The Intruder

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

Bethany closed her book and leant over to secrete it in the hidden drawer of her bedside cabinet, away from prying eyes. Not so much from her husband, who would never think to hunt for such things, more from her cleaner, who might. Her current arousal was heightened by her plush surroundings: the cool smoothness of the Egyptian cotton bed linen, the rich colours of the wall-hanging tapestries and oak furniture, all dimly lit by the bedside lamps. Primarily it was the bed that evoked her strongest feelings; an intricately carved four-poster that she longed to be tied to. She could have been a defenceless Tudor damsel with a baying enemy at her door if not for the television at the foot of the bed, and even this could be remotely lowered and concealed within the chest beneath it.

Her whole day had been leading up to this point, when she would finally allow herself to masturbate. She had staved off numerous attempts by her body to defeat her willpower, knowing that patience would yield more pleasurable rewards. Many fantasies and scenarios had flitted into her mind, vying to be the one she used when the time came. She knew now that the chosen one would be her ‘Sun Tattoo’ theme, inspired by the heat of the summer day and the all-girl scene from her book. She was becoming increasingly surprised at the level of filth that popped into her head during her private moments, and such moments were becoming ever more frequent since Stephen set out to expand his business at home and abroad. She was unconvinced that the extra freedom compensated for her loneliness but she knew that even if present, there was little chance of her husband indulging her fantasies. He was a straight-laced man who treated s*x as a requirement to fit into a time slot of his busy schedule. The warmth from their courting days seemed to have evaporated from their lovemaking, and although he didn’t use her just as a receptacle for his lusts, he showed little inclination to broaden his horizons.

Her friends had always jealously told her that her looks would ensure that she could have anyone she wanted. Buckinghamshire was full of handsome and infinitely eligible young men, but she chose to become besotted with the man she worked for instead. They strongly advised her against marrying an older man but at the time she had been too wrapped up in his charm to heed the advice. Now it seemed the age gap was taking its toll. In recent weeks her need to masturbate had grown, as her dirty thoughts started to fill her empty days. Once her orgasm had chased away the guilty images, she was left with the hollow feeling that the chance to live out any parts of her hidden desires was inexorably slipping away.

She lay now with the sheets off and her body naked, the white linen a stark contrast to her long raven hair. She was determined to resist the urgent throb from between her legs and take her time in reaching her climax. Her skin felt sensitive to her touch and despite the warmth of the room, goose pimples sprung up on her flesh as she traced a line from her thighs, over her belly and up to her breasts. Her n*****s were already hardened into little dark peaks as she pinched and stretched them cruelly.

She could wait no longer, her hand slipping down and cupping her s*x, feeling the heat emanate as her index finger moved up her slit, gently parting her labia and gathering the slick moistness from within before continuing upwards. Her c******s was already awake and swollen within the confines of its protective hood. Bethany used two gentle fingers to tease the pulsing bud as she focused her mind and let her rude imagination take over.

This particular fantasy always began the same: she had committed a minor indiscretion and her Mistress was set to punish her. One of the other girls from the harem was selected to prepare her. She was taken upstairs where she swapped her clothes for a tiny white g-string, her pouting puss barely covered by the fabric. She was put on her knees and bent over the bed, pushing her round buttocks out for the attentions of the other girl, who was holding a small metal tin and a thin paintbrush. Straining around, Bethany was just able to see the label on the tin, and wondered what ‘liquid latex’ could possibly be. The harem girl set to work studiously, taking her time to paint neatly onto Beth’s bare arse, giggling proudly as the first part was complete.

By twisting uncomfortably, Bethany was able to watch herself in the cheval mirror in the corner of the room and could see the results of her companion’s handiwork: black letters that stood slightly proud and pulled at her skin as they dried hard. She struggled to read the words spelled out, seeing them only in reflection and having them often obscured as the girl set to work with the brush on the other buttock. When the work was done the artist stood back and Beth could finally read the words, panicking as they became legible, nervous of what was to follow. Her hair was then put up into a ponytail and she was led back down to her Mistress who stood waiting on the garden patio, her other two slave-girls at her feet.

On the newly cut lawn, Beth could see a rectangle of white, some five foot long by three wide. Her Mistress didn’t even look at her as she took her by the wrist and led her up the garden to the white rectangle, which proved to be made of a shiny rubber. She was instructed to lay down on her front, her legs very slightly apart and her arms just in front of her, so she could lie on them and prop herself up from the groundsheet, which already felt uncomfortably warm against her bare skin. The slaves were summoned and set about securing her to the ground, hammering down metal shapes like miniature croquet hoops over her ankles and wrists. Beth’s uneasiness grew—already the sun felt hot on her exposed body and the sweat was starting to gather beneath her.

