As Annie reached for the handle, the door flew open and she crash
landed into his chest – someone very tall, very tense and clearly in a
“Jesus, I’m sorry,” he apologised with feeling, and Annie, who was here for a relaxing stay and inclined to feel sorry for those who were stressed out, looked up to see who he was and suddenly became rather unsteady on her feet. His hands, which had somehow landed on her arms, had been about to move but now stopped dead.
He was gorgeous: somewhere over six feet, dark hair, blue eyes and a look of surprised lust glinting pleasurably in his expression. Imperceptibly, the tension ran from his body and just then the knowledge that he clearly found her quite as attractive as she found him only set Annie’s body quivering at an ever greater intensity.<
‘No problem,’ she replied, feeling a warm-to-hot smile twitch at her lips. He grinned, slightly sheepishly, very conscious of his obvious lust, and set off again at a run across the car park.
It had only taken ten seconds, but it made Annie’s day.
She checked in, and made her way up to her en suite room to begin
her long overdue week of downtime.
It was only four o’clock, so slightly early to go downstairs for a cocktail before dinner. She slid herself under aromatic bath water with a gin and tonic from the minibar and prepared to pamper herself. Hair washed. Skin scrubbed. Legs shaved… alone in the bathroom, a wicked idea surprised her, and for the first time she carefully ran the razor over the dark hair between her legs, twitching at the tickling sensation, till she was completely smooth.
Heavens, that felt weird. Partly freaked out by the sudden nakedness, partly curious, she ran her fingers over the newly smooth area. Then again. And again. It was weird, but it was certainly, well… five o’clock was as good a time as any for an orgasm, so she gave herself two.
The lounge area was filling up with guests, and becoming noisier. Taking a deep breath, Matt glanced at the running order for the evening for the umpteenth time and once again came to the inevitable conclusion that it couldn’t be done. With Charlotte off sick, he was buggered. None of the other parts could be doubled up.
Hoping for divine inspiration, or at least a stiff drink, he headed for the bar, but found himself tangled in the doorway once again with the beautiful woman he’d bumped into earlier.
This time, he managed to avoid a direct collision, which amazed him because once again just a glance at her struck right through his body. It wasn’t often he got hit so bad, and for a moment he couldn’t understand it, but no – there it was again, the flicker in her eye that acknowledged the spark between them.
She really was as gorgeous as he remembered. Long, dark, glossy hair framed an intelligent face and a body which frankly should be kept under lock and key. She held herself in an unconsciously sexy way, with a curve at her hips which did bad things to his imagination, and the line of his trousers.
“Hello again,” he said, all thoughts of his scheduling problem quickly vanishing. “Were you heading for the lounge? It’s a little full. You could try the bar instead.”
“Thanks for the advice,” she replied, and he marvelled at how such a boring conversation could be so loaded with sensation. She smiled and turned away, heading for the bar.
She barely had time to get her breath back before he’d followed her. She smoothed the grin from her face and greeted him properly.
“Hi Annie, nice to meet you. I’m Matt,” he said, in a faintly hurried way. He glanced at the clock. Disappointed, Annie wondered if she’d imagined the way he’d looked at her.
He caught the look of disappointment and explained himself.
“Believe me, I would love to stay and, um, get to know you, but I have a major problem – “ his expression suddenly lit up – “and I think I may have found the solution. How’s your acting?”
Annie almost fell off her stool with surprise. “Pardon?”
“Oh god, only ten minutes… sorry Annie, everything’s a little hectic today. You would save my life if you could play a murder suspect this evening for me.”
He had to laugh at her bemused expression. “I’m sorry, let me explain – but it will have to be quick. I run the murder mystery weekend here and one of my actors is off sick. I’m desperate for someone to fill the role.”
Annie was already starting to shake her head – she’d never acted in her life – but she did want to help him.
“What would I have to do?”
Matt grinned, knowing she’d be persuaded. “Just dress up all glamorous and come to dinner with the rest of the guests and actors. I’ll give you a few lines you have to drop into the conversation, and all the facts about your character. There’s a couple of set pieces but I’ll lead you through those.”
Annie looked apprehensive. Standing up, Matt gave her a swift but heady kiss on the cheek, then took her hand and led her away to the dressing room.
The actors had borrowed one of the hotel’s rooms to act as a dressing room. Matt closed the door behind them and headed for the wardrobe.
“So where is everyone?” asked Annie, who’d expected the whole troupe to be changing. Carrying something red on a hanger, Matt turned to face her.
