Secret Surrender Read online

  Alice was too tired to take the stairs. She pushed the button that summoned the elevator with a heavy heart, looking forward to a long bath when she was in her apartment. The lift rattled down through the floors, and when the cage arrived at the ground floor, Alice nearly fainted with shock to see Jacques peering at her through the mesh. He looked more rugged than ever; his crumpled clothes and dirty face thrown into starker relief than usual by the grand imposing marble staircase and the filigree ironwork of the lift and banisters. He wore a long, black leather coat with fraying and dirty patches which came down to his ankles and engulfed his body, giving him an air of mystery and menace. He pulled open the metal trellis gate, grabbed Alice’s waist, forced her into the lift and shut the door behind them. It was not a big space, perhaps two metres square, and despite the fact that she could see through the walls, she suddenly felt very claustrophobic. Her breath began to grow sharp and shallow. Jacques pressed a button and the lift began its noisy ascent.

  Jacques pulled a length of black, shiny material out of an inside coat pocket. Alice’s heart soared. It looked like videotape and Alice thought for one thrilling second that he had decided to give her the film and that she was free of him. He has forgiven me, she thought. I’m free. My career, my world, it’s all going to be all right.

  But her hopes were dashed as soon as they rose. For it soon became apparent that it was not videotape at all but another kind of tape, stronger, stickier and thicker than the flimsy vinyl ribbon of a video cassette. Suddenly Jacques was kissing her, holding her arms at the wrist and pressing them out to the side and above her head so that she felt crucified. The intensity of his kiss distracted her from the fact that he was deftly binding her hands to the bars of the inside of the lift with the tape. Because of the din the lift made, Alice could not hear if there were people coming and going on any of the landings, but she knew that all it would take would be for one resident to see her like this and the whole game would be up. This was the riskiest game yet. And on her home ground, too.

  Jacques took a step back, kept his hands around Alice’s waist and tugged her to make sure she was securely bound. The tape was sticky as well as tight and it tore at the tiny hairs on her wrists as she tried to free herself. But another thought occurred to Alice as she struggled: now that he has me prisoner, now that I can’t run away, I can abandon myself to whatever he wants. I have no option but to surrender my body to him.

  Jacques’ hands travelled down Alice’s body, smoothing down the stiff brushed cotton of her dress, this stroking a cruel shadow of the skin-on-skin contact she craved. He knelt before her and reached up the material of her skirt, hands massaging her legs. A snag in his nail tore her stockings. He bit the lacy top of the stocking, nipping the dewy skin of Alice’s inner thigh with merciless teeth. He buried his face between those thighs and inhaled deeply. He had his thumbs under the sides of her panties and pulled them down over her feet although he left her shoes, her laddered stockings and her suspender belt on. Using the remainder of the tape, Jacques forced Alice’s legs apart as far as they could go. No yoga lesson or dance class could have prepared her for the pain she felt as her inner thighs were stretched in opposite directions. Now her pussy, clit and arsehole were uncovered and in full view. She was in an X-shape tied to the wall, bound, exposed and absolutely helpless.

  After tugging at each of the restraints to make sure she was secure, and sending a delicious frisson through her body every time he did so, Jacques held Alice’s panties over his face and breathed in deeply before stuffing them under her nose, rubbing the gusset under her nostrils, forcing her to breathe in the sweet, musky juice that betrayed how excited he was making her. Then, finally, he spoke.

  ‘I do believe you’re enjoying this as much as I am,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘Let’s see how you enjoy it when I crank things up a notch.’ He opened his coat, stuffing the panties into his inside pocket and at the same time removing a pair of silver dressmaker’s scissors. Holding the blades in his hand, he placed the handle against her hot, steaming pussy. The coldness of the steel was delicious, and Alice thought that if he would only use the smooth, curved handles to stimulate her clit, she could come there and then and get the release her body and mind craved. But of course Jacques would not gratify her that quickly or easily. He inserted the side of the handle a millimetre or so into her pussy. The cool metal slithered between her slippery lips and she realised just how wet she was. And how hot she was between her legs, too; the shock of the cold steel diminished as it warmed to her body temperature.

