Thief of Hearts

Kimberly Zant

cover art by Eliza Black

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

Dear Diary:

I woke last night to discover I was not alone. It was the most erotic, and at the same time the scariest, experience of my life.

I don’t know why I didn’t wake the moment he touched me. I am not a heavy sleeper. Usually, I wake at the slightest movement, the faintest sound.

Perhaps, in my subconscious mind, I believed it was my boyfriend, and no threat, and that is why I remained passive and more asleep than awake until it was far too late to struggle. But my boyfriend was working out of town, had been gone for more than a week and was not scheduled to return for yet another week.

In the end, I roused enough to remember that, but, as I said, it was far too late then.

It was the tape that covered my mouth that woke me thoroughly. My heart thudded in my chest, but I could not scream. When I tried to sit up, I discovered that I had been tied and before I could see who had stolen into my dreams, my eyes were covered with what must have been a silken scarf. It was tied snugly around my head, blinding me, making it difficult to hear, as well.

A voice whispered near my ear. “Don’t struggle. I won’t hurt you.”

I didn’t believe him, of course. I was still sluggish from leaping from deep sleep to wakefulness. My mind was still grasping with the realization that it was not, as I’d thought, my boyfriend.

But I was certain I was in danger.

What did he want? To rob me? To rape me? To torture and kill?

I could believe anything but the last. I simply could not accept that as a possibility.

Unable to speak, unable to see at all, or hear more than a faint rustle of sound, I was forced to rely upon my other senses.

I felt the bed dip beneath his weight as he loomed over me.

My heart thundered in my ears, but I reminded myself that I needed to keep my wits about me.

A strange sense of calm settled over me, slowing my heart, freeing my mind from panic so that I could think.

I realized that he must be a very large man to cause the bed to dip so that I rolled toward him. In a moment, I smelled a man’s cologne and knew at once that it was not, as I’d hoped, my boyfriend’s cologne. I could not put a name with it, but it was a cologne that I’d smelled before, expensive and heady to my senses. I had tried to get my boyfriend to buy some, because the smell just drove me wild, but he preferred his own brand.

I could detect no odor beneath it that would indicate a cologne bath to cover unwashed body. It seemed doubtful to me that he was some street thug or a common burglar.

Perhaps it was some college freshman performing an initiation?

Maybe not. Try though I might, I couldn’t detect anything that made me think there was anyone in the room besides the two of us, and surely, if it was that sort of game there would have been at least one witness?

After a moment, I realized that while I was trying to place the man in a mental picture, he had removed my nightgown. I had been dimly aware of something sliding along my skin, something cold, hard, thin, but I had been too distracted—too unwilling to accept what my senses told me it was.

When I felt the cool night air on my bare skin, like a whisper of breath, felt the tug of the fabric as he removed it, I began to struggle, trying to pull free, trying to strike at him with my bound hands.

“Bad girl. I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. Now I’ll have to punish you.”

My heart leapt into my throat and I tried to scream, struggling harder as he rolled me onto my stomach. Nothing happened for several moments. I lay stiffly, frightened, but unable to help myself.

In a moment, something slapped against the soles of my bare feet. I jerked reflexively, although it did not hurt. The slapping became rhythmic until my feet began to tingle with sensation. I could feel the blood suffusing them, making them more sensitive as the slapping continued.

When the sensitivity reached the edge of pain, he moved upwards, along my calves, my thighs, and assaulted my bare buttocks. Although I jerked once more in reaction, my terror slowly subsided as I realized it didn’t hurt. What, I wondered, was he doing? What was he using?

Try though I might, I simply could not identify his ‘weapon’, but he continued to strike it against the soles of my feet and against my buttocks alternately until they tingled with sensation, ultra sensitive because he had brought the blood surging to those areas.

I’m ashamed to admit it, even to myself, but I had almost begun to enjoy it when he stopped.

In a moment, something cold, and damp, slithered over my sensitive skin. I jumped at the sharp contrast against my now heated skin. Ice?

I wasn’t sure at first, but as it cooled my heated flesh, I realized it was indeed ice.

I shivered, tried to squirm away from it, but found it was impossible to move more than an inch or so in any direction.