“I never let the actors meet each other. It makes the evening more unpredictable, if no one’s really sure who’s a guest and who’s an actor. They’re all changed already and having started mingling in the cocktail lounge.”
“I see,” said Annie, dubiously. Matt threw the red garment at her, and she caught it.
“Your name is Clara Finnegan and your character is a cross between a glamour model and Prime Minister. That is, you act all stupid and sexy but actually you’re a clever, manipulative young woman.”
“Should I take notes?” asked Annie sarcastically, trying to figure out the dress he had picked out for her. It didn’t look like it would leave much to the imagination.
“Just get changed,” he ordered, giving her a wicked grin.
It didn’t look like he was going to give her any privacy. Perhaps this was the done thing with actors. Feeling devilish anyway, she dropped her own dress in a matter of fact way and gave him a good look at the ruby red underwear she’d picked out to celebrate the first night of her stay. Perhaps the push-up bra made a little too much of her D cup, but it certainly went with the dress, which, as she slipped into the silky material, revealed itself to be just on the rather too obvious side of glamorous. It hugged her curves almost indecently, and accentuated her breasts in a beautiful but unmissable way. She adjusted the thin straps, slipped her feet into the high heeled sandals provided, and turned to ask for his opinion.
He stared at her for several minutes, one hand over his mouth, the other grasping the opposite elbow as if assessing a work of art. Finally, he cleared his throat.
“You’ll do,” he croaked, and headed for the door.
Half an hour later, Annie found herself making small talk with a murder mystery guest (or was it another actor?), who was talking mainly to her overexposed breasts, much to the disgust of his wife. Enveloping herself in a rapidly constructed fake persona, Annie practised a tinkling laugh, seductive glances and a hip-swaying walk with abandon. The bar was filled with around 30 people, all clutching champagne flutes and eyeing the other drinkers with excited suspicion. She had no idea what the plot of the murder would be, and didn’t much care. This was more fun than she’d had in a long time.
They all sat down to dinner at 8.30, at a long formal table in the largest function room the hotel could furnish. The sense of anticipation for the murder was strong. Annie performed her part with relish, shocking an elderly man with references to spanking over the starter, and sensually feeding the man who sat next to her, strawberries over dessert. The guests whispered to each other, asked detective-like questions of the actors, and generally had a fabulous time.
The first shock of the night came when Matt made his appearance. Annie had assumed he was just the director, not one of the actors. As the dessert plates were cleared away and the coffee was being poured, the doors burst open and in he reeled, champagne bottle in hand, acting drunk as drunk could be. He grinned broadly, and slurred a greeting.
“Save anything for me, you selfish bastards?” he exclaimed, and sat heavily down in an empty chair.
The audience were a-flutter, trying to work out who he was. For the next fifteen minutes as coffee was drunk, he wandered round the table, chatting to everyone in a loud voice.
As he reached where she was sitting, Matt bent down to her ear and in a stage whisper told her to slap him when the moment felt right. He then reached forward and grasped her right breast.
“Go on, love, get them out for us, eh? Not the first time you’d have done it, if what I hear is right.”
Gasps from the gathered guests. Annie pushed back her chair and stood up, shaking off his hand.
“How dare you!” she shrieked. “I am a respectable woman,” she protested, jiggling her breast back into her bra and somewhat giving the lie to her claim.
“Maybe you are here, but back in London we know different,” he said, running and arm round her waist and pulling her to him. “Run round the table,” he whispered as soon as she was close enough to hear.
“Take your hands off me, you sod!” Annie shouted, lifting her hand for a slap, which she landed on his left cheek. She then strode to the far end of the table as he cursed loudly.
And then, as with all good murder mysteries, the lights went out.
Immediately, the guests started screaming and speculating wildly. Annie stood in confusion, not sure which way to turn. From the dark came a sickening, wet thud, followed by more screams and various unidentifiable noises.
“Don’t panic!” Matt was shouting when the lights came up, but the scene that confronted them made everyone even more excited. Face down on the table, the back of her head a sticky mass of fake blood, lay one of the female guests. A bloodied candlestick lay on the table.
Annie, who was standing directly behind her, gasped. All eyes fell on her.
For the next half hour, a delighted confusion reigned as a phoney policeman was called and the dead woman was draped with a tablecloth. The guests all examined the murder weapon, and some called for Annie to be arrested. Annie herself sat down, and faintly called for a drink.
At some point during the melee, Matt made known to her that she was to find an excuse and leave the room. Finally thinking of something, she said she was going to fetch some tranquilisers from her room, and made her escape.
