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
