Stealing Cassie (Expanded - New content)

Reads: 2211  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 4  | Comments: 3

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Status: In Progress  |  Genre: General Erotica  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

Cassie's is twenty-three and her life is going nowhere. She has a job and home, a husband too, but she no longer has any fun.

Then one day, as Cassie stands waiting for her bus after a day at work, a fabulous sports car pulls up. Driving is Josh, her best friend's husband.

Cassie's life will never be the same.

I'm not sure where this story is going to go. It will definitely be erotic. There will be threesome, bondage, group sex. The details have yet to be finalised.

Cassie is not the most likable person but I think some of you will enjoy her journey.

Not much sex in this early part. Hoping this will turn into something longer. Part two will be when it heats up.

It’s all been so sudden. Josh and I hadn’t even kissed until last Friday evening, which seems ages ago now. But even before our wonderful kiss, I knew we were connecting, sensed something special happening between us. So many clues, more and more each time we were together. 

It all started when I was standing at the bus stop after work when he pulled up in his white sports car. I hadn’t a clue about cars, just knew it looked sensational. And what a shock when the window went down, Josh at the wheel. 

“Hi, Cassie. Use a lift?” he said. A big smile beaming across his face. I must have looked doubtful because he said, “Promise I won’t bite.”  

My surprise was not just because of how fabulous his motor was  — a Mclaren 570S, I now know — but also because of the unexpectedness of seeing him in that place at that time. After all, he is Becky’s partner, who I thought worked in London. 

I watched as if in a dream as the door nearest me went up in the air, like the wing of a bird about to take flight. I peered into the interior, and he patted the cream, leather seat to encourage me.

 I eased myself under the raised door and slid in beside him, conscious of my skirt riding high as I manoeuvred myself.  Once I was settled, the door glided back into place. I looked through the side window at the faces of the people still at the bus queue. Everyone was gawking. 

Even though he’d been in a relationship with Becky for ages, when I sat there looking at him, I realised hardly knew him at all. Until the lifts began, I had met him only a few times. He was one of those people who are a name in your life but not really part of your life. 

Oh, did I not say?  Becky is my oldest and dearest friend. 

I still thought of Becky as my best friend even though we hadn’t actually met up in the real world for over a year — which is the last time I saw Josh. Of course, I still checked her out on Facebook from time to time, but whenever she texted to say we should get together I would make an excuse. 

You see I got unbelievable envious of her when she started going with Josh.  God, is it really two years ago she first introduced me to him? Another lifetime now. Something twisted deep inside me the very first I saw them together. 

She’d brought him round ours to meet Ian and me. I remember thinking how unfair life was that she had landed someone like Josh when I was stuck with Ian. I can still picture how she and Josh sat side by side on our sofa. The perfect couple, she sipping Prosecco and looking oh-so pleased with herself. I thought you’ve only brought him round ours to show him off.

I couldn’t after their visit, brooded on how she’d landed the most perfect specimen of man I’d ever laid eyes on. Eventually, I stopped seeing her, couldn’t stand their smug happiness. Seeing her with him — or if not with him, having to sit and listen to her go on about him — made me seethe. I couldn’t stand her self-satisfied smile, be a witness to her completely selfish happiness.

Yes, he is that good looking. Absolutely to fucking-die-for good looking. 

When he drove me home, Josh would listen intently while I went on about my crap life and how pathetic Ian is. Such a good listener, he should have been a therapist instead of . . . ?  Now I come to think about it, I’m not sure what Josh does; something in the city. Hedge funds. Merchant banks . . . . Stuff like that.

Each time I got a lift from him, more and more stuff about Ian and me came out — stuff I shouldn’t really be telling anyone, let alone my best friend’s bloke. I just start babbling and, hey-presto, I have his full attention. I can’t stop myself. You're so pathetic, Cassie. But he makes me feel as if I’m saying the most important thing ever. It’s been ages since a man has paid attention to what I have to say.

