Fantasy Lover

"Thank you," I said meekly.

When I had finished, he took the glass from my hand, resting it in a cup holder, and then unzipped the cooler, pulling something into his hand. In a quick move, he knelt over me, his knees resting on either side of me. I instantly cringed, turning my face away from him. I could feel his fingers under my chin and then a warm softness caressing my cheek. It was a warm, wet soft towel; that what was in the warming bag, I thought. What a strange luxury. My master patiently wiped my face gently. I opened my eyes and could see the black on the cloth -- my mascara which was probably all over my face. What I mess I must look like! My face felt puffy and bloated and I could only imagine what I must look like to him.

I opened my eyes and regarded him as he patiently wiped my face. His eyes were luminous and wet, large pools of deep brown, almost black and I could see my reflection in his pupils. His skin was fair, but up close I could see a few brown freckles that graced his face, a shadow of black emerging from his jaw line. My hands rested awkwardly in my lap, my fingers clasping my legs, my arms pinned by his arms on either side of me. His hair was soft and wavy and I had to fight an urge to smooth back a stray curl that hung down his forehead. It was a strangely intimate situation and as I stared into his eyes, I felt a strange burning sensation coursing through my body. I wanted to hate this man. Anger, shame, pain all twisted in my stomach, but as I gazed into his eyes, I felt a peace settle into me. I sat back and tried to relax my body under his ministrations.

He sat back, apparently satisfied with his progress and folded up the dirty cloth, setting it to the side.

"Take off your panties and panty hose, Elizabeth," he said, looking hard at me.

So, here it comes, I thought. I knew that he would force me to have sex with him. Keeping my skirt down, I slid off my heels and gingerly pulled down my hose and panties, crumpling them into a ball on the floor. I could not look at him.

"Take off your blouse and your bra, Elizabeth." He might have been giving me directions for making a casserole, he was so emotionless. My fingers shook as I unbuttoned the blouse, taking my time with each button. He did not seem to care. I wished that he would have torn the blouse off of me. I wanted him to be angry. It would have been easier for him to rape me forcefully. But this was his control. He was forcing me to submit to him, punishing me beyond any physical punishment that he could have thought of. My bra was plain and I had a moment of regret as I unhooked it, that maybe he thought me plain as well. I wanted to cover my naked breasts with my hands, but my last vestiges of pride and defiance allowed me the courage to keep my trembling hands by my side.

"Look at me," he ordered.

This was the hardest. I could not meet his steely stare, trying instead to focus on anything else -- his dark, furry eyebrows, a rise above his hard cheekbones- anything but those cold eyes. His eyes finally locked with mine and I could see him peruse my body, his glare burning my skin, flicking over the pale pink nipples, causing them to harden as if he had touched them.

"Lift up your skirt and spread your legs for me," he said calmly.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to comply, lifting my skirt up and spreading my legs open a little, and then a little wider. He moved forward suddenly, grabbing under my legs and sliding me to the edge of the seat, forcing each of my legs over his knees, spreading me open. I tensed, waiting for him to invade me, but he stopped, making his visual inspection of me, raping me with his eyes. I fought hard against the emotions curling up inside me. Tears welled in my eyes and I squeezed them tight, determined to shut my eyes against the nightmare. I felt his hands move gently up my legs and I waited, quivering, for him to touch me there. But he stopped and even with my eyes shut tight, I could feel the heat of his stare, my pussy growing hot and wet with the anticipation, waiting for his hands to leave my legs. I was scared, but my body was rebelling, the submission of my body laid open to his will, pulling me into a state of longing. This was a man whom I had been intimate with for over a year, if only through words -- a distant voice on the other side of a computer screen. Yet, here he was tonight, a stranger to me. The conflicts of my feelings were overwhelming me. I had trusted this person, allowed his access to my most intimate thoughts and although we had both been playing a part, there had been a real part of me involved. Involuntarily, my hands reached up to grab his hands. He must have thought that I was trying to hold him back, to fight him off.

