear, Betty jerks , another hard sob catching in her throat. Oh, God, she thought, what was this? Then what? Not lovemaking, certainly. She had no choice. She should be repulsed. But she wasn’t.

There is something about the way I’d spoken to her. Something…familiar? No. Something reassuring. Honest. She believes me when I said I wouldn’t hurt her…or maybe she is just telling herself that to reduce the terror. I’m obviously big–she can tell that from the way the bed dipped as I lowered myself next to her–but my hand, which is sliding in its velvety sheath across her belly to lie over her ribs just below her left breast, is sensually caressing. My mouth…oh, god…I’m nipping and nibbling at her ear, teasing her with brief, hot touches of my tongue. Hot, erotic shivers are flowing down her spine. ” Yes,” I whisper with satisfied male superiority. ” You like that. I can’t see you, and I’m not touching your breasts, but kissing you here makes your delicate little nipples stiffen. Doesn’t it, Betty?”

Yes. But to avoid such admissions; such submission, she made a harsh sound of refusal in her throat twisting as far away from my mouth as the bounds will allow her. ” No!” Moving as quickly and silently as a panther, I caught her by the waist, pulling her back into place with one hard, sharp move and effectively frightening her into silence. ” Betty, tonight you’re mine for one last time. Don’t fight me. By choice or by force, you’re going to explode in my arms tonight. For my hands. My mouth. And my cock. And it’s going to happen more than once. You are mine.” The force and restrained violence in the words make her shudder. To pull her back into place I move in the bed and now I’m kneeling above her, straddling her right thigh. She feels my body now. My big hands, holding her shoulders down onto the bed; my hair-roughened, muscular thighs chafing her softer one. She realizes that I’m as naked as she is, wearing only some kind of cotton briefs. As I release her shoulders, bracing myself on my palms at either side of her head, I lean down placing my mouth to her other ear, kissing and nipping her with the same incredible, arousing, awful response in her. As my body came into closer contact with hers, my hard, wide chest pressing crisp male hair against her nipples, a tight shock of pleasure ride from her nipples directly into her pelvis and she feels my arousal.

Oh God, she thought, lightheaded. Gasping behind the gag, she moves in protest again, arching off the bed only brought her body closer to me and she regrets that immediately, I groan moving my cock against her belly in a masturbatory stroke, making her feel suddenly hot and…wet.