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Diane's Evening

12

Diane sighed as she looked out of the window of the cab taking her home. The fog-bound streets rolled by with only the ghostly gleam of a street light penetrating the gloom in a vague yellow haze. She thought about the evening. She still didn't like abandoning Roger there, but she felt lighter in spirits for having made the decision -- and having been brave enough to do it. After all this was the 1950s - a woman should make her own decisions.

The taxi made for their home, a large terraced town house in the fashionable end of the city, the product of Roger's hard work in managing the family bank. Yes, she was grateful for that, but lately she had noticed things getting a bit stale. The same round of dinner parties and receptions, the same routine, Diane feeling increasingly as if excitement was now a thing of the past. She was 40 now -- middle aged? 20 years of marriage to Roger made her feel increasingly so. She could not remember the last time they made love. She had seen the keen young man, ready to make his way in the world slowly changed over the years, somehow the gleam in his eye dulling, his paunch increasing as the years went on and day after day, week after week, month after month of business wore down the man she once knew.

Tonight was supposed to be fun. Roger said so. A party for members of the local business community. Their MP would be there. It was important for Roger to show his face, and for his beautiful wife to accompany him.

Diane knew that it was really all about Roger. He would be hobnobbing with the captains of industry and men of society and she would be left with their wives to make small talk. She had done it so many times before, hiding her boredom behind a fixed smile. Well, tonight she had had enough. It was a small act of rebellion.

She had given it an hour, just long enough for Roger to introduce her to those he needed and to make some vacuous small talk to the other wives before excusing herself.

"I'm sorry, Roger, I do have the most dreadful headache... I feel quite unwell..."

It was, perhaps, the first lie she had ever told him, unless hiding her unhappiness counted. So she had feigned the headache, told her husband not to worry -- he was still in deep conversation with some cigar smoking bigwig at the time. They parted, him having called a cab and told her that he'd come home as soon as he could -- which was probably going to be a couple of hours, as there were important people he absolutely had to talk to. She nodded, like the good little wife, acquiescing to his will, acting the distressed invalid.

So she was in the taxi home. Staring out into the night that was gathering around long familiar streets, the suffocating fog drawing in, she reflected on her lie, on her marriage, on herself.

The taxi pulled up. She gave the driver a decent tip --she just felt like it, in thanks of her escape and let herself in. For once, it felt like a relief to be here. She closed the door and breathed freely.

Diane went upstairs. Switching on the bedroom light she looked at her reflection in the full length mirror. Her fair brown hair in fashionable curls, still a good figure -- no stick thin ingénue -- her deep brown eyes almost Latin in appearance, she was, she thought still a desirable woman. She hoped. The green silk dress gathered at her waist, spreading out into a wide skirt, above that the dress left her bare above her breasts. A white chiffon scarf and necklace of pure white pearls adorned her shoulders and neck. The ladylike demeanour was enhanced by the white elbow gloves and court shoes that matched her dress. It was something to be said that her comfortable lifestyle let her dress elegantly whatever the occasion. Yet somehow, these days it all seemed to be going to waste.

She was about to peel off the long gloves when a banging from downstairs broke the spell of her reverie.

Diane made her way downstairs. What could it be? Rounding the bannister she saw that the kitchen door was swinging open in a breeze. That was all. She went to close the door. But after a moment's relief, Diane looked into the kitchen. There was the window, slightly open. She remembered shutting it. Did Roger... no, he wouldn't have been in the kitchen - that was her domain. Her heart fluttered. Could this mean that someone else...

Diane had to be sure. If someone else had entered the house, she needed to be safe. She walked quickly towards the telephone, on its small table in the hall. She needed to call the police. Her hand reached out for the phone...

And never reached it.

At that second a strong arm held her round her waist. She was held from behind. Before she could scream a leather gloved hand was clamped over her mouth.

"Mph!"

"I'm sorry my dear... I really don't want you doing that..."

The voice was smooth. That was the first impression. Diane breathed in quick shallow breaths, her mouth covered. Panic in every nerve of her body. An intruder. Oh God, what's happening? What will he do? Her questions were soon answered.