At last he stopped. “Shall I punish you again?” he whispered. “Or will you be a good little girl?”

My mind went blank. I refused to allow the relief that struggled to catch hold of me, but in the back of my mind, I thought—if this is his idea of punishment, surely he could not have any intention of causing me lasting harm?

“Nod if you understand.”

I nodded.

“Will you be good?”

I hesitated.

He slapped my buttocks with his hand.

I nodded.

“Good girl. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The bed shifted as he rose. I turned my head, trying to figure out if he’d left the room—if there was a chance that I could escape. I could hear little due to the scarf around my head, but enough to realize that he’d only moved across the room.

He hadn’t hurt me, but I didn’t know what he might do if he noticed I was trying to free myself from my bonds.

I tried anyway and discovered the only way I was likely to be able to untie my hands was if I could use my teeth. Since my mouth was covered, that wasn’t an option.

After what seemed a good deal of time had passed, he returned to the bed, turned me over and lifted me.

I had been right. He was a big man, and strong. I wasn’t very big, but I was dead weight, unable to help him lift me, even if I’d wanted to. He must be very strong.

He stood me on the floor, holding me until I was somewhat balanced, a harder feat than I would have believed with my ankles tied together. Lifting my arms above my head, he did something with my wrists. Hope leapt inside me that he was going to untie them, but then I heard a faint clink, as of metal. I struggled then, certain the real torture was about to begin, but it was no use. I couldn’t bring my arms down to strike him. I couldn’t lower them at all. I realized then that he’d attached something to my bound wrists that prevented more than the slightest movement of my arms. It must have been on some sort of pulley, because pressure built in my arms, pulling, until I was forced to come up on my toes to relieve it.

Something was placed around my mid-section, covering me from just below my breasts to just below my waist. I heard the rustle of fabric, then felt it tighten as it was laced closed. A corset? A tugging on my back assured me that that was what it was as he tightened it more snugly still until I could only breathe shallowly. I had worn them before--in fact, it seemed likely that the corset was my own—and although it was uncomfortable, it was certainly no threat. But I did wonder why he had stripped my gown off, then decided to dress me in a corset.

I sensed him moving back around me, felt a tug at one side of my panties, then the other. He pulled them off.

When he grasped my ankles I was almost certain I knew what he had in mind, until it occurred to me that if he’d meant to rape me, it would have been far easier to do so while I lay in bed.

What, I wondered anxiously, was his intention?

Having no clue, I dismissed it for the moment. He was untying my ankles. I couldn’t use my arms to defend myself, but my legs were far stronger anyway. I braced myself, ready to attack.

Obviously, he was expecting it. He gripped both ankles, snatching my legs apart. If it had not been for the fact that my arms were secured above my head, I would have fallen. While I was trying to regain my balance, I felt him push something over first one foot then the other, sliding this something up my legs to my knees. He grasped my calves then, jerking my feet from the floor and I felt something cold against my buttocks.

Thoroughly confused by now, it wasn’t until it was snug against my buttocks that I realized he’d placed me in some sort of sling.

I tried to visualize what it must be. After some moments, it came to me. I’d seen sex toys before. This was some sort of swing for sex acts. It supported my buttocks, lifted my knees high and splayed my legs wide, pulling the folds of flesh that guarded my sex so that they parted, like the petals of a flower, leaving the opening to my body unguarded, fully exposed, vulnerable to penetration.

Shamefully, I had only to visualize my exposed position to feel my body flush with anticipation, to feel dampness gathering in my sex.

I knew it could be dangerous to allow myself to be sucked into some sort of sexual fantasy when I could very well be in extreme danger. I thrust the sensual images aside and tried to kick him. My ankles were still free. I was thoroughly bound in every other way and knew kicking him would be ineffectual, even if I could do it, but I tried anyway.

Apparently, he had no intention of allowing me to interfere with his plans in anyway. Something soft was cuffed around my ankles and secured. I was no longer swinging free, but tethered all around.

How had he achieved this? I was still in my room. I knew he had not carried me far. I had no such devices. I had no ceiling hooks he could have used…. Then I remembered the plant hooks that held my hanging baskets.

