The place seemed so inviting, the open hearth and glorious red drapes, hardly your average pub. But so welcome after she had managed to miss the last rural service back to town. The light meal he had prepared for her was just delicious. Seared salmon so beautifully prepared, and so kind of him, as the kitchen was already long closed for the night.
He had said there was a room left available, and hoped she didn't mind the gothic style is was furnished in, had said it was a little unusual. But she was so glad to see the end of a trying day a broom cupboard would have done, so she thanked him and said yes it would be fine.
She was still curled up on a deep fireside chair after the pub had closed, and she smiled lightly at him as he brought out two Irish coffees and sank into the chair next to hers, and they chatted and drank, and she could feel herself drifting, the warmth from the fire making her sleepy, she hadn't realised how tired she was.
He leaned forward and said softly that he would show her to her room, when she rose she swayed a little, and he let her lean against him and guided her out of the bar, up the stairs and along the corridor.
He was right about the gothic she thought, taking in the dark shape of the four poster, the drapes, the huge stained glass window as she unsteadily made her way to the middle of the room. She turned and smiled, thanked him for the lovely room and that she couldn't wait to see it in daylight, and bade him goodnight. As she sat on the end of the bed she thought she caught something, sounded like oh you will my dear, but it didn't register. So sleepy was she that she just crawled up to the great fluffy pillows and was gone.
What the.....she woke slowly, reality creeping back into the darkened room. But why? She felt suddenly so cold, tried to turn to get under cover but could not move. Panic then, becoming aware of tightness wrapping her wrists, her arms pulled together above her head, and her ankles strapped, her legs splayed wide. She struggled for what seemed like an eternity, and sobbed as the bindings tightened, despair then making her sag into her bonds, resignation at her state. And the true meaning of the gothic features of this place dawning on her.
In the darkness, she heard nothing, but jolted at the lightest of touches between the lips of her sex, the intrusion, becoming aware of the touch of a finger tracing its way around the inside of her slit, sliding around her clit. And yes, she felt how wet she was. Silence broken by the drawing back of heavy drapes, moonlight playing on the stained glass, colour dimly illuminating the scene, the shadowy figure of the man who...how long ago had led her to the room?