"Now, my dear -- don't scream and don't put up a struggle -- I'm just here after a few valuables. We're just going upstairs -- now don't try anything."

The same smooth voice -- no street ruffian this -- polite but still threatening. Diane was manhandled back up the stairs to the bedroom. He must have been hiding in the parlour. On entering the room he talked calmly to her. Trying to reassure her.

"Now, my lady, I'm going to take my hand away from your mouth -- don't scream -- I mean it when I say that I really do not want to hurt you." Diane nodded and he released her mouth. She breathed in deep.

"Please... leave me alone... we don't have much..." her voice trembled.

"A well off lady such as yourself, with your husband a banker? I do hope you're not lying..." His grasp around her waist tightened, just enough to let her know he meant business.

"Please..." she begged, "My husband will be home soon."

"Yes -- so there's no time to lose, is there? I'm sorry for this my dear but..."

His free hand moved down her back. It moved along the buttons that secured her dress. With quick fingers he undid them.

"Please no!" Diane feared the worst as the dress fell around her ankles. Suddenly cold, cold with fear, cold with her state of undress she froze on the spot. It was his action that moved her, holding her upper arms, sitting her down on the chair by the dressing table. She caught a brief glimpse of herself semi-naked in the mirror as he sat her down. He held her from behind, strong hands still clamped on her arms.

"Stay still. Don't move from this chair. Understand?" Firm words. Diane did not dare disobey them. It had all happened so quickly. She saw him pass. She studied her assailant. Tall, broad about the shoulders, dressed in black. She noted the shiny shoes, classy, not the rough boots of the usual criminal. His trousers and black polo neck were clean. Even his hair matched -- black, slicked back. His features, however, were covered with a mask, leaving only a thin lipped mouth, tight with determination on show.

Diane watched him go to her drawers, pulling them open until he found what he needed.

"Aha!" Her heart jumped as he exclaimed. He turned. In his hands were some of her silk scarves. He walked towards her, her body trembling, sitting waiting for his next word.

He circled her, finishing behind her. He whipped the chiffon scarf from her neck.

"Like I said, I'm sorry about this my dear -- but don't move, and don't struggle."

In a second she felt her right arm held onto the arm of the chair, the man winding one of the scarves round, binding her wrist to the chair. She felt it tighten over the silk of her gloves, then he knotted the scarf tight. Diane tried the binding but it was secure. By then, however he was repeating the action with her left wrist. Her own scarves too... the indignity!

He moved down, and using the last silk scarf and her chiffon he bound each ankle to a leg of the chair. As he did so he slipped her shoes off. It was then that he stood back to admire his work.

Diane was now tied to the chair. He could not take his eyes off her. From her stockinged feet, up her shapely legs, up to the suspenders, he studied his creation. Her legs were tied apart, giving him a good view of her tight black lace panties. Yes, a lovely, shapely body, just the right amount of curves... right up to her breasts, held in a strapless half-moon bra. She looked at him coldly. He could see the anger in her eyes coming through now the first wave of fear had passed. It mattered little. The lady was helpless... nicely tied up.

"Well now, my dear, here we are... as you say we haven't much time so..." Again he came behind her. She tried to look, but was unable to see as his fingers played with the catch and her pearls were lifted from her neck. She felt the string fall from her. His hand rested on her neck a moment, almost stroking it. She felt the leather gloved fingers move slowly up, caressing her. It was close to sensuous... his hands tracing her neck... then she heard the sound of him removing his gloves. The warm skin of his bare fingers touched her neck... her eyes closed.

"Still, my lady... still..." Her eyes remained closed as he touched her ears, removing the single-pearl earrings. Her jewellery was now taken from her -- save her wedding band, hidden under her glove.

He stood behind her.

"So, where is your husband...I saw you leave together... where is he now?" His hands rested on her shoulders. Bound and helpless as she was Diane felt compelled to answer truthfully.

"At the party we were going to. Look... he won't be long." Her eyes closed again as his hands gently stroked her bare shoulders. "Please..."

"No, my dear... tell me... why are you here alone?" His warm hands seemed to coax the truth from her

"I didn't want to get stuck at a boring party."