But surely those, even if he was using them, were not strong enough to have anchored the sort of contraption I found myself in?

My mind had wandered, trying to sort through all of this, for some time before I realized that minutes had passed and nothing had happened.

What was he doing now? Studying me?

I should have been scared, or embarrassed at the very least, for I had no trouble visualizing what he must see. Except for the corset that bound my waist and pushed my breasts high, I was completely naked, my arms above my head so that I could not cover them—or indeed any part of my body, my legs spread wide, my sex completely exposed.

Instead of either fear or embarrassment, however, insanely, I felt anticipation surge through me again, felt my skin grow sensitive, felt a warm liquid dampen my sex.

I sensed movement near me.

“Are you ready to play?”

A shiver traveled through me. Fear? Anticipation? Both?

I shook my head.

“You’re certain you don’t want to play?”

As certain as I’d ever been of anything in my life. I nodded.

“So—you do want to play?”

There was amusement in his voice. He knew very well I didn’t want to play. I shook my head again.

He said nothing more. I felt something brush against the sole of one foot, lightly. It tickled, but I couldn’t move away from it, could only wiggle my foot. The light brushing continued up my calf, along my inner thigh.

It barely touched me. It was almost more of a tickle than a touch, but as it traveled up my inner thigh the sensation of tickling was replaced by a sudden tension. He brushed it across my sex. My body instantly responded to the touch, burgeoning with warmth, my labia swelling as blood flushed it.

The object, which I finally decided was a feather, moved down my other thigh, the calf, the foot, and began upwards again.

I tensed as he reached my sex again, trying to resist, but a wave of pleasure went through me as it brushed my sex, then traveled across my belly. I felt it on one breast next. It teased my nipple. The nipple stood erect. He circled the nipple with the feather before moving across to my other breast, teasing that nipple until it, too, stood erect.

The feather sensitized my flesh everywhere it touched.

At last, to my relief, he stopped.

A moment passed. Then, I felt something hot and moist settle over the erect nipple of my left breast. His mouth. He sucked, hard, raked his teeth along the distended flesh, suckled again.

Heat suffused me. My body refused to remain subject to my mind. Moisture gathered in my sex.

“No?”

I’d forgotten the question. After a moment, I shook my head again.

Again, his mouth settled over my nipple. His tongue teased. It went on and on, the suckling, the teasing with his tongue. Finally, despite everything I could do, a moan of pleasure rose in my throat.

He lifted his head.

“Do you want to play?”

It took more of an effort to shake my head this time. My body was screaming, more, more—but sanity had not completely deserted me. I shook my head.

To my disappointment, he moved away.

I told myself I was relieved.

I waited to see what would come next.

And waited.

My body cooled but remained alert with anticipation. My clit felt swollen, sensitive.

I jumped reflexively when I felt his mouth settle over the nipple of my other breast. He sucked it long and hard, nudging my distended nipple with his tongue, grazing it with his teeth.

My breathing accelerated, my heart pumping faster, but the corset prevented me from breathing too deeply, as the tape over my mouth prevented me from gasping air in. I began to feel lightheaded. My whole body began to shake.

He released my nipple.

I didn’t feel relieved this time. I felt frustrated, shaken to my core.

A minute passed—two. The pained sensitivity subsided.

“Do you want to play?” he whispered.

I shook my head, but I was no longer at all certain I didn’t. In fact, my body was screaming that it did by now.

I sensed that he’d moved away. I told myself I was relieved.

His mouth settled on my clit. If I could have moved so much as an inch, I would have jumped away from that tortuous mouth.

But, in less that a minute, I lost all desire to evade his mouth and tongue as it suckled and teased me, building pleasure inside my belly, making me dizzy with need. I moaned, my entire senses focused on what he was doing to me. The heat of his mouth, the dexterity of his tongue built tension until I was near to exploding with pleasure.

He stopped abruptly, leaving me hovering on the verge of climax.

I was stunned, hugely disappointed. Anger began to replace the disappointment.