Yeah, he is always fully there for me. In the moment, as they say. I sensed it immediately that first time in his car. It was in his eyes when he turned to me, the way he nodded thoughtfully as he drove while I went on and on about myself. It was as if he was truly listening to me, you know, actually thinking about what I was saying and not just being polite or thinking about what he was going to say next. He’d turn to me and smile and then I’d go all quiet and lose my chain of thought. But still, I really liked it when he looked at me in that intense way he has, his ice-blue eyes electric with secret schemes. When a man looks at a girl like that her life can change in an instant.  

In tea-time traffic, it usually took us thirty minutes to cover the four miles to the house I share with Ian. When I told Ian that Josh sometimes gave me a lift home he just grunted and said if he tried anything on with me he would kill him. That’s Ian for you.

 Don’t get me wrong, I love Ian, love him to bits. But my god! The man has no ambition, is still only a salesman after five gruelling years with Hawkshead and Marlow. He should be an area manager after all the hours he puts in. I try to encourage him but it just turns into a row, and then I have to tip-toe around him. He’s become so sensitive lately. I’m only trying to help, encourage him.

And the sex has stopped. 

Why does Josh have to be so good looking? Shit! Trust the most handsome man I have ever-ever met to be picking me up after work three or four times a week. And there’s me so frustrated these days, what with Ian losing his sex drive and being so moody all the time. 
It’s so frustrating when I slide my legs into Josh’s car and have to just sit there and pretend like he’s my brother or something. I saw him looking that first time. I hope he appreciates my legs now I’ve stopped wearing tights. I wonder if he thinks my skirt is too short.

Last Tuesday I went and did something idiotic. It was so disloyal of me to tell Josh I was thinking of leaving Ian.  Even though I said it out loud, I wasn’t thinking of leaving Ian at all — not then that is. Well, I  may have thought it once or twice, you know, just imagining what it would be like if I ever did, wondering how things might pan-out for me.  But then I went and said it to out loud to Josh. How stupid was that, Cassie?

At the time, deep down, I was sure I would never leave Ian. I said those things to Josh just to let off steam, get it all off my chest, tell someone how shit my life was. Josh seemed genuinely shocked when I said it, asked if I was winding him up. Was I serious? 

I said I’d be gone already if I had a place to go to.  He was thoughtful for a moment, then he said I could come and stay with him and Becky for a few days if I ever needed to. Until I got my head straight, he said,

Now that really shocked me, him saying he and Becky could put me up. I tried to imagine how that would go down with Becky. So I asked him: 

“What about Becky?” 

“Cassie!  Do you even have to ask? You know Becks loves-you-to-bits.”

Then I felt a complete idiot because he’d tell Becky I’m was thinking of leaving Ian . . . When I wasn’t — not really. What would she think now? That I’m pathetic, that I’ve made a mess of yet another relationship, just like every other failure she’s held my hand through over the years, that’s what she’d think.

Friday night in the car. Rain in sheets against the windscreen. The traffic an angry snarl. Painted metal boxes on wheels bumper to bumper. Stop. Go. Stop. Go. Wash-wipe, wash-wipe. Fogged windows, me wiping with the sleeve of my coat.

 That journey was perfection. Me and Josh with all the time in the world to talk to each other. Just him and me, only us two cocooned against the world. An hour together in the sumptuous interior of his fabulous motor. That was when he told me he’d spoken to Becky and said she’d said it was okay for me to stay at theirs. Just until I found somewhere, he said.

When we pulled up outside my house, I leant forward him to kiss him on his cheek — just to say thanks for him being there for me, for them both being so kind in offering to put me up. But at the exact moment I moved my head towards him he turned to me unexpectedly and I ended up kissing his lips. 

Immediately I felt like a complete fool and quickly pulled away, babbling, “Sorry, sorry, oh god, I-am-so-sorry!”

His shushing finger on my lips, his other hand reaching for me and his warm palm cupping the back of my head and easing my face into his. Our lips meeting again, this time kissing like a pair of desperate lovers out of some heartbreaking movie. I could tell he felt the same as me, was as mad for me as I was for him. You don’t get kissed like that if it's just a casual thing. That kiss shouted out loud how much he wanted me.

 When the kissing stopped, he looked into my eyes and said, “Listen, Cassie, you should do it this weekend. Leave him. Start anew.”