"Bored are we? Hubby boring you is he? Well he's not here now... I have found a few jewels but tell me... where are the rest of the valuables... and the money...?"

He caressed her, hands travelling over her bare and lace covered skin, over her bra, down her flanks, stroking, touching her... she was his prisoner, tied... Diane squirmed in her bonds... this was not the sort of adventure she had envisioned. She was captive, yes, but she could not deny the electric touch of this man's hands. It had been a long time since she had been touched this way. If only Roger... but her mind switched off from Roger to this stranger in black who could do with her what he wanted... her emotions struggled where her body could not... no she must not say...

"Please... leave us alone... we don't have..."

"Nonsense my dear... and who is this "us" you speak of..? You are alone here... no one to help you... not yet... "His hands travelled back up, touching her lightly on the tips of her gloved fingers, up over her bound wrists, along her silk covered arms, then onto the bare flesh of her body. Circling her shoulders then down, down towards her breasts, barely protected in their half-cup lace. It was months, no years, since any man had touched her with such care such apparent desire... she knew she was falling under his spell, her mind no longer her own as her body was imprisoned in its silk bondage. She realised, for the first time in a long time, the effect her body, constrained in that underwear must have on a man... she heard his breath as shallow as hers.

Then his fingers slid down onto her bra, releasing her pink nipples from their protecting lace. His touch, gentle at first as his fingertips circle her nipples, tracing the shape of her areolae. Her body instinctively tensed, her eyes opened as she saw the black-clad arms reaching for her and his hands, soft, surprisingly soft, on her breasts, his voice in her ear... "It's all right... it's all right... just say the words... where are they?" She fought with all the mental resistance she could muster but Diane felt the walls breaking down with each touch of the man, the warm breath on her neck as the sensual interrogation continued.

"I...I can't say... please... my husband..."

"He is not here. I am" And with that the pressure on her nipples became firmer, no longer gently caressing, but fondling, squeezing, feeling the bare flesh, exposed to him. She was in his power, straining at the scarves that tied her, but the knots were tight. Trapped, a real life damsel in distress... he felt a sudden rush of excitement... perhaps this was the adventure she needed... his hands on her... then his voice again.

"Beautiful... perfect..." The voice was low, little more than a whisper. When had she last heard such compliments that were not a part of everyday small talk? This man meant it, she could sense it. Her resistance gave way.

"Please... there are some jewels in a compartment in my dressing table..."

"And..?" The questioning continued, his hands asking their own question as they played with her breasts, Diane realising that she was squirming in the chair, her nipples hardening and feeling internal spreading warmth between her legs... oh God... his touch...

"There are more... in the bedside cabinet... "

"It looks locked..." More pressure on her nipples... not real pain, but such a firm touch finding her out, finding her special places... he places that turned her on. After so long dormant, this man was rediscovering them for her.

"There is a key in the box on the dressing table... ohhh...!"

He heard her sigh, then her gasp of pleasure. He must have heard it. He changed tack.

"Anything else, my lady..?" He stopped his pleasuring of her nipples... but did not pull her bra back up. Instead his hands stroked down her flanks, then in, towards her navel, on her bare skin, then touching round, feeling his fingers on her navel. But they were only holding, waiting.

"Nothing else... please... "

"No?"

There were no words following. Just the one word. She felt his fingertips, down, slowly, steadily, down towards her panties. The black lacy panties... her legs tied apart... there was no protection... nothing she could do.

"My husband... my husband has some cufflinks and valuables... they're in a box... in his study... there are some drawers... "

"Good my lady... good... and now... the money..."

"No... no... There's none here..."

"Are you sure my dear... are you... certain?"

He came round to face her. His hands around her body kept their course, down to her panties... fingers tracing the outline of the lack garment... poor protection for her pussy... her quim... oh she hadn't thought of her most sensual area for... oh what did it matter -- this man had the key to her thoughts... her inner desires... at that moment she knew she wanted him to touch her there...

So he did. His questions continued, but his fingers own inquisition of her body was as insistent.