Minutes passed and my heart slowed. I ceased to struggle for air. I became more aware of my surroundings. Left unfulfilled, my body absorbed the juices that would have eased him into it. My anger leaked away as the pleasurable tension subsided.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt the touch of ice on the sole of my foot, but I could not escape it as he moved it, as he had the feather, skating it over the sole of my foot, up my calf, along my inner thigh.

When he rubbed it across the hot flesh of my labia I lost my breath. The jolt of the immediate temperature change was more like pain than pleasure. My whole body clenched.

Unmoved by my distress, he continued with another piece of ice, the first having melted, moving down my other thigh and calf to that foot, then up again. I braced myself for the shock as he moved toward my sex, and still, it jolted me. My stomach clenched almost painfully.

When he circled my nipples with the piece of ice, they tightened painfully. Shivers began to quake through me.

I was so relieved when he stopped I couldn’t think beyond trying to catch my breath, to control my labored breathing so that I wouldn’t faint.

Minutes ticked by while I composed myself and then I felt the skate of the feather once more.

This time, instead of beginning at my feet, he started by brushing it back and forth across my breasts, moving in slow circles that came closer and closer to my nipples. I was on edge long before he at last brushed it across them. They stood erect immediately, tightening almost painfully.

The feather moved away, moved downward, between my breasts, across the corset and he made a circle across my bare belly, my upper thighs, round and round while I anticipated the circle closing. Ever so lightly, he teased my clit with the feather. I swallowed a gasp of pleasure.

He moved away.

I remained tense, expecting another assault, but as the minute dragged slowly past, and then another, I began to relax.

As if he had only been waiting for that, his mouth settled over my nipple again.

My body responded instantly and violently. My heart leapt in my chest, my breath catching. Dizziness assailed me as I struggled to breathe heavily when the corset prevented it.

Minutes of pleasurable torture passed as he suckled, lathed my nipple with his tongue, suckled again. He touched me nowhere else, and yet my skin, from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, felt ultra sensitive by now. He could have touched me anywhere on my body and waves of pleasurable anticipation would have rolled over me.

When I thought I couldn’t stand it anymore, he stopped.

The nipple he’d lavished so much attention on throbbed with pleasure. The nipple he’d ignored thudded with want. My sex felt swollen and in desperate need.

I felt both exhausted and so tense I wished I could scream.

After a time I began to realize that this was a sort of torture I had not dreamed of. I had feared him and what he would do to me. It had never occurred to me that he might torture me with exquisite pleasure and leave me unfulfilled.

Slowly, the tension eased away. My body was still on edge, more sensitive than it had ever been in my life. I ached with need unfulfilled, but still the edge of excitement subsided until I could breathe easier, until I began to relax.

The ice was worse this time, for my body was still too heated from desire. The shock was greater.

I was near to weeping when he began to tease me with the feather again, but the anticipation grew far more quickly. Almost breathlessly, I waited for the feel of his mouth on my breast. I wanted to demand that he suckle the breast he’d ignored the time before. I needed it.

Instead, I felt the heat of his mouth settle over my sex.

I cried out as a shock of pleasure rocketed through me, but the sound was muffled. He ignored it, concentrated on suckling that nub of pleasure in a way that made my insides quake, built the tension inside me toward explosion.

My belly felt as if my insides had caught fire. The blood in my veins began to feel like acid, burning my flesh from the inside out. My stomach clenched and relaxed as the waves of pleasure traveled from his mouth and up through me. I could feel my body gathering for climax, inching closer and closer.

He stopped as abruptly as he’d started.

It seemed to go on for hours. He would suckle first one breast and then the other until I felt as if I was near to climax and then stop, allow my body to slowly lose its tension. Then he would put his mouth over my sex and tease me, on and on, until I hovered at the very brink of climax, and he would stop. And each time, my body would cool, the tension would ease, but each time he touched me it would leap closer to readiness, climb faster toward climax. It began to seem as if he knew the limit of my endurance, knew the moment to stop to prevent me from achieving what I’d begun to desperately want.

I hated him.

I loved him.

I wanted him with ever fiber of my being.

“Have you changed your mind?”

I could no longer think. The question baffled me.

As if he realized that, he spoke again. “Want to play?”