Was he asking me to leave Ian for him alone? Did he plan to leave Becky? No, Cassie, that was such a stupid idea. 

“It’s not that easy,” I said.

“It’s as easy as packing your bag and calling Becks and me. We’d come straight for you.”

“But what about Becky?” I asked.

“Didn’t I say already? didn’t I tell you, when you’re ready we’ll come for you.”

“I meant the kiss?” I said.

“Leave Becky to me.” 

A new game had begun, and life was dealing me a new hand. This time Becky didn’t hold all the aces. 

Then I saw Ian’s car pull up further down our street. Finding a parking place was murder round our way. 

“I can’t talk now,” I said, already hurrying to get out of the car. “He’ll expect his tea to be read and on the table.” 

“Take my number.”

“I can’t.”

“Why on earth not?” 

“Ian checks my phone.”

“Jeez, Cassie, you should kick the loser into touch.”

“I have to stand by him. He needs me.”

“You only have one life.”

His words touched something inside me. At that moment I realised I did not even have a life. As I stood next to Josh’s car and watched Ian down the street as he rummaged in the back of his estate, I thought of my night ahead: our meat feast pizza, his four cans. Him in up in the back room on some stupid game while I'm downstairs with my soaps. Him coming down for the ten-thirty news. A desperate panic began to rise. 

“I really have to go,” I said.

 I looked at Josh and smiled at him through the front passenger window. Such a pathetic, needy smile.

 Ian and I rowed that night. He started going on about how I’d changed lately, said it was since Josh had been giving me lifts home. Was something going on?

That night in bed as Ian snored, I thought about my marriage. I decided I really would have to leave him. 

Things looked different Saturday morning with Ian spooned against me, his cock hot and hard against my buttocks.  Later I phoned Becky. She did not seem surprised it was me, even though it had been ages since we’d spoken. Usually we texted. As I listened to her voice, I tried to imagine how she’d react if I told her Josh had kissed me. Too complicated to even imagine. We spent half an hour catching up, but she never mentioned me leaving Ian.

On Monday, as soon as I slipped into his car, Josh handed me a phone. 

"What's this for?"

“It’s so you can call me — if ever you need to urgently.”

“Ian will find it. He goes through my stuff.”

“Not if you're careful.”

I slipped the phone into my bag, but already I was thinking about Ian's slyness,  his snooping, the scene if ever he were to find it.

All week at work I thought of nothing else but the phone, which I kept deep in my bag. It was even worse at night, I was worried sick about Ian discovering it. Over our Friday meal, he asked me what was wrong, said I’d been off with him all week. I tried to sound casual, but I knew he could sense my ill-ease. I had to say something:

“Charles Meridith wants me in his office first thing,” I lied, “ He needs to go over the Statonfield report with me.”

“So what’s the problem? You’re good at you job, Cassie. Your attention to detail is stupefying.” 

I did not let his sarcasm derail me: “I have a bad feeling. Some of the girls are saying there are going to be redundancies, it's then they start looking for reasons . . . Remember when I worked at KVC?”

“Shit, that’s all we need.”

“I know.”

He stood up and went into the hall and called out, “I’m going down the pub. You coming?”

 I went through to him and said, “Think I’ll just go over it all again while it’s fresh in my mind.” I kissed him, then said, “Don’t mind, do you?”

Before he went, he said: “you’re a fool, Cassie. You should stand up for yourself more.”

He’d got that right.

When he’d gone, I got out the phone and put in on the coffee table in in front of where I sat on the sofa. I just sat there and stared at it for nearly ten minutes. I considered going to the garage and taking a hammer to it, or I could go for a walk and throw it into the cut — but that would be stupid, it was a lifeline to Josh. I picked it up. It hummed with his presence.

I turned it on and texted Josh:

“I love you,” 

Then I turned it off and wrapped it off and carried it upstairs, where in our bedroom I wrapped in a pair of black, opaque tights and pushed it to the back of my undies drawer. 

Later that evening, I lay in bed imagining Ian coming home drunk and paranoid and searching for something he was sure would prove I was having an affair.