  Jacques then removed the scissors and licked them clean, leaning in to kiss her so that she could taste her own pussy juices and the metallic tang of the scissors on his lips and tongue. His tongue exploring her teeth made her long for his fingers on her clit. Blood pumping between her legs took her mind off the agonising ache in her arms and legs. Her hands were beginning to go numb, and her thighs were starting to shake. And then there was the other feeling that made her shiver. The fear that at any moment, one of her neighbours could leave their luxury apartment and witness the squeaky clean Alice Daumier in the throes of a bondage game with a man who was most definitely not her husband. Thank goodness she was still wearing her dress, even if it was hitched around her waist. At least her tits were still covered.

  ‘What are you going to do with me?’

  ‘I’m going to see you,’ said Jacques softly, idly tracing his tongue and teeth over the scissors as though lost in thought and deciding what to do next, although Alice did not doubt that this whole game had been planned for days.

  ‘You can see me now,’ said Alice, puzzled.

  ‘I can’t see all of you,’ replied Jacques, and with a flourish and precision that would have impressed the sternest of Parisian couturiers, he slipped the blade between her legs, tapped her pubic hair with the scissor tip and then parted the blades and sliced through the stiff, starchy fabric as though it were tissue paper. He made a clean cut from hem to neckline so that Alice’s expensive dress ceased to cocoon her contours and instead hung loosely about her like an unbuttoned coat. She wore no bra and her tits protruded with engorged, dark pink nipples, like a pair of eyes blinking at sudden and unexpected light. Instead of the tender sucking that her breasts craved, Jacques lightly smacked the underside of each one with the blades of the scissors, watching the fleshy little mounds wobble. Lust flickered in his eyes like a candle that could not be extinguished.

  Jacques slashed the rest of the dress, performing two incisions on the front of the sleeves, so that the rest of the fabric fell away. With one swift yank, he pulled the tattered, once-expensive garment away from Alice’s body and discarded it on the floor behind him. Alice was now naked and splayed out in an X-shape, the ironwork grille of the lift digging into the skin of her back and her arse. The lift continued to travel up and down the building, passing every floor, Jacques reaching to depress a button and keep it going whenever it approached the ground or top floors. Surely it was only a matter of time before somebody wondered why the lift was constantly in motion, stepped out of their apartment to complain about the noise, or just happened to be walking by on the stairs. By now Alice had pretty much abandoned herself to the thought that this was the final act of Jacques’ sick games, and the end of her career and life as she knew it. Unless she could get him to come, and let her come, and bring it all to an end soon.

  ‘Jacques … please …’

  ‘I like to hear that,’ said Jacques. ‘I like to hear you beg. Let me see … are you about to beg me to suck your tits? To go down on you? To put my cock in your hole?’

  Alice let out a low moan and her pussy throbbed, aching for his prick. A fresh gush of moisture flooded her cunt, oozed along her lips and around to her arse and finally made a little splash on the floor.

  ‘I could fuck you now,’ said Jacques. ‘God knows, my dick’s hard enough.’ With the same sleight of hand he had used to cut away her dress, he undid his fly and whipped out that familiar yet thrill
ing hard-on that made Alice’s mouth, not to mention her pussy, water even more. ‘Yes,’ he pondered, his hand wandering up and down the shaft of his cock and pulling back the foreskin to reveal a globule of pre-cum, a pearly droplet that Alice could almost taste, ‘but this is not about my satisfaction, it’s about teaching you a lesson. And the lesson is not over yet.’