Matt met her outside two minutes later, full of praise and, in fact, sober as a judge.
“Fantastic job, Annie – you should have seen how guilty you looked when the lights came up!”
“So am I the murderer?” she asked.
“No, but you sure are a suspect.” He glanced at his watch and took her hand. “Time for the next scene,” he announced, and set off.
Dragging her through the corridors at a run, Matt ignored Annie’s shrieks as she teetered on the stupid heels and almost came a cropper against a number of occasional tables. He finally stopped outside a bedroom door, swiped the key card and pushed her inside.
Breathing hard and nursing a twisted ankle, Annie tried to jiggle her breasts back into her bra, which hadn’t been designed for running.
Matt ran a harried hand through his hair, and glanced at his watch. “We have fifteen minutes. Get your kit off.”
“Pardon?” replied Annie, with as much dignity as she could muster.
“This is still the murder mystery – I’m not trying to sleep with you. But still I need you to take your clothes off, right now.” He was rooting through a deep drawer, pulling out what looked the matching candlestick to the murder weapon.
“OK, this has been fun, but so far this evening you’ve dressed me like a high class hooker, embarrassed me in front of all the guests of this hotel, and fondled my breasts in public. A little explanation would be nice.”
Taking a deep breath, Matt stopped whatever it was he was doing and came to stand in front of her. “And I can’t thank you enough. But I have one more favour to ask.”
She didn’t even see him move, but in an instant she found herself lying on the king size bed with Matt astride her.
“Hey!” she shouted into the blankets, but it did no good. Struggle as she might, he’d already stripped the dress down to her waist and had unhooked her bra. Flipping her onto her front and pinning down her arms with his legs, he pulled the dress off over her flailing legs, knickers and all, till she was writhing stark naked beneath him.
Angry as she was, Annie couldn’t help but feel aroused. His speed and strength were rather appealing. For a moment, she relaxed, wondering if this might indeed turn into something fun. It was a fatal mistake. From his jacket pocket, Matt produced a ball gag and worked it between her teeth.
“Don’t worry,” he said as he reached under the bed and produced a length of rope, “I’ll be gentle.” He didn’t sound like he meant it.
Annie struggled, but couldn’t escape from his strong hands. He sat on her legs and pulled her hands together behind her back. He expertly wound the rope round her wrists, and knotted it tightly. She pulled at the rope, but couldn’t get a millimetre of movement. Things were moving far too fast. Matt had proceeded to her elbows, which he was roping together with gusto. Screaming into her gag, Annie felt her elbows touch behind her back and Matt quickly secured them there with knot after knot after knot. This was no joke.
Clambering off her, he manoeuvred her to the middle of the bed, face down, head pointing towards the bottom of the bed which faced the door. Collecting more rope from under the bed, he took her right ankle and bent her leg back on itself till her heel was pressed into her right buttock. He roped it into position, and repeated the operation with her left leg. Now completely helpless, Annie’s struggles moved up a pitch. She thrashed in her bonds, but to no avail.
Matt now left the bed and went to the wardrobe, from which he removed the clothes rail from the narrowest section. It was about two feet long, and solid metal. Pushing Annie’s knees apart, he slid it in between so it acted as a spreader bar. With a combination of duct tape and rope, he secured each end to one of Annie’s knees til her bound-over legs were trapped in a wide V shape, nicely exposing her deep red and very wet labia.
Despite her disgust at being so manhandled, Annie was becoming extremely aroused. Her anger even seemed to stoke the fire within her. Subsiding, she lay exhausted on the bed; bound tighter than she’d ever have thought was possible, wondering madly if he was going to fuck her. She wanted him to, so badly. She forgot that this was still part of the murder mystery.
Matt paused from his activity, and for a second surveyed the beautiful bound form in front of him. He let his hands run over her body, and gently kissed her forehead. She was moaning into her gag, almost silently, and he was so turned on that he wanted to shove the murder mystery and just play with her all night. But no – that could wait. He ran his hands through her loose hair, drawing another low moan from her. Carefully, he began to plait it in one long plait from the top of her head. Securing it at the bottom with elastic, and tightly knotting rope to the end of the plait (a tricky business, but he’d perfected the art), he gently pulled on the plait and lifted her head up so she was looking forwards, towards the door.
Annie began to struggle again, but soon realised it was futile – and that every movement now pulled painfully on her hair. He’d secured the rope to her wrists, which had the effect of lifting both her arms and her head up in a very uncomfortable way. Every muscle strained and screamed as she tried to catch her breath. Soon, she was wishing he’d left her like that. With another length of rope, he attached her wrists to the centre of the spreader bar and shortened the length, pulling her legs up behind her till she was bent back as far as she would go, stomach resting on the bed.