Saturday morning, I wake early, thoughts of the phone on loop in my head. The idea of it being in the house over the entire weekend terrifies me. Over breakfast, I tell Ian I have errands to do. I take the phone to the post office where I purchase packaging and send it to myself at work.

Later that day, I decided to cook a meal for when Ian when gets back from the match. Yes, a romantic evening meal: I'll put on my new summer frock and sexy undies, become the Stepford Wife he's always wanted me to be, all floral pattern and waft. 

I take care with my makeup and do my hair nice. I think, perhaps if I can tempt him, make myself as gorgeous as I can ever be, maybe it will get us back on track. Afterwards, we can talk.

Eight O'clock and he's still not home. Bastard! He's gone to the pub with his mates. He'll roll in drunk at midnight.

I telephone Becky. I start to cry.

"We're coming for you now," she says. "Pack some things."

After talking to Becky, I feel like a proper shit for kissing Josh. I think of all the times I've envied her with her glamour model looks, her perfect face and silk-fine blonde hair and how tall and sleekly agile she is. I've always wished I was Becky. Fuck! I really do envy her so much: envy her for not having to go out to work; envy her fabulous house in the countryside; envy her for having four exotic holidays a year. Worst of all, she has the most perfect husband any woman could ask for. Fuck!

I packed a suitcase, mainly undies and clothes for work. Choosing which shoes to take is agonising. My never worn Jimmy Choos are first, still boxed. I open the lid and peel back tissue and slide interlace my fingers among their straps. Tears flow down my cheeks.

I pull myself together and stuff four, day to day pairs in a Tesco bag-for-life.

I take everything down to the hall and then go through to the lounge and on into the kitchen where I pour myself something strong. I sit at the breakfast bar drinking from a tumbler loaded with ice, mango juice and lashings of gin. I want Becky and Josh to hurry, to come and take me from this horrid dump. I wish and wish that when they do come and magic me away that it will be forever.

The doorbell rings and I jump up on bare feet and go quickly into the hall. I am dreading letting them in. I imagine how my eyes look, raw from tears. All that time spent doing my makeup wasted. I open the door, and they bustle me back into the hall.

Becky is on a mission to save me. Her arm around my shoulder, saying, "Now, Cassie . . . have you packed everything you need?" It is as if she is talking to a person I don't know. A vulnerable adult — that's what they call them, isn't it, when someone can no longer cope, is unable to make rational decisions, fend for themselves.

But I can cope, can make decisions, but it's nice they are so concerned, that they want to take care of me.

I nod in the direction of the red suitcase next to the coat stand. Then I catch the distant scratching of Ian's key in the back door latch. He must have come down the back alley. Becky and Josh have not heard him yet. Becky is still berating me.

I start to usher them back to the front door, saying, "Thanks for coming over so quickly but I've changed my mind. I'm going to stay, try to work things out with him". Then emphatically, "You both have to go. Now! This minute!"

Josh stands his ground and then his demeanour alters when he hears the clash of pans in the kitchen. Ian is in the cupboard looking for the rarely used chip-pan. God, he's drunk and cooking. He only ever cooks when he gets home after a binge with his mates. Always chips. That bloody old frying pan, like how his mother used to do them. I fucking hate his mother, Jean. He will not eat oven chips. I picture all that lard gone hard in the pan. My stomach flips. Serve him tight if it gives him a fucking coronary, but more likely one day he'll burn the house down.

And he hasn't even called through to say, Hi darling, I'm Home.

Becky is saying, "If you don't come now, Cassie, you never will." Then turning to her, Josh, says, "Tell her, Josh. Tell her she has to leave the creep."

But Josh decides words are not what is required. In one swift movement, he scoops me into his arms and tips me smartly over his shoulder, fireman style. A whoop of surprise escapes my lips. I kick my legs in a show of girlish protest. My skirt has ridden up, and I imagine the sight of my buttocks cut by thong.

But deep down I love how Josh man-handles me. It sends a thrill to my core. His strength and determination overwhelm me, and I abandon any pretence of resistance. But it is a dangerous moment. If Ian has heard my squeal and comes through to investigate and sees the suitcase and me draped over Josh's shoulder . . . Well! God only knows what?