  He began to fumble in the depths of his coat again. What the hell else was in there, Alice wondered, as her eyes flitted between his hands exploring his pockets and his dick, twitching and bolt upright even without manual stimulation. He pulled out a tiny object, about the size of a lipstick and shaped like a large bullet. It was made of a shiny plastic, the same azure blue as Jacques’ eyes. He held it up, examining it as though it were a precious jewel, and the mysterious object twinkled in the dim light. It was not until he twisted its base, and a faint buzzing noise became audible underneath the crank and clang of the lift mechanism, that Alice realised it was a vibrator. Jacques held it to her neck and ran it down the curves of her body, sending an intense caress that simultaneously stimulated and numbed her skin. Pinching her nipple, he held it to the tip of the tit, giving her pins and needles. Jacques let the breast go, gave it a gentle slap to get the blood flowing back to it and turned his attention to the other one. Alice looked down at her chest. She had never seen her nipples this pink or swollen before, had not known that they could grow to such a size that they were as big as her actual breasts. Just when she thought she could not stand the tingling any more, Jacques took the vibrator away from her tits and ran it up and down the underside of his dick. From the way he was biting his lip, Alice could not tell if he was getting himself harder, or trying to numb himself to make himself last longer. If only he would jab it inside her, he could put both of them out of their misery.

  He did the next best thing: he held the toy to her hard, erect clitoris and Alice felt the first waves of pleasure radiate from her pussy that told her orgasm was imminent. Producing another short length of black tape, Jacques bound the vibrating bullet tightly against Alice’s clit, winding the black tape around her waist and looping it over one of her thighs. The tape was tight and bit into her flesh. Alice sighed in ecstasy.

  ‘I’m going to come soon. Please. Please. I want you inside me when I do.’

  ‘Are you begging, Alice Daumier?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fucking begging!’ she wailed, all pretence of dignity and control abandoned in her desperate need to release the tension. ‘I need it. I need your cock. Spear me, fuck me, let me come!’

  As she spoke she realised that her words were ringing out for anybody in the vicinity to hear. The lift had stopped. Jacques had pulled the door of the lift open a fraction and forced the lift to a juddering halt between the third and fourth floors. Suddenly the staircase was silent but for Alice’s desperate pleas echoing off the walls. She could hear nothing but the sound of her own breathing and the creak of the tape that bound her and the buzzing of the little vibrating bullet that was even now swelling her clit to an almost unbearable state of arousal.

  ‘Keep talking,’ he said.

  And then another noise. The unmistakable sound of the heavy front door opening and closing with a key, which could only mean that one of the other residents was coming in, and she was about to be seen. But Alice kept talking.

  ‘I’m addicted to your prick, Jacques. It is the only one that’s ever felt right inside me,’ she whispered. The truth might as well come out now. ‘I loved sucking it, I loved you inside me; it’s just the best dick in the world.’

  ‘I can’t hear you. Louder.’

  Footsteps on the stairs told Alice her neighbours were seconds away from turning the corner and seeing her. It was over. Might as well enjoy the moment. Alice’s aching body tensed as she summoned what strength she had left and screamed at the top of her lungs, ‘I will die if you don’t put your dick in me right now! Fuck me, Jacques! Fuck me! You know how good we are together. You need it too. Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!’

  But there was no audience for Alice’s words, for Jacques had started the lift again the moment she began to shout. As the ancient machinery began its deafening journey upwards to the sixth floor, he finally gave her what she wanted. Hooking his thumbs in between her pussy lips to stretch her opening just that little bit further and looking at the drenched pink hole, he licked his lips and smiled at Alice. There was triumph and cruelty in that smile. Jacques thrust his fat hard-on into Alice’s spasming pussy the second she allowed herself to surrender to the vibrations on her clitoris. She had a whole-body orgasm, the contractions in her pussy massaging his dick and her arms and legs shaking uncontrollably. Jacques penetrated her as she came, his prick driving into her pussy even as it convulsed in ecstasy. His orgasm was hot on the heels of hers, and the kiss that he gave her was the tenderest and most intimate she had known for years. Jacques’ orgasm started as the lift passed the fourth floor, and by the time it had reached the eighth both their orgasms were subsiding and he was pulling out of her, his dick still jerking and spilling aftershocks of spunk on the floor of the lift. A tiny jet of liquid squirted across the lift in an arc and splashed the inside of Alice’s thigh.

  Alice bowed her head: she had no strength left to fight whatever Jacques had in store for her now. Would he leave her here, bound and hanging, her pink pussy dripping with his cum? She wouldn’t put it past him. He put his fist in her mouth, and she wondered what he was doing for a second, until he ripped off the vibrator that he had taped to her clit. She understood then that his hand in her mouth was to stifle the scream of pain as he removed the tiny strip of pubic hair that remained on her pussy. His total denuding of her mound was his final way of showing her who was in control here.