Bastard! I thought furiously. I shook my head decisively. I wanted it to stop. I was going to loose my mind if he didn’t. And I would not give him the pleasure of knowing the effect he had on me.

He moved away. I remained tense, almost terrified that he would touch me with the ice again, knowing this time it would truly be painful.

To my relief, he didn’t.

Instead, this time he was gone so long I had almost begun to believe that he’d left, had begun to wonder if he had, how I would escape the bindings that held me completely immobile, completely at his mercy.

My flesh jerked the moment he touched me with the feather, as if even my skin was desperate to escape the pleasure that was never fulfilled. I screamed at him against the gag, but made little sound for all that.

Moments passed when he had stopped teasing me with the feather, and then, as I’d come to expect, I felt his mouth. I had lost all conception of time. It seemed he had been tormenting me for hours upon hours. My body ached all over from a need for fulfillment, but still he withheld it.

I writhed when his mouth covered my nipple, trying to escape. I couldn’t. I could only feel, and the pleasure swept over me in torturous waves of rapture. Tears started in my eyes when he stopped. I didn’t want him to stop. I didn’t want him to continue.

When my body began to relax, he settled his mouth on my sex. The pleasure rocketed through me this time. He had teased me until I thought, this time, I would climax the moment he touched me. I didn’t, but my heart pounded so hard and fast I thought I would pass out from lack of oxygen.

There was no pattern, really, to his torture. He used the ice over and over again, cooling my flesh abruptly, pushing the possibility for release far away, and then he would tease me with the feather to bring my flesh to new sensitivity, torture me with his mouth, always stopping before I could reach climax.

This time, when he lifted his mouth from my sex, he pushed an index finger inside of me. I almost climaxed then, but he pulled it out again almost at once, leaving me more frustrated than ever.

“Do you want my cock inside you?”

I hesitated. I didn’t think I could take much more. I nodded.

He said nothing for several moments, apparently thinking it over. “I don’t know if I should give it to you. You didn’t want to play.”

If I could have, I believe I would have bitten him. Fury washed over me. I struggled, but, naturally, could not gain my release.

Again, he moved completely away, waiting. I knew he would come at me again, that the only way I would gain release was to hold myself in readiness so that his touch could send me over the edge, but I couldn’t maintain it without his touch. My body was not mine any longer. I had no control over it at all. It was his and responded only to his commands. When he lavished it with attention, it responded no matter how hard I tried to keep from it. When he moved away, it cooled, waiting for his touch to reawaken it.

This time, when his mouth settled over my nipple, anger sustained me for several moments, but he suckled hard, teasing me on and on until the anger was replaced by pleasure, until my body was weeping for fulfillment.

“Do you want my cock inside you?”

I didn’t hesitate this time. I nodded vigorously. I want to plead with him to give it to me.

He did nothing for so long that I thought he meant to torture me more. Then I felt something huge and hard nudge against my clit, nudge the folds of flesh that guarded my sex. My heart nearly stopped. He was going to do it. I was suddenly unsure of whether I wanted him inside me after he’d tormented me so long, but I could not back away, or stop him. As I felt the pressure of him pushing inside, I realized I didn’t really want him to stop.

My heart hammered as he slowly worked his way inside of me. My body was awash with the juices of pleasure, but he was huge, filling me almost beyond capacity. I could feel my muscles resisting. He filled me almost to the point of pain, but it was the most wonderful pain I’d ever felt. I tensed, certain now that he would give me release, and I couldn’t think beyond the need to find release anymore.

Slowly, he withdrew--completely.

I was stunned.

“I sense you don’t want me. You’re not ready for me. You’re barely damp.”

I wanted to scream at him. I was wet, damn it! I could feel it. No way could he not feel how very ready I was!

When he moved away, I wept. I had begun to wonder if, after all, a person could die from pleasure, or the lack of fulfillment.

Why was he doing this to me? I didn’t understand it. Try though I might, I could not remember that I’d ever done anything to deserve this sort of punishment.

And it was punishment. Pleasure without surcease.

“Do you want to play?”

This time my hesitation had nothing to do with a determination not to give in to him. I was afraid if I nodded that I did, he would only tease me more. If I shook my head, he might still tease me.

