As Sandra released her grip on the robe, it parted on its own. She felt her face flush as Simon's warm gaze settled on her breasts.
'Keep it together,' Simon cautioned himself, feeling his cock begin to ache.
Shakily he blew out a long breath. Although he'd climaxed back at the office, now that he faced a clear view of Sandra's nudity for the first time, he momentarily questioned his lasting power.
Simon reached to the side and picked up a pair of mismatched scarves draped across her white bedside table. Pushing up onto his knees he edged toward her, wrapping one scarf around his hands until it pulled tight.
Sandra gaped at him in horror. 'Is he going to strangle me?' she wondered, inwardly screaming for her body to move. In terror her limbs had frozen and could she only watch as Simon slowly closed the distance between them.
When he pounced, she shrieked and fell backwards with him on top of her. His chiseled face loomed above hers a few seconds before lowering - his mouth teased and nibbled her lips, encouraging her to open up and kiss him back. Half-resigned to her fate, she didn't fight but tried her best to ignore him, lying passive until he raised his head and looked into her beautiful eyes, glimmering with unshed tears.
"What did I tell you about screaming?" he teased, and moved the scarf resting across her collarbone up to her mouth.
"No, wait! Sim-nFFFHHH!" she cried, as he effectively gagged her.
The scarf was several shades of purple wool, made by her grandmother. Its coarse thickness silenced Sandra far more efficiently than an ordinary scarf would have. First-hand she discovered that her gran knit one hell of a sturdy scarf. Although not in the same league of stupidity as leaving the balcony door unlocked, Sandra was irrationally mad at herself for leaving the scarf next to the bed.
"This is going to be so good," Simon promised her, his dark eyes serious in his arousal. He sat back and pulled her clenched fists from her sides, forcing her hands open easily.
"Right now you have no idea, but you will," he muttered, pressing a wet kiss into the palm of each small hand before wrapping the second scarf around Sandra's wrists. This scarf was pure silk and warm-coloured, like her eyes.
Sandra could accept that he wanted to keep her quiet, but when he moved her body so that she lay properly on the bed and raised her arms above her head, she fought for her life. Back at the office she thought he was just a pervert, on the drive home she suspected he was emotionally unstable, but by now she genuinely believed he was bat-shit crazy.
Simon laughed cruelly as he climbed forward, forcing her back. He straddled her, knees on either side of her waist, keeping her down while he took his time securing her hands to the headboard.
He didn't pay any attention to her knees kicking into his back. Given his size Sandra grudgingly realised her actions were hurting herself more than him - it was like kneeing into a solid wall. Her strength was no match for his, and soon she found herself bound, gagged and, though technically still wearing the robe, completely exposed to him.
Simon carefully manoeuvred his body backwards over her writhing form, toward the foot of the bed so he could survey his handiwork. Blushing in embarrassment under his perusal, she twisted and turned to loosen the bonds, carefully keeping her legs closed.
"NNNNNFFFHHHH!" she hollered into the scarf, her eyes pleading with his.
Simon winked at her, loving her helplessness. "Don't worry," he grinned widely, "I won't keep you waiting long."
"Bnnpph, ynnphh, unnnph-phhhh!" she argued.
Simon easily recognised what she was trying to say: 'But you promised!'
"I did promise," he admitted, enjoying how her eyes lit up hopefully as she realised he understood. "I promised not to rape you at the office. But I also made it clear we are going to be lovers, so," he shrugged his broad shoulders with exaggerated regret, "you could say that promise is now obsolete."
Though Sandra expected betrayal from him, her eyes widened in dismay and her breathing became laboured. Both exertion and panic caused her pert breasts to rapidly rise and fall. Simon could almost feel his pupils dilate as he watched them. Barely able to control his own ragged breathing, he tried to soothe her anxiety.
"Sandra, I'm not going to hurt you," he said sincerely, "but you know better than to think I'll walk out of this room and go home." He chuckled that she might have thought such a thing.
Simon's words had the opposite effect. Sandra was fast becoming hysterical. For the first time that evening her mind was completely blank - she could think of nothing to calm herself down. She was naked and completely helpless; captive to a nutcracker who had deceived her into believing he was a normal person.
Unable to resist, Simon moved forward, reaching out with both hands to capture her straining breasts while she struggled. He couldn't suppress a groan as he caressed her, rolling her nipples between his fingers till they stood to attention.
Lowering his head to her right breast, he attached his mouth to one deliciously pink, perfectly shaped nipple, just begging to be sucked. His hot breath seemed to sear her to the bone and his mouth lingered above her breast as he alternated between licking, kissing, and gently tugging at the sensitive peak with his teeth. Almost immediately Simon realised he was going too fast, he needed to slow down or he'd finish too soon.
Reluctantly his mouth left her breast and he sat back, exhaling heavily and moving his hands from her chest. He traced down her body, casually running his large hands a few times up and down her bare, shapely legs. Soon after, he settled them on her thighs and lightly squeezed their soft, taut flesh. Quickly, before she knew what he was about, he slid his strong hands inwards and expertly forced her legs open.