But he hasn't heard. Even if he has he couldn't give a damn. I might have fallen down the stairs and be lying there all twisted and unconscious, but he doesn't even bother to come see.

Becky picks up the suitcase and makes for the door. Josh follows her out into the street with me still draped over his shoulder. I imagine curtains twitching, the disbelieving gapes of our neighbours.

As he walks up the street to their car, he's telling me this is all for my own good, that I'll thank them for it later.

They're in Becky's Range Rover. I hear the click of locks, and then Becky lifts the rear hatch and dumps my suitcase inside, along with my other bits. She goes to the driver's side and gets inside and starts the engine. Josh quickly opens the rear door and bundles me onto the back seat and jumps in too, wrapping his arms around me to secure me tightly. I suppose he wants to prevent me scurrying across the back seat and alighting through the opposite door.

I sink into plush leather, feel myself dissolve into the crook of flesh formed in his muscular upper arm, which he has about me, keeping me firmly in place. It enfolds me, and I smell his fragrance; his shower goods, his aftershave. His body heat radiates through his short sleeved shirt. His muscular right arm encircles my shoulders, his left-hand grips both my wrists so tightly it hurts me. I realise how large his hands are. The hem of my dress has ridden up, and his knuckles press into my bare thighs as he grips both my wrists. The backs of my warm, moist legs stick to the chilled leather.

As Becky edges from the parking space, I look through the side window and see the wide-eyed face of Mrs Smithers, my next door neighbour, staring in at me, her expression one of scandalous disbelief.

My heart is racing. I think about Ian still in our Kitchen. How will he react when he finds I'm not home? I imagine Mrs Smithers hurrying to our front door to tell him she has witnessed my abduction. I start to wriggle, trying to free myself while saying, "Josh you really have to let me go. THis is just getting silly." He ignores me, and so I try pleading, "Please, Josh."

But my voice betrays my real feelings. I'm starting to enjoy the wrongness of all this.

As we leave the street where I live, I realise I don't want to go back to Ian ever again. What I want is for Josh to Kiss me like he did in the car on Friday evening. He already has his arm around me, his big palms gripping my wrists, the back of his hand pressing down onto the tops of my bare thighs. It would be so easy for him to just put his face against mine and let slip his tongue.

I turn to him, my eyes beaming need. Can he read my look? But what about Becky? It will never happen with her here.

"You can let go of my wrists now, Josh. You know I'm not going to escape — at this speed," I say.

"I don't want to let go."

I don't want him to let go either. I look at Josh and then scan the back of Becky's head and then look back at him, my eyes beaming my confusion.

"Tell her, Becks," he calls to her, as she accelerates onto the bypass.

I see her huge mascara framed eyes watching me in the rear view mirror. Her right arm goes up and brushes back wayward strands of hair, hooking the largest strand ineffectively behind her ear, only for it to immediately slide free. Her hair is long and downy, fine as fairy-stuff

"Josh often talked about this, Cassie," Becky says.

"About what?" I say.

"Did you know he told me about the kiss you shared."

She waits for my response, and when none is forthcoming she continues, "You know . . . The one you shared together on Friday."

It takes me a moment to register her words. And when I do, when I understand what she is saying, my heart starts to pound, and my stomach spawns a thousand tiny scurrying things.

I look at Josh. My eyes accusing. I hiss my incredulity, "You told her!"

God! He's smiling. I hate his smugness. Then he says:

"Of course I did, Becks and I tell each other everything. Just like Becky told me all about the night you and she shared a sleeping bag. Cornwall wasn't it?"

God how could she have! Neither Becks or I have never, ever mentioned that night to anyone else — Not even to each other. Neither of us have ever spoke of that night, not the morning after, or not once ever since.

My head starts to spin. I feel like I might pass out. I don't understand what is going on.

"The thought of you and Becky together naked. Kissing . . . " he whispers in my ear.

"We weren't naked." I almost whimper the words.

But the truth is I'd often remembered that night under canvas when Becky and I lay all snug in each other's arms, our bare breast pressing together, our lips just kissing and kissing. I will never forget her large, soft breasts.