The slaves came again, this time carrying another white rubber sheet. They stood at her feet and held the sheet up, showing a perfectly round whole cut into its centre. Beth was pondering the reason as the girls lay the sheet over her back, the rubber clinging to her perspiration as she was enveloped. Just as she feared suffocation, the head end of the sheet was raised, and two metal struts pushed into the soil to hold it up off her head. She lay encased in her rubber sandwich, completely covered except for her bottom, which was perfectly framed by the cut away circle and stuck out towards the sun. The gathered slaves giggled at her plight and mocked her bare bum and the black words upon them. She could hear their laughter fade as they retreated to the house, abandoning her to her fate.

As the sweat started to drip and pool beneath her breasts and belly, Beth knew this was a test of endurance. She could with some pain escape from the shackles but this would be a terrible show of disobedience and she was desperate to prove her loyalty to her Mistress. To give yourself freely to a person, to obey every command they imposed upon you despite the personal cost was the most exhilarating and erotic action she could imagine. It left you utterly helpless and at the mercy of their cruel mind, yet was a supreme test of your own. The reaches their perverted imagination attained were merely a reflection of your own endurance, for without you they were nothing. You were the canvas on which to paint and their work was bounded only by your limits. While Beth was struggling to bear her punishment she knew that secretly her Mistress was also willing her to triumph too. It was this thought that made her p***y seep the juices that mixed with her sweat and drenched her panties.

The sun beat heavily on her naked flesh and a sudden tingle and tightness of her skin signalled that she had been exposed too long and that her bottom was starting to burn. Her hair was streaked wet and any free strands were plastered to her face. Her throat was dry and dusty and she was dehydrating fast. She had to fight with every inch of her being to tolerate her situation. Each time a wave of claustrophobic panic gripped her and she teetered on the edge of defeat, the thought of her beautiful Mistress brought a fresh surge of stamina.

In reality, Beth was now laying with her legs wide apart, her busy fingers alternatively rubbing her c******s or plumbing the depths of her sodden cunt. Her wetness was mirroring her fantasy and drenching the sheet beneath her. So far she had been in control of her thoughts, her fingers dictating the pace as the familiar story was played out in her mind. Then, from a secret place in a dark corner of her imagination came a new twist to the tale: a pair of feet and ankles appeared at the entrance to her white rubber tent, and one unidentified slave bent to place a tall glass just in front of Bethany’s face.

The glass was presented on a small salver for stability and a bendy straw reached invitingly towards her. The liquid contents were a clear pale gold and were being chilled by three or four ice cubes that clinked gently against each other. A mist of condensation clung to the glass and small drops traced lazy lines on their descent. It could have been a godsend, a delicious glass of ice-cold apple juice to quench her desperate thirst. It wasn’t, of course. With a shiver, and before the liquid warmed enough to give off its telltale odour, Beth knew that this was not apple juice; it was a glass of urine. If she wanted to slake her overwhelming need then she would be compelled to drink her Mistress’s piss.

Beth sobbed gently at her plight and the cruelty that was being meted out to her. She had never before been asked to perform such a degrading act and it was certainly not something she would seek to do. However, she had to admit that there was no order issued that she must drink, just the temptation laid before her. And tempting it was; the cold contents looked dizzyingly inviting in her current condition and her resistance was broken almost immediately. Her Mistress had won. Leaning forward, Beth took the straw between her dry lips and sucked, the cold piss flooding into her mouth and coating her tongue with a salty, mineral tang.

She quickly swallowed to rid herself of her humiliation and to ease her arid throat. It was not enough though, and immediately her body cried out for more. It was not just her mouth that demanded it either. To her shame she realized her p***y was also begging for it with equal fervour. She leant forward again and with her eyes tightly shut to block out her guilt she sucked the straw as greedily as she could, filling her mouth over and over and gulping it down, wishing her Mistress was watching this depraved act of submission.

As she lay panting from the thrill of her actions, her attention was turned to her buttocks, still being cooked by the sun and now smarting noticeably. Her drink had gone a little way to easing her discomfort but now the cling of the rubber was starting to overwhelm her resistance, and panic was once again rising. How long had she been here? How long did they plan to leave her at the mercy of the sun? She was losing her battle of endurance and feared she would give in at any moment, calling out for help or simply pulling away the hoops that held her.

Just at the point of defeat they came for her, peeling off the top rubber sheet and releasing her, helping her weak and soaking body up and back to the house. She was led past her Mistress who stood just inside the open French doors that led out to the garden. She remained silent but Beth was sure she could detect a look of pride in those dark eyes, and just a hint of a smile at their shared triumph.

A slave took Beth to be showered, soaping her burnt behind and pulling off the latex that clung and stung when removed. Her bottom felt hot and sore, even with only tepid water against it and she was glad the flimsy g-string had at least protected the delicate folds of her p***y. Although the slave was trying to be careful, the sight of the red arse before her obviously proved too much and she span Beth around and kissed her deeply, grabbing handfuls of bum and squeezing urgently, despite the pain she knew it would cause.