Annie opened her eyes and hoped she could plead with him for release with just their expression. Not release in a physical sense, but in an erotic sense – she needed to come so badly, she would have given anything for his fingers inside her or his tongue on her swollen clitoris. Teetering on the brink of orgasm made the pain of her position almost bearable because it drove her ever closer.
Matt caught her eye, and grinned devilishly. In his hands he held the candlestick, and a long, red candle. The candlestick was thick and lumpy and was soon buried to the hilt inside her, the cold metal making her shriek into the gag, stretching her and filling her and making her muscles clench down on it.
Matt then pulled a lump of rubber from his pocket, one that had a strange metal ring attached to one end. Running the rubber object around Annie’s stretched labia and the candlestick, he picked up enough of her liquid to wet it thoroughly. Rubber end first, he pressed it against Annie’s bottom and held it there relentlessly until Annie relaxed and let it invade her. Filled to the limit, Annie began the slow path to orgasm.
Twisting the rubber invader round till the ring at its exposed end was horizontal Matt reached for the candle and inserted it into his makeshift candleholder. It stuck up proudly from Annie’s bottom, perpendicular to the plug inside her. Even more humiliated by this final indignity, Annie felt the first orgasm strike and her muscles clenched down on the candlestick and the plug as she shook in her bonds, eyes screwed shut, hands clenched into fists.
After a hurried tidy-up of the room, Matt produced a red lipstick and a box of matches from his pocket. With the lipstick, he scrawled “MURDERING WHORE” on her lower back and bottom; ostensibly a message from whichever of the murder mystery characters had decided to punish her like this. With the matches, he lit the candle and watched the flame grow, twelve inches above Annie’s bottom.
“A second murder is about to be committed downstairs,” he said nonchalantly. “Obviously, you are not a suspect as you have quite a strong alibi.” He paused to chuckle to himself for a moment. “See you later,” he added, closing and locking the door behind him.
Shaking with fury and with uncontrollable arousal, Annie soon discovered it was not a good idea to struggle. The molten wax at the top of the candle began to slide down its length, hitting the crack of her bottom and quickly solidifying. The sensation made Annie come once again. The paroxysms of this second orgasm sent a trickle of hot wax down the other side of the candle, dripping this time onto the candlestick and the swollen labia that surrounded it. Her skin, freshly shaved that evening, offered no protection. It was all too much. Racked with pleasure and pain equally, Annie writhed every time she came, sending another torrent of hot wax to settle on her most sensitive parts.
She couldn’t have said how long it was before Matt came back. She first became dimly aware of his return from his voice echoing in the corridor outside. He was evidently back in character.
“She’ll have made her escape by now, but we can search her room,” he was shouting, and a loud murmur of voices agreed with him. “I’m sure I saw the other candlestick in there earlier, the one that matches the murder weapon.”
Adrenaline waking Annie from her orgasmic haze, she opened her eyes in panic only to see Matt triumphantly fling open the door and let the murder mystery guests file past him, wide eyed and exclaiming, into the room.
“Oh my god… Who did this? She deserves it… But that means she can’t have murdered Penelope… Is that the candlestick?… Heavens, the wax is dripping right down…” burbled all the different voices as they filled the room, gathered round the bed and staring incredulously at her.
Sick with embarrassment, Annie was horrified to find herself coming once again, the strongest yet. She shook with the tremors of the orgasm, and couldn’t stop a groan that found its way past the gag into the shocked room. The voices started again.
“Look, she’s enjoying it… Blimey that’s good acting… The little slut, I bet she’s doing this for pleasure… No, look at what’s written on her back… Who did this to her?”
Through the noise, one voice made itself heard. It must have been one of the actors. “She’s got what she wants – attention,” he was saying loudly. “I say we leave her to reap her rewards. I don’t care who did this. All I know is she deserves it.” The other actors all joined in, and slowly they herded the guests from the room.
Only Matt remained. He carefully plucked the candle from its holder, and held it horizontally closer to her bum and labia. Turning it round, he let wax drip liberally all over the area till she was completely covered in hardening wax. He then blew out the flame, and threw the stub of the candle in the bin.
“I’d normally release our usual actress now,” he commented casually. “But I’m running late tonight. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
Still bound in the strict position, Annie could only plead with her eyes. He smiled at her, and turned out the light. Annie heard the door close behind him before she fell once more into a long, deep orgasm.