Now Becky is saying, "Josh and I often talked about you Cassie, tell each other what it would be like if . . ."

Josh's breath is like feathers against my cheek. He whispers, "Cassie, just think how nice it would be to have us both pamper you." His voice unable to contain a dark excitement, "Would you like that, Cassie?"

God, they want to share me. Is that what this is all about? Suddenly Josh is kissing me. I dissolve in his kiss, no longer care what they want to do with me.

Oh-my-god, I'm kissing Josh and Becky is right here too. Will I be kissing her next? Both of them together, or one and then the other?

Then we're in their drive. Becky quickly out of the car, she opens the door nearest me. I stretch my legs through the open door and am about to put them on the ground when I see the gravel. I have no shoes and know the sharp stones will hurt. I hesitate. Josh hurries out of his door and round to my side, lifting me out of the car and up into his densely muscled arms. I wrap my own arms around his neck and hold onto him as we are three miles high.

Becky goes ahead and opens up with her keys. In the hall, she turns on the light and watches her husband carry me over the threshold. How long is it since he carried her across this same threshold. I wonder what has changed for them since then.

He lowers me onto my feet, and I stand upright and look around while he retains hold of each of my wrists, which he separates while twisting my arms, so that my hands go behind my back. It's painful, and I squeal, tell him he's hurting me. He ignores me. He has both my hands clasped in his right hand, which is large enough, and powerful enough, to hold both wrists tightly in place behind my back as if bound by shackles.

We remain in the hall as nervous anticipation surges through my body. Then the silence of the place hits me like a dark wave of nothingness. It is unnerving. No sounds from the world outside penetrate the two-hundred-year old, three foot thick, walls. If I cry out, no calls for help or screams will escape the newly installed triple-glazed windows. And besides, we are in the heart of the countryside, there is nobody to hear. The closest neighbours are a quarter of a mile away.

I watch Becky kick off her pumps, see her feet manicured to perfection, her nails a freshly done sky blue. She is wearing denim shorts cut high, and my eyes scan her long, smooth legs, sleek and tanned. For a moment my old envy rushes up, and I hate her for being so perfect. Then, in the flare of a second, I desire her. Immediately I push the thought down and think of Josh. His breath is on the nape my neck. I sense his bulk looming behind me. His grip on my wrists has slackened, but I no longer try to wriggle free.

"Josh has told me all about your car-share, Cassie," Becky says.

She is standing right in front of me, our bodies just inches apart. She is a good six inches taller, and so I have to crane my neck to meet her eyes, which are enormous and full of mischief. Her breath grazes my forehead. A smile as sneer; the hint of something cruel at one corner of her mouth, so subtle, yet it tells me she is certain of my compliance. She knows my need.

I can't think of a reply. I look up at her with a feigned defiance. The truth is, I am already theirs.

She continues, "At first I was disappointed he'd chosen you, of all people, Cassie . . . " She pauses, expecting me to say something. Then she continues: "After all you are such a pretty little thing, all princess precious, aren't you? I should have known it would be you eventually. I mean what man could resist sweet little Cassie? And besides, it isn't as if you and me haven't already . . . Is it Cassie? If only you knew the things I've told him about us. He loves to hear about how sexy your sweet, little titties felt that night. He always listens intently when I tell him all about how you came on to me,  the way you kissed me. Oh yes, he used to get hard for you long before he ever got to kiss you."

I can't believe this is Becky. I've never heard her speak like this. She sounds so false, so contrived. It's as if she is playing a part, but a part she does not really believe in. Something lurks behind all the innuendo. A bigger something. Is it anger? She must be mad at me, surely for me kissing Josh. I half expect her to pull out a knife and stick into my belly.

"Remember when we were together in the sleeping bags, Cassie?. How you wouldn't let me touch you where it matters."

As she says this, her left-hand lifts the hem of my frock while her right-hand goes flat on my bare belly, sliding quickly into my panties. Between my legs,  her fingers start to worm. In spite of myself, I ever-so slightly part my legs. Then she is pressing into my tender softness, the ball of her hand hard against my swell of fuzz as her fingers unfold my labia and search.