"I am not going to rape you, Elizabeth," he said softly in his defense. "You must want me."

I opened my eyes and looked at him. His face had softened and there was something vulnerable in his eyes as he sat there looking at me.

"Do you want me?" he said quietly. The firmness was gone from his voice and I sensed hesitation. His eyes flickered and I saw it in an instant. He was in love with me.

"Tell me that you want me to make love to you."

I knew that I could hurt him. I knew at that moment that I could have said "no," that I could have railed against him, cursed him, battered him with my anger and he would have let me go. I could have whipped him as he had punished me, flaying his soul with a word. My defiance boiled up inside me. Fight him, it said. Hurt him.

He sat patiently looking at me, the flicker of hesitation gone. His hands lay firmly on my legs. My mind screamed against him, but my body wanted his touch; just a fingertip would have sufficed my need.

"Yes," I said quietly.

'Yes, what my dear?" He was going to make me work for it. He was the master and I would submit to him, not the other way around.

"Yes, my lord. I want you to make love to me."

This was the contrition that he demanded. He moved his thumb up over my vagina, trailing the hot wetness over my clit, like a hot knife through warm butter. I gasped, my arms wrapped around his wrists as he fingered my pussy, sliding in with his forefinger, his thumb drawing slow circles over my clit, like a raw nerve exposed. I was so hot that I could have come instantly, and sensing my need, he would hold back, taking me to the edge and bringing me back until I was close to screaming.

He stopped, carefully sliding me sideways on the bench seat until I was lying flat. He sat back in his seat and took off his jacket, slowly unbuttoning his cufflinks and buttons, sliding out of his shirt. His chest was taunt, not overly muscular, his pale skin covered with a small amount of downy dark hair around his nipples, leading in a line down his stomach. His nipples were small, dark, and hard, like the color of a brown berry. He kicked off his shoes, undid his belt buckle, and slid his pants off slowly. He had on black underwear as well, a cotton bikini that did little to camouflage his desire. He slid those off as well; his body was as beautiful as his face, perfectly formed.

I still had my skirt bunched up around my waist, so I slid it off. Now we were both naked and I had a moment's hesitation as I remembered where I was -- in a car with at least two other people in the front, Roberto and the driver. And here we were both naked, but somehow that didn't bother me. I assumed that we would not be disturbed.

Beau knelt beside me on the floorboard, leaning over to playfully suck my nipples, first one, then the other, sending pulses of desire down my body. I ran my fingers through his hair, as if to give approval to his playfulness. He sucked at my nipples until they were hardened buds and then started kissing down my stomach. I knew where he was going and I felt a combination of tenseness and ecstasy. His hands spread my legs apart and he paused for a moment, looking at my pussy intently, his fingers rubbing casually over my clit, as if he were plotting strategy. Then he leaned in, his warm mouth covering me, his tongue licking, slow and hard at first, then rapidly flicking. I moaned, concentrating on the feeling of his warm, wet tongue on my secret place- like a bird rapidly beating its wings against a glass window. He continued, sucking hard and then flicking. His fingers fucked me, first one finger gingerly pushing and then two fingers, harder. It was when his thumb brushed over my asshole, the tip pushing gently inside me that, that I felt myself coming hard. I gasped, drawing my legs up, my hands grabbing his head as he continued to suck me beyond my limit, not stopping, sending spasms of intensity coursing through me.

"No, No," I moaned. "Stop. I can't take it."

He sat up grinning. He leaned up to kiss me and I could taste myself, heavy and thick on his tongue as it pushed into my mouth. My fingers wrapped fiercely around his cock, which was hard and pulsating. I ran my thumb over the tip which was already wet with desire, rubbing the pre-cum down the shaft. I thought that he would want me to return the favor, and I moved to lean over to take his cock in my mouth, but he pushed me back into the soft leather, mounting me with ferocity, sliding hard into my soaking wet pussy. He fucked me hard, arching his back so that he could look down on me as he fucked me. I grabbed his hard, tight ass, pulling him forcefully into me. He pushed my left leg up, angling it against the seat, so that I was spread wide open.

