Tied to the bed, she was helpless, her only clothing the scarves that held her prisoner, and the collar she was refusing to admit was around her neck. Frantically, her heart beat, the drum keeping time to the fear growing inside her.
She hears the door open, and turning her head, she sees that the candles providing the light for the room she is in do little to help her see the face of her tormentor, for she can hardly believe she would be here of her own free will. The bed dips to accommodate the weight of the man as he crawls towards her. His hands trail up her body as he moves, stopping to pinch here and to fondle there. As he comes level to her face, she finds herself looking into light blue eyes, and sees a smile empty of any gentleness. Suddenly, he dips his head down and she screams, for not only does it feel as though he is trying to bite her breast off, but he has plunged himself inside her to the hilt. Raking his nails down her sides as he begins rocking the bed, his growls fill her ears as her scream fills the room.
Anise sits up, fumbling for the alarm that is both salvation and torment, her body echoing the sensations left over from her dream. Unsure as to whether she is scared from her nightmare, or aroused from the erotic dream, Anise checks herself to make sure everything is as it should be. No scarves check. No collar, check. Both breasts check. Bite marks, nope. Ok, good. Out of curiosity, her hand wanders between her legs. The most intense orgasm washes over as her finger brushes her clit, bowing her back in pleasure and an involuntary scream escapes her.
Ok, she decides, definitely not a nightmare.
After her shower, she stands in front of her open closet, trying to decide between plain black and pinstripe, and opts for navy blue. Wanting to disperse the feeling of not being in control that lingers from last night's dream, she totally throws her system out of whack and wears a knee length skirt. Even though today is Thursday. Eh, she thinks, the world will not end because I wear a skirt one day early.
Then again, the world may not realize the absurdity of its ending based on her choice of clothing. She grabs a pair of slacks to take to work .Just in case.
Running down the hall at the office, she cannot believe the day she is having. First, she missed the bus, so she had to run back to the house to hop in the car. So much for holding onto that $3.97, a gallon and she had been sitting on a little less than a full tank for two weeks. Then it seemed as though EVERY red light from her street to the office building was just waiting for her, oh, look, it's Anise...RED LIGHT. Ha, ha, red means you cannot go anywhere. Which means precious minutes wasted waiting for the idiot in front of her to stop talking on the cell long enough to realize the light had changed and to GO! Already. Not to mention the fact that she decided about half way to the office that a skirt one day early might just cause the Apocalypse and the line to the ladies' at her corner 7-eleven was long. Moreover, she was trying hard not to think about the busted out button on her slacks. Which really surprised her as it shot off from her waist and landed somewhere in the car as she was doing 80 down the freeway .She would be lucky enough to be the first person to die of a lost button.
So, here she was, counting the steps from the elevator to her cube, button-less slacks slung over her shoulder, as she had changed in her car in the parking garage. Hair falling in cascading waves to the small of her back (did she mention the broken hair clippie-thing? No? Well, guess what) and late of all things.
Mindy poked her head over their combined wall and after one look at Anise's face, prudently disappeared back to her own four-walled kingdom. After a few moments of silence, Mindy's voice breached the boundary of solitude in a whisper.
"Annie, you seem to be a little late."
"You also seem to have lost whatever it is that keeps your hair up."
In spite of the growl, she thought she heard her friend's state of dress, or in Annie's case, lack thereof Mindy could not hold back the tide of teasing at her friend's expense.
"Is that a skirt? I thought skirts were only for "TGIF"? You know, the whole payday, the week is over thing? Are you ok?'
Annie was well known to her small circle of friends for habits that seemed a bit, well, much. They blamed the OCD and contented themselves with throwing out various numbers when they noticed her in one of her counting fugues.
"Mindy my day is going so wrong I can practically feel the jaws of doom opening beneath my feet. We will talk at later, ok. I need to catch up on a few things and my personality is so less than perky right now. Yep, I am late, my hair clippie thing broke, and yes, I am in a skirt. Moreover, as you seem to be fascinated with my clothes today, I forgot to put on a pair of panties this morning, Gossip done for now. I need to do a PCS for NCIU."
By lunchtime, she was exhausted.
Damn, Annie thought, I never realized how much fake cheeriness took out of a person.
Meeting up with Mindy and Shannon at their favorite spot in the break-nick area, Anise was surprised to feel a headache sneaking up on her. Ok, if not surprised, disappointed. After the night, she had, and the rushed morning, it seemed as though everything that could go wrong, was going to.
"Mindy, Shay, there is no way I can do the girly, gossip thing today. I am going to just go back upstairs and try to relax for an hour or so. We can meet up tonight or something, ok?"
Shay looked up in acknowledgement, gave her a sympathetic look, and waved her away. Already involved in her lunchtime book, she returned to reading her newest Kresley Cole novel. Every now and then throwing out a comment to let Mindy know she was paying attention to her.
Mindy just nodded in understanding, having heard the strain in her voice with the last call she had received.
Deciding that the stairs were preferable to an elevator full of chatty co-workers, Annie started the long trek back up to the eighth floor. By the third floor, she had her heels in her hand, thankful her toenails were braggingly pretty in pink. By the sixth floor, she was convinced she was having a heart attack, and it somehow had something to do with her inability to lift her legs another step.
"Ok, I need a breather. No fake cheer, no one sticking their nosy head over our wall, and no mystery men fucking me to a screaming orgasm. Damn it, no stupid alarm to interrupt the best part."
So saying, Anise plopped as softly as she could, but with much feeling on the stair, she found herself on, and pulled out her cell phone. Entering the website she wanted, she lost herself to the online erotica site she convinced herself she stumbled onto, devouring word after word of the piece she had discovered last night. While reading an interesting scene involving a buxom blonde, two hard-ons and a swing, she was surprised to find that she was rather turned on.
Ok, in all honestly, "rather turned on" as in, "if someone doesn't do me now, I'm going to die." Two years without anything between her legs that was not attached to her own hand was coming back to kick her in the ass.
"Damn, I have got to get laid. Soon and hard."
"I'd be happy to oblige, but I have a meeting in twenty minutes, and you are in my way"
The deep voice coming from somewhere above her shoulders scared the hell out of her, and she let out the girly-est scream possible before stopping herself.
After watching the cute red head for five minutes as she sat on the step below him, Cain Andrews wondered what had her so engrossed that she had not heard him coming down the stairs. She had not budged a muscle when he tried to excuse himself to pass her. At first thinking her just rude, he was about to respond in kind when she made such an inviting comment. Never one to let down a beautiful woman in distress Cain felt himself responding to her verbal observation.
"Oh, excuse me! I am so sorry!"
Anise was mortified. Embarrassment was obvious in every move she made. From just standing up, to straightening her clothes and fixing her hair, took all the self-control she had. Unknown to her, the feminine response to any uncomfortable situation to fix her appearance was just highlighting her otherwise well hidden charms.
