Claire woke with a start, convinced that someone else was in the room.
Nothing seemed out of place in the big, bright bedroom she shared with her husband, but she remained perfectly still for several seconds, listening for any sign of trouble.
Nothing but bird songs and the sounds of the guy up the street mowing his lawn.
Shaking her head at her own paranoia, she got up. It was almost 10:30, the bedside clock showed. She must have gone back to sleep after the alarm went off at 8.
Coffee, then shower, she decided. Michael was out of town on business, and she had the day off, so there was no rush to get ready.
Might be nice to sit around in my PJs all day, she thought, and reached for the robe she kept hanging on the back of the bedroom door.
And then it happened: A gloved hand closed roughly over her mouth, preventing her from screaming and she felt something cold and sharp pressed against her throat. She froze, too panicked to struggle, and the intruder forced a something cloth into her mouth, gagging her. He pinned her wrists behind her back and quickly cuffed them together, and that's when she started to struggle, trying to wrestle free. He grabbed her by the hair, pulled her back into his arms and half-dragged, half-carried her to the living room.
He remained silent as he forced her into a low-slung wooden armchair and un-cuffed her wrists just long enough to fasten her wrists to the wooden frame in the back of the chair. Claire whimpered when he cut the spaghetti straps of her nightgown and the silky garment slipped down, exposing her to the waist. She couldn't make a sound when he cupped her breast in one gloved hand , then rubbed his thumb slowly over her nipple. He brought his other hand up to fondle her and she closed her eyes, burning with humiliation, as he stroked her nipples to a firm, aching point and gave each little bud a pinch.
He moved around in front of her and she finally got a glimpse of him. Not too tall, but broad-shouldered and muscular. Black long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, a black ski mask over his face. He knelt in front of her and tugged her nightgown down, forcing her to lift her hips so he could pull it off her completely. With a quick flick of the knife, he cut her panties off and tossed them aside, leaving her naked. He pulled a roll of duct tape from his jacket pocket, then placed a finger across her mouth, warning her to be quiet. Claire held her breath as he pulled the gag out of her mouth, then whimpered when he replaced it a strip of duct tape.
Her ankles were next. He grabbed the left one and hooked it over the left arm of the chair, using the duct tape to fasten her ankle to the wooden chair frame. Her right ankle was next. When he was done, she sat with her legs pulled up and spread wide, her arms fastened behind her, her breasts and pussy completely exposed.
He turned away for a minute, then reappeared with a blue duffle bag. He must have stashed it when he first entered the house, Claire though, confused and panicked. He pulled out a roll of what looked like clear first aid tape and set it on the arm of the chair, then pulled something small out of the bag.
She couldn't see it at first, but as he unwound it, she realized it was a small bullet vibrator and went cold with panic. She tried to scream through the gag, felt herself shaking her head in protest, felt herself wriggling and trying to pull away as he knelt between her legs and taped the little vibe to her clit.
When had he found her journal? Had he been watching the house? Did he know Michael was gone for the weekend?
He pulled something else out of the duffle he'd left next to the chair, something small and rectangular, and Claire realized it must be the remote control for the vibrator.
Oh, God. Just like her fantasy, the one she'd scribbled down furtively in the journal she hid in her lingerie drawer. Not even Michael knew she kept it, and Michael knew everything.
Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as the intruder took a seat on the couch, positioning himself directly across from Claire. He set the remote down on the cushion next to his knee and settled in. White male, she noted, dark eyes.
He studied her for several seconds, just sat there and watched her squirm under his silent scrutiny until she was ready to scream. The windows were open, and a gust of cool air washed over Claire's skin, making her nipples pucker. The intruder remained silent and still, his eyes roaming over her.
She almost jumped a second later when he picked up the remote for the vibrator. She heard herself whimpering again under the gag as he studied the unit, then adjusted something on it.
Then he pointed it at her and pushed the button.
The gag muffled her yelp as the little bullet buzzed to life. Claire closed her eyes and tried to distract herself as the vibrator whirred and pulsated against her clit. But nothing could disguise the heat building between her legs, and she could feel herself growing wetter, feel her clit swelling and tingling as the buzzing grew louder.
The intruder said nothing, just watched her struggle to control her growing arousal. Desperate to hide herself, she tried to close her legs, tried to scoot down in the seat, but the duct tape held her fast. She'd read somewhere once that it could be stronger than steel in some circumstances.
Just her luck.
Another breeze, and she realized her nipples were pebble-hard and aching. She and the intruder just stared at each other and she felt the sensation between her legs grow stronger, felt herself growing hot and flushed. The muscles in her abdomen grew taut and she heard her breathing grow ragged. She shifted restlessly in the chair, suddenly unable to keep still.
She was going to come, she realized. Her pulse was pounding, her cheeks bright red. She bit back a moan, determined not to make a sound, not to give him the satisfaction. A bubble of heat was building in her groin, building and swelling and threatening to explode. She felt her pussy actually clench, felt her muscles coil.
She closed her eyes, mortified.
And then, with a click, the vibrator stopped.
Her eyes popped open and she saw the intruder was leaning forward a little, trying to get a better look. She managed not to squirm, not to make a sound to betray her sudden frustration. She closed her eyes again, not wanting to give anything away as her breathing returned to normal and her muscles slowly relaxed. The heat between her legs never seemed to die down, though, even as she sat perfectly still for what seemed like several minutes.
And then the vibrator started again.
He took her farther, faster this time. In mere minutes, she was at the brink, almost panting, hips squirming involuntarily, a wave of heat building, threatening to overtake her. She was almost ready to scream when she saw his fingers move, and the little bullet grew still and quiet against her throbbing clit again.
She heard herself moan with frustration this time and opened her eyes to see the intruder had made himself more comfortable on the couch. Something in his posture drew her attention. He sat back casually, legs crossed, one arm stretched out along the back of the sofa. He looked her over slowly, eyes lingering possessively on her breasts.
Michael?
She caught his glance and recognized the sudden glint of laughter and arousal.
Michael!
He grinned at her, blew her a kiss and turned the vibrator back on.
Claire groaned and struggled again to free herself.
I will kill him, she vowed, with my bare hands if I have to. The familiar heat began building again, and she felt her anger giving way to arousal as the vibrator brought her closer and closer to orgasm.
Then he turned it off again.
For the next half -hour or so, he tortured her remorselessly. He never said a word, never took his eyes off her as she squirmed futilely in the chair. The wooden seat was wet with sweat and her own juices, and her thighs were slick. Her face was flushed bright red and her breathing uneven, and she was surprised she hadn't incinerated him with the angry glare she was sending his way.
She had never been so furious at him.
Or so completely, lusciously turned on. She was so naked right now, tied up and spread open and horny under his hungry gaze. God, she wanted him, wanted to feel his cock inside her, taste his mouth and his skin, feel the weight of his body on hers.
She couldn't count how many times in the four years they'd been together, he'd murmured, "Let me look at you," or how many times she'd managed to hide or distract him, embarrassed by his unabashed appreciation.
He was certainly getting an eyeful now, the little voice in her head whispered. And enjoying the view tremendously, judging from the bulge in his trousers.
The vibrator turned on again and she gave a long, low moan as her back arched in response. She was near panic as he stood and walked toward her, holding the remote. He walked behind the chair and she jumped when his hands came to rest gently on her shoulders.