Her palm is warm and, in spite of myself, I subtly part my legs for her. Josh tightens his grip on my wrists, and with his free hand he takes hold of my ponytail and pulls it hard, stretching my scalp. I panic like a filly, gasp out loud. All the same, I am increasingly thrilled by her touch. My pleasure is not just from her hand, I love the way her beautiful large eyes sparkle for me. So much meaning passes between us while Josh continues to constrain me. I imagine how it must excite him to hold me like this while Becky fingers me softly. I am no longer my own self. I am theirs to do with as they please. I am a thing shared.

A change in her tone. Over-laden with genuine arousal now, her breathing changes, becomes heavy as she continues to speak.

"Remember how we kissed Cassie. Just kissed and kissed. But you wouldn't let me touch you here, would you?" Her fingers thrust sharply and I gasp. " Nor would you let me touch me would you? Why wouldn't you let me touch you Cassie . . . and why wouldn't you touch me either? I was so wet for you that night, Cassie."

But, oh-god, how I want to touch her now, And oh how I want her to continue touching me. And if only if it were possible to touch her, but Josh has my hands. Instead, I imagine what it would be like to sink three fingers into her cunt, how silky soft and enfolding she would be.

She works me with her right hand while with her left hand she starts to undo the small buttons that run down the front of my flowery-pattern, summer frock. One and then another are loosened, and all the while her eyes hold mine, daring me to say something.

But I say nothing, just hold her gaze, bluffing a surly defiance. Then Josh lets go of my ponytail and slips the loosened dress from my shoulders. He still has my wrists clasped in his other hand but his deftness in undoing my bras with his free hand surprises me — Ian fumbles even with two hands. Josh has to manoeuvre the dress over my captured hands, letting go of them for only seconds to let it pass. When it has fallen away he takes my wrists and secures them again in his tight grip.

The  air chills my nipples, a ghostly kiss that stiffens.

She goes down as if about to curtsy. But it is only so she can pull down my panties. I do not facilitate their removal and so she lifts each of my feet in turn so that I can be free of the.

Then she stands, once again gently rubs my clit, with just enough pressure to maintain my arousal, but not enough to bring me to completion. As her fingers slowly knead, she says:

 "Josh and I like to play games, Cassie." Her eyes flare wide, commanding me to pay attention.

"What kind of games?" I ask. "Do we need dice?" I giggle stupidly.

But I am curious now. I really want to know what their sex games entail, learn the nature of their private kinks. The salaciousness of the moment sends a wild and scorching torrent of energy running through my body.

"We have lots and lots of games, Cassie . . . But there is one we have talked about more than any other over theses last few weeks. And now look at us: our imaginary game is happening, no longer just talk."

"What are the rules?" I ask.

She almost seems embarrassed, but then goes on, " We start with a girl as our prisoner."

"Like I am tonight, you mean?"

"In a way . . . But there is much more to this game — isn't there, Josh?

"Oh yes, so much more," Josh says.

While looking into Becky's eyes, I'd momentarily forgotten Josh was behind me, even though he has my hands clasped tight in his big palm. Now I become aware of his heavy breathing on the nape of my neck. I sense his growing excitement. Their desire for me is electricity in the air about us. It surges into me and carries me away to the place they have planned I should share with them.

Then I realise, I want them to use me like they have intended all along. The old Cassie must be obliterated by their desire, completely erased. I will surrender myself and be whatever they want me to be.

"You won't hurt me . . . Will you?" I say.

"Not unless you ask us to," Becky replies.

My mouth is dry like flint. If I speak, sparks will fly from my lips. I swallow and nod.

She takes her hand from between my legs and places it on my shoulder, gently prompting me to turn to face Josh. Josh loosens his grip as I turn to see him looking down at me. I offer a smile, but his eyes are dark with focused lust for me. He takes me in his arms and wraps them around me, a fortress of flesh enfolds me. We begin to kiss. In his embrace, I feel the life breath squeezed from my lungs.

I put my arms around him and pull myself against him like he is a hero come to rescue me. Becky is momentarily forgotten as Josh and I become unwrapped in each other. We just kiss and kiss.