His touch penetrated her panties, her knickers... she felt his fingers stroking slowly, moving though her trimmed pubic hair, along her pussy lips, searching her out. Instinctively Diane tried to close her legs, but her bound ankles prevented her from doing so... defenceless she submitted to the man's touch. His voice penetrated her thoughts, "The money.... The money..." but Diane was lost in her fantasy. Touched as she hadn't been for years, touched as she needed to be, touched as she had forgotten a man could touch her! Her voice answered "No... no..." but her body told otherwise, he nipples erect, her pussy wet, her breath deepening, the blood pulsing through every vein.

And then his fingers parted her pussy lips. A single finger reached for her clit. Her conscious mind's resistance crumbled, her subconscious rose up and overwhelmed her. She surrendered.

His expert hands worked on her, gentle at first, then again and again, faster, insistent, lost in her erotic dream all sense of her reluctance lost, feeling her bondage keeping her trapped in the fantasy. She felt the sensations building in her body. Tied, bound... there was nothing she could do but give in to the man, her captor, her invader, but the man who played her body as surely as any man had ever done and as she had long thought lost to her life. Where was Roger? Where was her husband? At that moment she didn't care. This man was all her world was. No name, and she knew that she would not know, her anonymous captor's hands worked on her clit, one finger joined by second, feeling her wet quim accept his touch. The pulses of pure pleasure emanating from her clit spread over her body, controlling her. Writhing in her bonds, tied to the chair, her moans betrayed her growing pleasure. Her back arched as far as her ties would allow. Down to her black underwear, the lacy brief garments violated, bare skin touched, captive, Diane let the flood take her over the edge.

Diane let out a guttural moan, somewhere deep inside her the woman who had been hidden in her marriage for years broke free, her body bound but her soul free, free to revel in the pleasure of this man's dominance. Her orgasm swept over her. She felt his hands, his touch, his total control. He had her. He had captured her and given her more pleasure than her husband had...

Her husband. As she came down from her orgasm she also came back to herself. What had she spoken in the throes of her fantasy? Had she revealed anything? She didn't remember. But he did. How much had he been in control to give her so much pleasure, yet keep his mind on... that.

She looked up. He was licking his fingers, tasting her. She was still feeling the ripples of pleasure. He knew her taste, her pleasure.

She watched him walk over to her husband's drawers. What had she said? There were no valuables there, in his chest of drawers in the bedroom -- it was in the study. She watched him search them -- then he turned back to her. He held in his hands one of her husband's pocket squares, a large handkerchief, dark blue with white polka dots. He came to her. Her fear rose again, but he stood behind her and stroked her arms and shoulders again, trying to calm her. He carefully adjusted all her underwear. Apart from the damp patches on her panties there was no sign of their invasion.

"Now, my dear... I must be at work... so I'm afraid I'm going to have to keep you quiet."

"What? No, please, I'll be... mmmmm!" Diane's words were cut off as the handkerchief gagged her. She felt the cloth tighten over her lips, the gag covering her mouth down to her chin. Tied tight, no one outside the room would be hearing her call out. She glared at him, her eyes emphasised by the gag below them.

He smiled then went about his business, finding the keys, emptying the contents of drawers, jewellery and valuables taken, only an occasional glance over to the undressed woman bound and gagged on the chair. He left the room and she heard him in the study downstairs. She felt her betrayal of her husband. Diane began to struggle, to fight against her bonds, trying to scream. The silk scarves remained tight however, as did the silencing gag. She was still writhing on the chair when he returned, his bag full of their valuables.

"Well well, my dear lady. I think our evening here is nearly done. Although..."

Although? Although what? Her mind raced.

"You did reveal something. So, all the money is in your husband's name... nothing much in the house. You know in some ways that makes the most valuable thing your husband owns in this house... you!"

What? What? Diane gave a muffled plea behind her gag.

"I wonder what your husband would give to have his beautiful wife back?"

Diane's eyes widened -- he couldn't mean...

"Oh yes, my dear. I could call some friends who could arrange this... They could be here in a few minutes with their van... I'm afraid we might have to give you a little something to make you nice and sleepy and carry you out so you don't know where you're taken... leave a note for your husband... it could be arranged." He was almost laughing.

12
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