Deepest Fantasies

As soon as he closed the curtains the room fell black. The atmosphere changed as if a heavy weight had been placed on it. She knew why. It was because he was no longer there. His absence was palpable, tangible even, and, bound to the bed with bindings of her own making, unable to even raise her head to find him, she could only lie there and wait.

As she heard him settle into a chair by the window a chill spread from her cum soaked knickers and over the tops of her thighs. She started to shiver.

"Tell me one of your fantasies," he said.

She lay silent and closed her eyes tight.

"Tell me a fantasy," he repeated.

Images flashed before her eyes...heavy black boots, guns, border guards shouting in incomprehensible languages, heat-baked sand dunes; candlelight and velvet; tumbling in waves on a deserted beach; the erotic butterfly touch of strangers ; a girl she had once kissed; her bound, gagged, blindfolded, unsure of what was going to come next, being watched by a group of strangers as her Sir took her any way he wanted; images of sex toys she would never dream of buying; being bitten and taken by a Vampire in a Louisiana cemetery, both of them dripping with sweat and sensuality; spread-eagled and bound as black-robed figures chanted around her in a Black Mass ritual.

She opened her mouth to give him a small snippet, a glimpse into her imagination, but she stopped, worried that he would think her fantasies too strange, or, even worse, too boring.