I don't know how long we kiss, then little by little I sense her presence behind me. I do not break from Josh to look for her, but I do moan with delight when her nakedness pressed against my back, her firm and shapely breasts cushioning into my shoulder blades, warm and soft.

She undressed while I was lost in kissing Josh. Now it is she who gathers my hair into a ponytail, but instead of pulling hard like a spiteful girl, she gently moves strands to one side so she can kiss the nape of my neck. She sucks and bites gently sending new shivers to thrill me.

Her left-hand slides between mine and Josh's bodies to find my left breast, while her right-hand moves over my bare buttocks and on down between my legs. I part my legs wider than before, and her palm rests on my cunt. Her fingers probe upwards. My cunt is humming with need. Her palm slides, lubricated by what seeps from me.

I am caught in the vice of their flesh pressing to my front and back. I sense the off the scale arousal that courses through both their bodies.

I think: this is all your doing, Cassie. It is you have done this to them, Yes you, sad little Cassie. You have filled them with desire and now look at how they can hardly contain themselves in their rush to explore your body. 


This knowledge causes my excitement to grow, it exceeds anything I have previously experienced.

Josh's tongue is rampant. Becky's fingers are inside me while her thumb rotates over my clit. My excitement is no longer containable, and I begin to shudder and quake. I have to call out, not for effect but because I can't help it. A wild scream burst from me. My body is rocked by the spasm of  orgasm that wash over me in wave after wave. I am grateful that I am held tight in the vice of their bodies. If not for their support I would have fallen to the ground, thrashed and twisted, lost in the unravelling my senses that occurred during of the most intense orgasm I have ever know up until then.

I become still, remaining propped between them both. I don't want to move because I know my legs will fail if I do. I want my flesh to meld with theirs, be a part of them both. Always. To become some strange amalgamation of the three of us would be perfect.

Beck is whispering in my ear, telling me I'm beautiful. Josh is kissing me again. Becky moves from me for the briefest of instants and then returns. Josh's large, powerful hands now grip my arms, constraining them, then quickly he pushed them behind me, holding my wrists together. As quick and seamless as a Peirppoint hanging, Becky has manacled my wrists in cuffs.

Fear inundates me like a spring tide.

Then I remember their game. Instantly fear is gone, replaced by a tormenting need.

Josh is saying, "A whore like this need to be locked away."

"For her own good," Becky says. "We don't want that husband of hers finding her."

They take me from the hall and into the lounge and on through to the kitchen, where Becky unbolts the back door before reaching a rechargeable torch from the wall mount. Out in the back garden, I look up as I walk. I see the are stars but the path ahead is patched by moonlight-shadows cast by the wild shrubbery of their yet untamed garden. They lead me into the night along a narrow stone path picked out by Becky's torch. The summer air is fragrant and cloying from blossoms unseen. I look up at the stars. Above the trees, a half-slice of flesh hued moon looks down on me.

We stop at an old stable door set in crumbling brickwork. Becky shines her beam and fumbles with a padlock that looks ancient and is bigger and older than any I have ever seen. The door squeals a rusty song as it retreats from us.

Once inside, a switch is flicked. Dark red light floods the room, subdued yet lushly erotic.

A person sized wooden cross-frame in one corner. A wall rack of lashes and whips side by side with mounted dildos and vibrators of varying designs.

Becky goes to a cabinet and brings me what she has taken from it. I see a black suede strap ball bag. At first, I do not understand.

"This is so we won't have to hear you begging us to stop," she says.


Submitted: July 25, 2017

© Copyright 2021 Cassie Cassaba. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:


Cassie Cassaba

Thought I could do this in parts but have decided to paste it to the bottom of what was already up.

Tue, July 25th, 2017 2:26pm


read it all without break, and look forward the next. thanks?

Wed, July 26th, 2017 11:19am


! not ?

Wed, July 26th, 2017 11:21am


Great short story and would love to see it turned into a book. Lots to work with!

Mon, August 28th, 2017 2:15am

Boosted Content from Premium Members

Short Story / General Erotica

Book / Other

Short Story / General Erotica

Poem / General Erotica

Other Content by Cassie Cassaba

Short Story / General Erotica

Miscellaneous / General Erotica