After my husband left for work, I hurried to the bedroom, my heart pounding with anticipation. I slipped off my robe, letting it pool at my feet, and pulled on the red lace negligee. It clung to me like a second skin, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. The hem barely grazed my thighs, highlighting my lean legs, while the lace cupped my breasts, spilling over the top, accentuating every curve. My loose golden-brown waves fell softly around my face, and my lips, painted in bold crimson, offered a silent invitation.
I glanced at myself in the mirror, my lips curling into a smile. This was for him.
My husband, lost in his work, had left me starving for attention, giving me only the scraps of his fleeting, distracted moments. The bedroom we shared had been a graveyard for months, void of any intimacy, lifeless.
I couldn't take it anymore—the constant ache of feeling undesired, like I wasn't even a woman to him anymore—just a roommate, a maid, someone to handle all the housework, only to be met with silence as he stared at his phone or computer, completely absorbed in his work. It felt like I had faded into the background, invisible, while he lived in a world I no longer belonged to. The emptiness had swallowed me whole, and I desperately needed to feel alive again.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers trembling as I typed a single word: Ready. It was our code. He knew what it meant—that I was alone, and the back door to our home was unlocked. No need for more; we had already discussed everything in the LushStories chatroom.
I knew he was out there somewhere, close to the house, waiting, watching. I didn't even know his real name or what his face looked like—just the body pictures he sent. But that was part of the thrill, the not knowing.
The bedroom door was wide open as I sat on the unmade bed my husband and I had shared less than half an hour ago. The sheets were still warm.
My heart raced as I waited for a stranger I met online, on a sex site of all places. What the hell was I doing? Had I completely lost my mind? The questions burned in my head—was I a lustful, desperate slut? A sinner? A whore? Or was I just a broken woman, craving to feel wanted, to feel like I mattered, even if it only for a moment?
I heard the door open and close, then quiet footsteps on the stairs, and my breath caught. He was here, so I stood up and smoothed out my negligee, trying to calm the nervous flutter in my stomach.
He stepped into the room, wearing a black ski mask, only his lips and piercing eyes visible— bright and shadowed at once, like the sky before a storm. Dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, he looked casual, yet there was something unsettling about him—a quiet menace, like someone who controlled every situation without ever needing to raise his voice.
And then I saw it—the knife in his hand, catching the dim light. My heart lurched, freezing for a moment. What was this? I should have been terrified. I should have run. Any sane person would have. But instead of fear, an electric thrill coursed through me, excitement bubbling up as he stepped closer, making it difficult to breathe yet impossible to turn away.
He moved toward me, each step heavy, deliberate. My heart raced as my eyes locked onto his cold, steel-like gaze. The knife gleamed in his hand like a silent threat, but it wasn’t the blade that made me shiver—it was the way he held it, with such effortless control, as if he knew exactly the power he held.
When he was close enough for me to feel his body warmth, he raised the knife, gently tracing the flat edge along my collarbone. The cool metal shocked my skin, but I didn't move—I didn't want to. His other hand gripped my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.
The blade dipped lower, grazing the lace of my negligee, each touch evoking something darker, more primal, deep inside me. It wasn’t just excitement—it was a raw, disturbing hunger that stirred, daring me to surrender to the danger.
With a quick slice, the strap fell, then another cut, and the fabric pooled at my feet. My skin tingled under his warm touch, his fingers trailing over the places the blade had just been.
Vulnerable and exposed, I stood still, my body trembling slightly, my perky breasts rising and falling with each rapid breath. My nipples, already stiff peaks, reached for him like fragile petals, yearning for the sun’s hard, unrelenting heat.
His gaze scorched my skin, roaming over my naked body with a hunger that felt almost predatory, yet he remained still. I could feel his desire radiating, but he held back, torturing me with the wait.
The tension was maddening. I ached for him to touch me, to claim me, but he stood there, his stormy eyes locked on mine, igniting a fire in my amber-flecked stare.
He let the silence stretch, pushing me to the edge until my body shivered with need, desire dripping down my thighs.
"Turn around," his voice rumbled, deep and commanding, cutting through the silence.
The cold steel kissed my throat, its blunt edge a cruel tease, and its sharp edge close enough to draw blood with the slightest move.
What had I done?
I barely knew this man. My pulse roared in my ears, each frantic beat crashing against the blade, as if daring it to sink deeper. A surge of fear and adrenaline shot through me, twisting in the uncertainty of his intentions, panic swelling with every second the icy steel lingered on my fragile skin.
His free hand tightened around my hips, drawing me closer until my soft cheeks pressed against the undeniable arousal building in his jeans. His lips brushed the nape of my neck, his tongue tracing my skin, warm and wet.
The rush left me breathless as I tilted my head back, offering myself to him. His hand adjusted the blade with precision, responding to every subtle shift in my body, ensuring it never crossed the fine line between danger and control.
His warm breath grazed my neck as he whispered, “Put your hands behind your back.”
I obeyed, the intoxicating thrill of surrendering to this dangerous stranger clouding my thoughts. The blade lifted from my skin, and before I could even comprehend it, the sharp snap of handcuffs locked around my wrists.
My breath caught, every nerve ignited, my body humming with tension, helpless—completely at his mercy.
His hands seized my hips, firm and unyielding, leaving no question about his intent. Slowly, his palms traveled up my body, cupping my breasts, forcing a sharp gasp from my lips.
His fingers toyed with my nipples, each roll and tug a tantalizing tease—a slow burn that pooled into a deep warmth between my legs.