Bondage story - The Phantom of the Roxy - 5

“Fuck you!” she said, looking quickly from side to side. She had been certain the voice was coming from the left side of her bed, but now she wasn’t sure. Suddenly realizing how exposed she was, she quickly pulled the sheet over her naked lower body.

“Relax, Jessica,” whispered the voice, resuming a more normal tone. “I’ll not touch you tonight. I want you to hear what I’m saying to you, and to think about my words. You are safe with me.”

Despite his soothing words, she was still terrifed. She was half convinced he was a ghost, though the more rational part of her mind was still searching for a more logical explanation. Perhaps someone had rigged her room with speakers and a microphone. Christ, maybe even a video camera!

“I know your secret, Jessica,” the voice went on. “Outwardly you are strong and willful, but in your heart you yearn to yield to someone who will take control of you. Who will make you do things you can’t make yourself do. Who will take you to places you fear to go. Who will hurt you and make you love it. No one has ever done that for you, have they, Jessica?”

Jessica slid back down in her bed, clutching the sheet to her. The Whisperer’s words were cutting through her fear, fnding resonance in her mind. How could he know about her darkest, most secret desires? How could he possibly know her deepest, most terrible secret?

What he said was true. All her life she had secretly entertained dark fantasies of being dominated, being forced to submit to a man who would take complete control of her sexually. But never had she so much as spoken of those desires to anyone! She rarely even admitted them to herself, so deep was her shame for having them. Those fantasies were reserved for desperate, lonely passion in the deep of the night, for secret, furious masturbation beneath the sheets followed by overwhelming waves of guilt and humiliation. To hear this ominous stranger speak of them openly to her like this left her stunned.

“I see your need, Jessica. That dark place inside you cries out to me! I will do those things to you, Jessica. Yesss… I will put you on your knees before me and make you submit to me. I will make you dance and scream beneath my whip! I will make you cry, and then I’ll make you beg for more. Oh yes, Jessica, I will force you to live your dreams, and you will love me for it! I will make you come alive!

“But now… good night, my sweet Jessica. I leave you to your dreams… but watch for me tomorrow!”

Jessica lay in her bed, the sheet pulled up to her neck, her eyes wide open. She had barely breathed as the Whisperer had laid her soul naked with his words. He seemed to be gone now, but the damage had been done. Her thoughts whirled like a cyclone, and her emotions were in turmoil.

As a child Jessica had been raised in a deeply religious Midwestern family, so her lifelong battle against her dark desires had begun early. Though she’d left religion behind her, she still thought of herself as a Good Girl. In her adult life, since she’d grown into her womanhood and become beautiful, men had bent over backward to please her, and she had not only come to accept this, she had learned to take it for granted. It made her feel strong and independent, and it had become an important part of the foundation of her self-image. Her secret desire for submission and sexual abuse was a threat to that foundation, which was the other part of the reason she had always denied it so vehemently.

Her fantasies of submission had been kept always in a locked compartment of her mind, buried deep in a secret place. Whenever they had tried to manifest in the light of day, when some sight or incident had summoned thoughts of them into her mind, she had always pushed them ruthlessly back into place. To have this voice, this Whisperer, open up that secret box and air its contents before her was almost more than she could bear! Her body trembled beneath the sheets, every muscle taut. Her belly futtered, and her breathing was quick and shallow. But between her legs she felt the stirrings of arousal.

Gradually she calmed herself. One by one she gathered her twisting, whirling emotions and soothed them. Breathing deeply, she forced herself to relax. Somehow, she would deal with this. The Whisperer couldn’t be a ghost. He had to be a man, and she had never had any trouble dealing with men. She could play men like violins. If he appeared in the fesh, she would deal with him, too. She told herself this, and tried hard to believe it.

Almost two hours later she was hovering near the veil of sleep, but slumber still eluded her. She was still tense, and her loins were still wet, her clit still swollen with yearning. She had been afraid to touch herself, even under the sheet, for fear the Whisperer might still somehow be watching. But now, in the twilight between wakefulness and sleep, she forgot her fears and her fngers slipped between her warm thighs and fnally brought her the release she needed so desperately. As the climax rushed upon her she rolled over and buried her face in the pillow and came, squealing wildly into the fabric and feathers and hunching and quivering under the sheet. Spent, she collapsed onto the bed and fell at last into a deep sleep.