After a moment, I felt the head of his cock nudging against my sex. I nodded vigorously. It was what I wanted, needed desperately, but again my body betrayed me. I was so fearful now that he wouldn’t do what he’d promised that the juices that should have eased his way had fled.

To my horror, he withdrew before my body could respond.

I moaned in disappointment.

His mouth settled over my sex. I felt the rough texture of his tongue as he lathed me, then his mouth closed over my clit. Sharp needles of pleasure, more like daggers, shot through me.

After a moment, he stopped and I thought I would die … hoped I would.

I felt his cock nudging me again and my heart leapt into my throat. Slowly, he worked it inside me. My muscles clenched around it, making it difficult even though my body’s juices had flooded my sex. I held my breath when he sank fully into me, waiting to see if he would leave me again.

Slowly, he withdrew until I thought he would, then thrust inside again. Still, I held my breath, but each time he withdrew, he pushed inside of me again, sinking so deeply I felt near to bursting. And, with each thrust, the pleasure built rapidly, until I was struggling for air, could feel myself on the verge of climax again.

Suddenly, my body clenched, wave upon wave of exquisite pleasure washing over me that was so intense I passed out.

When I came back to my senses, I found that he had withdrawn, that he was suckling my nipple.

I should not have felt anything. I was both surprised and dismayed to discover that my body responded immediately, as if I had not just found release.

It was not like it had been before. My body, only just sated, belonged to him now. He teased me, my body responded. It took no more than the touch of his mouth and tongue to produce wave upon wave of pleasure.

But he did not torment me long with a lack of release. He brought my body to full awareness, to the edge of fulfillment, and thrust inside me. I climaxed almost at once, more intensely than the first time, so intensely that I lost consciousness for several moments.

When I came to, I felt the feather.

A combination of fear and anticipation shot through me. I didn’t think that I could survive another round of pleasurable torture.

I didn’t believe my body could respond. I had already climaxed twice. It was rare for me to achieve even one. Surely, I was far too sated for my senses to respond.

I wasn’t. My flesh was so sensitive it felt as if ants were crawling over me, stinging me. The ice, skating across my skin was worse than ever before, for by now I felt as if I had a fever my flesh was so heated.

And still, when his mouth suckled my flesh, it responded with waves of pleasure.

Again, he teased me, on and on until I knew my body was building toward yet another climax.

This time, he did not move slowly, he thrust inside me as if he was impaling me with a spear. I should have been so wet by now that my sex was desensitized, but the ice had caused my body to reabsorb my own juices and much of his, and I found that the pleasure was far more intense than ever before. I welcomed the hard, pounding thrusts, climaxed within moments.

After a time, I began to realize the room was growing lighter, despite the binding over my eyes. It was nearly dawn. He had teased me, tortured me, pleased me all night.

I was glad. I was exhausted from the pleasure.

I was sad. I had become addicted. I didn’t want it to stop.

I had lost count of the times he had brought me to climax.

He must surely be aware that morning was creeping into the room, but he didn’t stop, he thrust inside me harder and harder, faster and faster, until finally, we both shuddered with release.

When I became aware of my surroundings again, I realized that I was lying in my bed, free of any sort of bindings. For a few moments, I was totally disoriented.

I knew I could not have dreamed what had happened to me, however, for the scarf remained over my eyes.

A sound caught my attention and I sat up abruptly, pulling the scarf from my eyes. The movement caused me excruciating pain. It seemed as if every single muscle in my body screamed in pain.

But I had to see him. I knew he was leaving and I had to know.

He stood in the shadows near my bedroom door, tall, well muscled, as I had known he must be.

I was no longer gagged but still could not find my voice. A dozen questions filled my mind. Who was he? Why had he come? Why had he done what he’d done to me?

All that came to my tongue, however, was the single question. “Will I see you again?”

There was amusement in his voice. “Do you want to?”

I found I couldn’t answer that. The answer my body cried was a resounding yes! But in my mind I wasn’t so certain. “Who are you?” I asked instead.

“The thief of hearts,” he said and vanished.

The End

Watch for the next diary entry, coming soon....