Given the opportunity to make her sexual fantasy a reality, a woman discovers maybe what she really wanted was a …
By Cara Bristol
Blindfolded, Kayden Ramsey squeezed her eyelids tight and watched the imaginary stars twinkle. The pinpricks of light dissipated, replaced by images of the men who would turn her fantasy into reality.
Would it be Ty? Tall and lean, his body contained a ripcord strength any red-blooded woman couldn’t fail to appreciate. Or Del, the amateur boxer who still bore a cut over his left eyebrow after his last bout in the ring. She knew Connor the least, but could tell by the way he sometimes looked at her he was picturing her naked. If he got lucky, he’d see the real deal. She tried not to think of Mick Davies, but her boyfriend’s face crowded her mind, erasing the men who were his friends.
She tightened her fists around the silken restraints that bound her wrists to the bedposts. Her legs, spread wide, were tethered to the footboard.
Mick had ensured her comfort by keeping the bedroom temperature warm, but goose bumps of nervousness and desire prickled her naked skin. Kayden had fantasized about this—being helpless while taken by a nameless, faceless stranger. The mere thought would make her breathing and heart race, her pussy grow wet. She focused on her fantasy when she and Mick made love, and when she needed an extra boost, the visions would catapult her to orgasm.
Reality was a tad scarier than the fantasy, which she’d shared with Mick, never dreaming he’d offer to make it come true.
As Mick had prepared to tie her to the bed, she’d sought his gaze for reassurance, but he’d shielded his expression, so that her decision would be hers alone, and she would not be influenced by what she thought he wanted. But she had to ask. “Are…are you okay with this?”
He twisted his lips in a self-deprecating grin, and she followed his daze downward to the erection tenting his slacks. “My cock’s so fucking hard I think it’s going to explode. The thought of another man fucking you shouldn’t excite me.” He paused. “But it does.”
Mick had knelt on the bed. “Lift your head,” he ordered.
She did, and he secured the ties and the blindfold. As he leaned over, his cock brushed her thigh. He wasn’t kidding about being turned on. He was rock solid. She inhaled his familiar warm scent, comforting, yet stirring.
Kayden relaxed against the pillow, the knot in the scarf a small bump under her head.
“How many fingers am I holding?” his voice asked.
Everything was black. “I-I don’t know.”
She couldn’t see his fingers, but she could feel them, caressing her cheek, stroking the throbbing pulse in her neck, circling one pebbled nipple. Her stomach clenched as he tugged gently on the ring piercing her naval, traced the outline of the butterfly tattoo on her hip. Not being able to see or move brought a new dimension to the sensation.
He trailed his fingers lower, dipping into her wet heat before teasing her clit with a mercilessly delicate touch. She arched, straining for more, a moan escaping her throat. Her heart raced, and every muscle went taut.
“You’re already dripping wet. Your fantasy excites you,” his throaty voice stated the obvious. Two broad fingers invaded her pussy, stretching her as his thumb tormented her clit. She clamped her muscles around marauding fingers.
Her body quivered. “Make me come, Mick.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
The fingers disappeared.
“Naughty girl,” he said. “You must save that for the fantasy.” He slapped her pussy, and a shock of desire zinged through her clit. Kayden gasped. A few of those would make her come.
Lastly, he gagged her. They’d talked about whether to fulfill that part of the fantasy in case she experienced second thoughts and wanted to call it off, but what was the point of living out a fantasy if you didn’t follow it as closely as possible?
He’d left her then, wantonly wet and tightly bound and gagged, and went to join Ty, Del and Connor in the living room for a round of poker to determine who would fuck her. Mick’s friends weren’t nameless as her fantasy dictated, but being blindfolded she never would know for sure which one had done the honors. She might guess from body type, but she wouldn’t know. She would see them on Superbowl Sundays, at parties, on bowling nights and would wonder which one had made her fantasy come true.
She strained to hear and on the other side of the closed door rumbled a drone of male voices, split by a sharp burst of laughter. Was that her name? A collective groan, then another bout of raucous amusement rang out. With a lurch, her gut concluded the winner had been decided.
Kayden’s heart hammered. Her mouth went dry, the gag not helping, and she struggled to swallow. Her nipples hardened further, not from arousal but exposure as the room seemed to suddenly cool.
She tugged at the restraints Mick had so lovingly, firmly tied. Certainty eroded to doubt. Doubt to reversal. What was she doing? She didn’t need this. Didn’t want this. Too late she concluded she had craved the fantasy experience without the consequences. A fantasy lite.
She twisted her head, her breathing coming in pants. Tears came, soaking into the blindfold.
Kayden clutched Mick’s ties, yanking hard. She froze at the click.
A breeze washed over her, puckering her nipples, confirming the door had been opened.
Clothing rustled as it was removed. Shoes hit the floor with a thud. Breathing. She could hear breathing. She smelled the musk of arousal mixed with a tint of fear all her own.
Heart hammering, she mewled through the gag and thrashed her head.
The tip of a gentle finger stroked her cheek.
Kayden went weak with relief.
“Did you really think I’d let another man touch you?” Mick chided. He tugged on her navel piercing, traced the butterfly tattoo, then journeyed lower.
Thank you for reading! Hope to see you next Friday for Misty’s Limits, in which a speeding motorist comes up against the strong arm of the law. Until then, please check out my published works: