The Intruder by Ashley Hind

While her husband is away on business, the raven-haired beauty Bethany remains at home, lost in the depraved fantasy world of her increasingly submissive sexual desires. One night while in the throes of masturbation, she looks up to see, stepping from the shadows, a masked intruder with a knife and an enormous erection. Mesmerized by the prowler, her lust explodes and she finds herself submitting to his powerful seduction. When finished, the intruder takes her jewels, telling her he’ll be back.

Once the intruder is finally gone, the frightened Bethany feels compelled to call the police. Sent to investigate is detective Claire Wheeler, a bisexual dominant who uses her position of power to indulge her own sexual perversions. On meeting Bethany, Claire is determined to have the young wife at all costs. Unknown to both women, the mysterious assailant is Marcus Vine, a powerful and devious dominant who owns a high tech surveillance business he uses to spy on the lonely wives of wealthy men. The needy Bethany is a perfect target for both the seduction and the thievery he has planned.

With Bethany enthralled by her assailant’s large cock, and Claire enthralled with Bethany, the two embark on a scheme to ferret out the mystifying intruder. Believing they know the man’s identity, they follow their target and watch as the suspect defiles another of his willing victims. Suddenly both women are so flushed with desire that Claire rushes Bethany home and takes command of the horny wife. But while Claire’s need for Bethany intensifies, so does Bethany’s fascination for the intruder and his amazing erection.

Who will gain control of the nubile young wife? Marcus and his unique brand of sexual depravity, or Claire and her authoritative domination? Or is it possible that Bethany’s husband will step in and fill her needs as he did when they first married. A suspenseful tale of love, lust and power, the story includes both the Male and Female domination of the submissive female, nonconsensual sex, spanking, punishment, exhibitionism, voyeurism, water sports, strap-on sex, lesbian orgies and humiliation.

Do Exactly As I Say by Ashley Hind, BDSM, punishment and assault
In the midst of a late night masturbation filled with Bethany's perverted sexual fantasies, she is interrupted by a shocking phone which will set in motion an assault certain to shake her to her core.

Copyright (c) 2009 by Ashley Hind, all rights reserved


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Bethany closed her book and leaned over to stash it in the hidden drawer of her bedside cabinet, away from prying eyes. Not so much from her husband, who would never think to hunt for such things, more from her cleaner, who might. Her current arousal was heightened by her plush surroundings: the cool smoothness of the Egyptian cotton bed linen, the rich colours of the wall-hanging tapestries and oak furniture, all dimly lit by the bedside lamps. Primarily it was the bed that evoked her strongest feelings; an intricately carved four-poster that she longed to be tied to. She could have been a defenceless Tudor damsel with a baying enemy at her door if not for the television at the foot of the bed, and even this could be remotely lowered and concealed within the chest beneath it.

Her whole day had been leading up to this point, when she would finally allow herself to masturbate. She had staved off numerous attempts by her body to defeat her willpower, knowing that patience would yield more pleasurable rewards. Many fantasies and scenarios had flitted into her mind, vying to be the one she used when the time came. She knew now that the chosen one would be her ‘Sun Tattoo’ theme, inspired by the heat of the summer day and the all-girl scene from her book. She was becoming increasingly surprised at the level of filth that popped into her head during her private moments, and such moments were becoming ever more frequent since Stephen set out to expand his business at home and abroad. She was unconvinced that the extra freedom compensated for her loneliness but she knew that even if present, there was little chance of her husband indulging her fantasies. He was a straight-laced man who treated sex as a requirement to fit into a time slot of his busy schedule. The warmth from their courting days seemed to have evaporated from their lovemaking, and although he didn’t use her just as a receptacle for his lusts, he showed little inclination to broaden his horizons.

Her friends had always jealously told her that her looks would ensure that she could have anyone she wanted. Buckinghamshire was full of handsome and infinitely eligible young men, but she chose to become besotted with the man she worked for instead. They strongly advised her against marrying an older man but at the time she had been too wrapped up in his charm to heed the advice. Now it seemed the age gap was taking its toll. In recent weeks her need to masturbate had grown, as her dirty thoughts started to fill her empty days. Once her orgasm had chased away the guilty images, she was left with the hollow feeling that the chance to live out any parts of her hidden desires was inexorably slipping away.

She lay now with the sheets off and her body naked, the white linen a stark contrast to her long raven hair. She was determined to resist the urgent throb from between her legs and take her time in reaching her climax. Her skin felt sensitive to her touch and despite the warmth of the room, goose pimples sprung up on her flesh as she traced a line from her thighs, over her belly and up to her breasts. Her nipples were already hardened into little dark peaks as she pinched and stretched them cruelly.

She could wait no longer, her hand slipping down and cupping her sex, feeling the heat emanate as her index finger moved up her slit, gently parting her labia and gathering the slick moistness from within before continuing upwards. Her clitoris was already awake and swollen within the confines of its protective hood. Bethany used two gentle fingers to tease the pulsing bud as she focused her mind and let her rude imagination take over.

This particular fantasy always began the same: she had committed a minor indiscretion and her Mistress was set to punish her. One of the other girls from the harem was selected to prepare her. She was taken upstairs where she swapped her clothes for a tiny white g-string, her pouting puss barely covered by the fabric. She was put on her knees and bent over the bed, pushing her round buttocks out for the attentions of the other girl, who was holding a small metal tin and a thin paintbrush. Straining around, Bethany was just able to see the label on the tin, and wondered what ‘liquid latex’ could possibly be. The harem girl set to work studiously, taking her time to paint neatly onto Beth’s bare arse, giggling proudly as the first part was complete.

By twisting uncomfortably, Bethany was able to watch herself in the cheval mirror in the corner of the room and could see the results of her companion’s handiwork: black letters that stood slightly proud and pulled at her skin as they dried hard. She struggled to read the words spelled out, seeing them only in reflection and having them often obscured as the girl set to work with the brush on the other buttock. When the work was done the artist stood back and Beth could finally read the words, panicking as they became legible, nervous of what was to follow. Her hair was then put up into a ponytail and she was led back down to her Mistress who stood waiting on the garden patio, her other two slave-girls at her feet.

On the newly cut lawn, Beth could see a rectangle of white, some five foot long by three wide. Her Mistress didn’t even look at her as she took her by the wrist and led her up the garden to the white rectangle, which proved to be made of a shiny rubber. She was instructed to lay down on her front, her legs very slightly apart and her arms just in front of her, so she could lie on them and prop herself up from the groundsheet, which already felt uncomfortably warm against her bare skin. The slaves were summoned and set about securing her to the ground, hammering down metal shapes like miniature croquet hoops over her ankles and wrists. Beth’s uneasiness grew—already the sun felt hot on her exposed body and the sweat was starting to gather beneath her.

The slaves came again, this time carrying another white rubber sheet. They stood at her feet and held the sheet up, showing a perfectly round whole cut into its centre. Beth was pondering the reason as the girls lay the sheet over her back, the rubber clinging to her perspiration as she was enveloped. Just as she feared suffocation, the head end of the sheet was raised, and two metal struts pushed into the soil to hold it up off her head. She lay encased in her rubber sandwich, completely covered except for her bottom, which was perfectly framed by the cut away circle and stuck out towards the sun. The gathered slaves giggled at her plight and mocked her bare bum and the black words upon them. She could hear their laughter fade as they retreated to the house, abandoning her to her fate.

As the sweat started to drip and pool beneath her breasts and belly, Beth knew this was a test of endurance. She could with some pain escape from the shackles but this would be a terrible show of disobedience and she was desperate to prove her loyalty to her Mistress. To give yourself freely to a person, to obey every command they imposed upon you despite the personal cost was the most exhilarating and erotic action she could imagine. It left you utterly helpless and at the mercy of their cruel mind, yet was a supreme test of your own. The reaches their perverted imagination attained were merely a reflection of your own endurance, for without you they were nothing. You were the canvas on which to paint and their work was bounded only by your limits. While Beth was struggling to bear her punishment she knew that secretly her Mistress was also willing her to triumph too. It was this thought that made her pussy seep the juices that mixed with her sweat and drenched her panties.

The sun beat heavily on her naked flesh and a sudden tingle and tightness of her skin signalled that she had been exposed too long and that her bottom was starting to burn. Her hair was streaked wet and any free strands were plastered to her face. Her throat was dry and dusty and she was dehydrating fast. She had to fight with every inch of her being to tolerate her situation. Each time a wave of claustrophobic panic gripped her and she teetered on the edge of defeat, the thought of her beautiful Mistress brought a fresh surge of stamina.

In reality, Beth was now laying with her legs wide apart, her busy fingers alternatively rubbing her clitoris or plumbing the depths of her sodden cunt. Her wetness was mirroring her fantasy and drenching the sheet beneath her. So far she had been in control of her thoughts, her fingers dictating the pace as the familiar story was played out in her mind. Then, from a secret place in a dark corner of her imagination came a new twist to the tale: a pair of feet and ankles appeared at the entrance to her white rubber tent, and one unidentified slave bent to place a tall glass just in front of Bethany’s face.

The glass was presented on a small salver for stability and a bendy straw reached invitingly towards her. The liquid contents were a clear pale gold and were being chilled by three or four ice cubes that clinked gently against each other. A mist of condensation clung to the glass and small drops traced lazy lines on their descent. It could have been a godsend, a delicious glass of ice-cold apple juice to quench her desperate thirst. It wasn’t, of course. With a shiver, and before the liquid warmed enough to give off its telltale odour, Beth knew that this was not apple juice; it was a glass of urine. If she wanted to slake her overwhelming need then she would be compelled to drink her Mistress’s piss.

Beth sobbed gently at her plight and the cruelty that was being meted out to her. She had never before been asked to perform such a degrading act and it was certainly not something she would seek to do. However, she had to admit that there was no order issued that she must drink, just the temptation laid before her. And tempting it was; the cold contents looked dizzyingly inviting in her current condition and her resistance was broken almost immediately. Her Mistress had won. Leaning forward, Beth took the straw between her dry lips and sucked, the cold piss flooding into her mouth and coating her tongue with a salty, mineral tang.

She quickly swallowed to rid herself of her humiliation and to ease her arid throat. It was not enough though, and immediately her body cried out for more. It was not just her mouth that demanded it either. To her shame she realized her pussy was also begging for it with equal fervour. She leant forward again and with her eyes tightly shut to block out her guilt she sucked the straw as greedily as she could, filling her mouth over and over and gulping it down, wishing her Mistress was watching this depraved act of submission.

As she lay panting from the thrill of her actions, her attention was turned to her buttocks, still being cooked by the sun and now smarting noticeably. Her drink had gone a little way to easing her discomfort but now the cling of the rubber was starting to overwhelm her resistance, and panic was once again rising. How long had she been here? How long did they plan to leave her at the mercy of the sun? She was losing her battle of endurance and feared she would give in at any moment, calling out for help or simply pulling away the hoops that held her.

Just at the point of defeat they came for her, peeling off the top rubber sheet and releasing her, helping her weak and soaking body up and back to the house. She was led past her Mistress who stood just inside the open French doors that led out to the garden. She remained silent but Beth was sure she could detect a look of pride in those dark eyes, and just a hint of a smile at their shared triumph…

Her fantasy continued, driving her deeper into the places of depravity in which she thrived.

Writhing on the bed, she frigged herself furiously, trying hard not to take herself over the edge, wanting to find out what else was to become of her in her perverted imagination. She knew she couldn’t last long, both hands now simultaneously working her pussy as the filth raged in her head. The sudden chime from the phone made her squeal and jump, her fingers leaping from her quim with a lewd plop. She answered the phone hastily, like a guilty child caught in the act, her fingers smearing the receiver with her juices. Her husband seldom called at this time when he was away. He sure as hell picked his moments.

“Where are you?” His voice seemed stern and unfamiliar.

“Stephen?” Her head was still immersed in the memories of the fantasy and her concentration struggled to resurface though she knew something was wrong. The voice said again:

“Where are you?”