  ‘Please let me go.’

  ‘For once I think you’ve earned it,’ he said and, using the scissors again, he snipped at the black tape that bound her at the ankles. Alice hung by her wrists for an agonising moment, until Jacques severed those bonds and caught her when she fell, her tortured body subject to uncontrollable tremors. Gently, with a tenderness that was at odds with the brutal treatment that he had just subjected her to, he placed her down on the floor where she lay, shaking and helpless.

  ‘Is it over now?’ Jacques didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his back to her, pressed the button for Alice’s landing and gathered up his scissors, the toy and the tattered bundle of cloth which had only minutes ago been a designer dress.

  When they got to the fourth floor, Jacques opened the lift and watched as Alice grabbed her handbag and staggered to her front door. She could hear voices echoing up the marble staircase, and recognised them as the neighbours who shared her landing. They were complaining about the lift, assuming it was broken. She could make out every word they said, and knew that she probably only had seconds to spare before they saw her, naked but for bracelets and ankle chains made of thick black tape, a red raw imprint of the lift shaft like a waffle pattern on her backside and sore, nude, red flesh where the tape had ripped off her bush. Somehow she managed to get through the door just in time for them to come around and hear it slam. Running was difficult, because her pussy was still so swollen, but Alice managed to dash across her apartment, tender breasts feeling every tiny jiggle, and with Jacques’ spunk running down the inside of her legs, to the bedroom where she looked in vain for a sign of Jacques leaving the building.

  She stood there until the light faded and she grew cold, but Jacques did not leave by the front door. Looking down at her black-taped wrists gave her a fresh wave of arousal, and she was reluctant to remove the tape, and not just because it would sting as she ripped out the tiny hairs on her wrists and ankles. That black tape and the tiny bruises and tenderness it left was the only sign she had, the only proof, the only physical evidence that Jacques had ever been there.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE LAST OF the letters was the most audaciously delivered. Alice found it quite by accident, rolling over in her sleep at night to escape Pierre’s chunky, o
utflung limbs, which seemed to take over the entire bed but never to reach out and entwine with her own any more. Shuffling over to the very edge of the bed and dragging her pillow with her, Alice heard the tell-tale crumpling of paper and, sliding her hand into the pillow case where the sound was emanating from, was astounded to find another envelope, the paper slightly dented and warm. Alice went from half asleep to wide, heart-hammering wakefulness. He had been in her bed! Was he here now? Was he going to wake Pierre? She took a few deep breaths to calm herself. No. Jacques was not here now. She would know. She always knew when he was near: her body told her.

  A glance at the bedside clock told her that it was 3:30 a.m., a time of night when no one is awake apart from lovers, which explained why Pierre was comatose and snoring beside her. Alice ran to the bathroom and locked herself in before turning on the light. There was that handwriting, the looping, artistic script which itself had become an aphrodisiac to her of late. She gazed at her written name for a few seconds, savouring the anticipation.

  Tomorrow afternoon, 4 p.m., 222 Rue Nicolas, Clichy Sous-Bois.

  The address was unfamiliar to Alice. It was 6 a.m. before she was able to sleep again.

  She was at the address at the appointed hour, again with her hair hidden underneath a scarf, but she need not have bothered. Number 222 Rue Nicolas was a tumbledown block of flats in one of run-down banlieux, the sprawling Parisian suburbs that Alice never had occasion to frequent. She stood before the building, waiting for Jacques to find her, aware of her expensive clothes and shoes compared to the shabby tracksuits and cheap jeans of the women who passed her and stared at her.

  Suddenly a key dropped at her feet. Alice glanced up and saw a familiar figure leaning out of a window only to dart back in again. She quickly calculated that he was in the second flat on the third-floor balcony, and took the concrete steps two at a time, not pausing to read the graffiti and trying to block her nose to the stale smell of urine that permeated the stairwell. She stood in front of the door where she thought Jacques was and nervously tried the key. It worked first time.