"Do you like this?" he said through clinched teeth. "Tell me that you want me to fuck you hard."

"Oh yes," I said breathlessly, running my hands from his ass, up his back, raking my fingernails lightly over his shoulders. "Oh God, yes. Fuck me hard. Do it."

He continued, sweat breaking out on his face, tiny trickles dampening his thick black locks. His eyes were hard, intense, glazed with passion. He moved inside me, grinding against my pelvis, the dark curls that surrounded the base of his cock tickling my clit. Suddenly he pulled out and knelt on the floorboard, his cock glistening, standing up angrily against his pale stomach.

"Turn over, my dear." he said gently.

I set my shaking leg down gently and turned over quickly onto my stomach, watching him carefully as I laid my cheek against the warm leather seat, unsure of what he wanted. He sat back on the opposite seat and pulled my body in an angle, my waist bending over the edge of the seat until I was kneeling on the floorboard. He ran his hand up over my back and then down over my buttocks, his fingers moving up between my legs to rub the wetness there, making sure that I was ready for him.

He moved gently up against me, grabbing my shoulder with his left hand, his right hand guiding his hard cock inside me, slowly penetrating me. He moved gently into me and I could feel the full length of his cock filling me. He pushed slowly, in and out, and I tried to reach behind to touch him, but I could only grace his hip. He began moving more quickly, his hands firmly grasping my hips, pulling me towards him.

"Oooh," I moaned. He was thrusting hard now, ramming me with his hips. His cock felt larger somehow, harder, the tip jutting fiercely into the back of my vagina. It hurt, but with a pain that was not necessarily unbearable, but dominating, creating a sense of pleasure that enveloped me in the pain. His hand grasped at my neck, his thumb hard against my head as if all his energy were contained there. I bit my lip, my teeth hard and fast against my skin, holding back a cry. I squeezed my eyes tight, concentrating on the force of him moving against me. With every thrust, it was as if he were punishing me like the whipping, conquering me. I could feel the intensity building, his body tensing, his passion moving down through him. He groaned and I could feel him come deep inside me, his body trembling, his shaking hands grasping my hips as he continued to push, then stopping still.

He leaned over my back, one elbow on the seat, careful not to put his full weight on me. His now limp penis slipped gently out, leaving a hollow feeling inside me. His right hand stroked up my back, smoothing back my hair which was plastered against my wet temple. His fingers caressed my forehead, circling, and then he leaned over, and planted a firm kiss on the area that he had rubbed. He rose stiffly and sat back on the opposite seat, watching me intently.

"Come here, my dear," he said, gesturing with his hand.

I turned on my knees and crawled into his lap, his arms enveloping me, pulling me up onto his legs. I curled up there, my head resting against his sweat drenched chest, my head tucked down below his chin, so that I could not see his face but could breathe in the smell of his musky cologne mixed with his own smell. I wondered about the man that I held onto. I felt strange, as I now knew him intimately, yet didn't know him at all. I had experienced his anger, his coldness, his passion, and now his love. All of these emotions melded together in a murky soup that was drowning my heart. I desperately wanted to trust this man, and now my mind reeled with thoughts of what the next days would bring. We had enacted our fantasy, once a dispassionate charade on a computer screen, now brought to life. But there was never an "ever after" with our fantasy. Time and time again, it was the same role-play. There was never a place in that fantasy computer world for work, mundane chores, the drudgeries of real life. When it was time, we said our goodbyes and returned back to our reality, exiting out of the game, shutting down our computer screen. Maybe it would be that way tonight.

Beau sat quietly holding me for minutes. I could see a glare out of the limo window- lights from the city. We were returning back.

"We should get dressed," he said quietly.

We slipped our clothes on silently and when we were finished, he pulled me back into his arms. We were entering the city; the streets were now mostly deserted, blackness punctuated by the shiny overhang of the streetlights. There was a quiet peace between us, an unspoken promise. Maybe there is hope in a fantasy coming true.