Her previous excitement was being replaced by edginess now as she tried to make sense of the situation. The voice sounded intelligent and with no accent, just like her husband’s but it was slightly deeper and more commanding somehow. It was this that compelled her to reply,

“I’m in bed. Stephen what’s—”

“Do exactly as I say. Stay where you are and do not make a sound. I am coming to rob you now.”

The phone went dead and Beth stared in shock at it. It wasn’t Stephen. Was it Stephen? Had he said ‘rob’? The adrenalin shiver started at the top of her head and spread coldly down her body and into her limbs. If it wasn’t Stephen, then who was it? A crank caller seemed the obvious answer. She checked the last number re-dial, which proved to be withheld. She was worried now. What should she do, and where the fuck was her useless husband when she needed him? Since she didn’t know his number, phoning him would entail leaving the perceived safety of her bedroom and going downstairs for her cell phone. She climbed off the bed onto shaky legs and put on her silk gown to cover her nakedness. She had only made two steps towards the door when she heard the stairs creaking outside her room. Her cry froze in her throat as she looked around vainly for a weapon of some kind or a place to hide. In the end she did what all good victims in horror films do and climbed back into bed with her knees up, with only her head peeping out from the covers.

As the door swung slowly open, two pencil-thin beams of light speared through the darkness and lit up points on the opposite wall. The figure entered the room and the lights swung around towards her before being lost in the glow from her bedside lamps. She could see the beams came from the small torches mounted either side of his head, an apparatus usually favoured by SWAT teams and the odd club DJ.

He moved silently towards the bed, everything below his chest obscured from her vision by the TV. His approach brought his head into view and she could see he was wearing a shiny black balaclava-style mask beneath his torch apparatus. The mask covered most of his face, cutting away just above the tip of his nose and leaving his mouth and chin completely exposed before joining back up at the neck. His eyes were hidden behind slits cut into the mask, and any chance of observing them was prevented by the torch beams. The mask was made either of patent leather or rubber, she could not tell which. If he had been a superhero, it was possible his mum may have fashioned it for him. In all likelihood it had simply been purchased from an internet sex shop.

Beth’s jaw was trembling uncontrollably with fear and her heart was pounding in her chest. Inexplicably and selfishly her pussy was still trying to demand some attention, seemingly oblivious to the current crisis. The man was now at the foot of the bed and she could appreciate his size. He was taller than her husband and with broader shoulders. He rested one gloved hand on the top of the TV and with a fresh rush of crippling fear Beth could see he was holding a knife. The blade was flat and short, perhaps only three inches in length although quite broad. It was made of polished steel, almost white in colour as it glinted menacingly in the half-light. Now would have been a good time to scream for help but Beth was still rendered mute and in the end it was he who broke the silence.

“I am not going to harm you,” he said, “do exactly as I say and you will be fine.”

His voice was calm and even and Beth found herself easing away from the peak of hysteria, although her gaze remained resolutely on the knife.

“I am just going to take a few things. They can be easily replaced. I do not plan to hurt you, do you understand?”

She managed to nod in affirmation. Something in the way he spoke led her to believe his words and she felt assured and almost secure in his presence. He slowly moved sideways from behind the TV and emerged into the open and Beth finally broke her silence, a short gasping sob escaping from her lips at what she saw. Everything he wore was black: his sweater and the small duffel bag that he had over his shoulder, the army boots and his loose leather trousers that were fastened with the help of a heavy belt. The trousers had no zipper, instead a pair of nickel studs by the waistline could be used to secure a flap designed to conceal the crotch. These studs were not, however, currently being utilised. The flap was hanging down and bursting from the opening was the most enormous erect cock that Bethany had ever seen.

She was simply transfixed by his member. Its girth was huge and even at the end she would have struggled to get her hand around it. It was almost three times as long as the knife, which now looked pitifully impotent next to this great weapon. The network of raised veins stretched at the skin and looked ready to burst. The foreskin was partially pulled back revealing a bulbous purple head that shone with its engorgement and threatened to explode. His cock was free of pubic hair, his smooth scrotum tensing as his heavy balls rose and fell in their tight confines. If she could have taken her eyes of his cock she might have seen the smug sneer that flitted across his lips.

Courtesy of www.powershotz.com