After The Funeral

Although she would never admit it to anyone else, Claudia
was actually relieved when Mark died. Theirs had not
been what you would call a fulfilled marriage. She had
never been too keen on sex, so she could hardly complain
when he sought his pleasure elsewhere. But it was his
attempts to introduce her, convert her, to practices she
thought were just plain wrong that really annoyed her. I
mean, tying someone up before making love to them –
what was that all about?
‘At least he didn’t suffer,’ her s****r, Helen, said in an
effort to comfort her, though she didn’t need comforting.
His BMW had crashed into a wall, head on. Brake
failure.
The police and insurance people had finally satisfied
themselves that it had been an accident, despite the fact
that Claudia would inherit the Harrington fortune after her
husband’s unfortunate demise.
‘So, how much did he leave you?’ asked Helen.
Claudia eyed her s****r curiously. Was she hoping for a
handout because she was f****y?
‘The town house, the country house, the villa, multiple
investments. An obscene amount, I hope,’ she replied.

‘Although I won’t know for sure until I speak to the
solicitor. He asked me to come in later today, to sort out
the paperwork.’
The office of Elliott Westerham and Associates was in
the city centre, a big Edwardian converted house,
tastefully decorated. Mark and Elliott had got on well
socially and Elliott had visited the house on occasions, so
they were on first name terms. But, for some reason, today
Claudia was aware that he was regarding her oddly, as if
he was uneasy in her company.
‘Elliott.’
‘Claudia.’
He looked and sounded formal in his pin-striped
business suit. He handed her an envelope.
‘Mark left this with me. You were to have it after his
death.’
‘Is it to do with the will?’ she asked, with a little too
much enthusiasm.
‘Open it.’
He was making her uncomfortable, staring at her. She
ripped open the envelope, keen to get the legal affairs over
with. As she started to read, her mouth dropped open.
Eventually, when she had read the letter twice more, she
looked at Elliott.
‘Is this a joke?’
‘No joke. Mark was deadly serious, excuse the pun.’
‘So you’re saying that unless I respect Mark’s last
wishes, I won’t get a penny.’
‘Correct.’
‘But have you seen what he’s asking me to do?’
He blushed. ‘Yes.’
‘Did you put him up to this?’
‘Of course not. Mark was very strong-willed, you know
that.’

‘I can’t. It’s just too…God, I don’t even want to think
about it.’
‘Then Mark’s entire estate goes to the Donkey
Sanctuary.’
‘Now that is obscene.’
‘You have until tomorrow midday to make your
decision. Go home, sl**p on it.’
Of course, she couldn’t sl**p a wink, cursing Mark for
treating her like this. He knew her views on anything she
regarded as remotely kinky. She had made that very clear.
The next day, she went back to Elliott’s office, having
carefully considered what the money would get her and
trying to imagine life without it.
‘I’ll do it. Under protest, of course.’
‘Of course. I’ll make the necessary arrangements.’
‘Thank you. But I don’t see why you have to be there.’
‘I have to witness the proceedings, to ensure Mark’s
will is respected. I hope you understand.’
The house was in a cul-de-sac – an upmarket but
otherwise ordinary looking house in a relatively affluent
part of town. She allowed herself a nervous smile. She had
visualised a gothic mansion. Her fingers kept involuntarily
reaching up to touch the leather collar around her neck.
She wasn’t used to being restricted in any way at all. Part
of her wanted to tear it off, yet a part of her that had
always remained hidden felt a strange comfort.
She shuddered as Elliott helped her out of the car, her
thin black slip clinging to the contours of her firm and
supple body. No underwear, just a pair of shiny high heels.
All part of Mark’s instructions. He had been very precise
in his requirements. A stickler for detail. What she
wouldn’t do for him in life he was going to make her go
through anyway. She wondered if he was laughing from
his new home beyond the grave, wherever that might be.

The door was opened by a very tall woman in a tight
rubber dress and heavy make-up, who gestured her and
Elliott up the stairs to a warm room, lit by candles.
Swathes of red silk were d****d across the walls and floor.
The air was heavy with exotic incense.
A large mirror lined one wall. In the centre of the room
was a small wooden table, d****d with a velvet cloth.
‘Sit down.’ She was taken aback at Elliott’s firm tone.
As she moved forward he said, ‘No, take off your slip
first.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You must. Mark’s instructions were quite explicit.’
How could she let Elliott see her naked? Perhaps this
was all a bad dream and any moment now she would wake
up.
Elliott regarded her gravely. ‘Take it off,’ he repeated.
With a sulky pout, she let the slip fall to the ground and
stepped out of it.
‘Now you can get on the table.’
Claudia felt his eyes burning into her. Her face flushed
crimson, she had to look away to avoid his gaze. She was
seething. If it wasn’t for the money…
‘Kneel. Leave your shoes on. Spread your knees.’
It felt awkward to sit in such an exposed position on the
small table, and acutely embarrassing, but she did it.
‘Now, you do have a choice about the next bit. You can
watch everything that happens to you or be blindfolded.’
She hesitated. She wanted to see what was going to
happen because she hated surprises. But on the other hand,
she couldn’t bear to look at herself naked and vulnerable.
‘I’ll take the blindfold.’
A soft red cloth was placed over her eyes.

She heard the door open, someone else enter the room.
A man’s voice. Unfamiliar. She guessed it must be the
nawashi, the rope master.
‘Is she ready?’
‘Yes. You can start now.’
She trembled as she felt her arms pinned behind her
back, rope biting into the soft flesh of her wrists. Then
more rope – or was it from the same length – wrapped
around her waist, across her chest, circling her breasts and
nipples, pulling tight, momentarily taking her breath away.
Then more around her legs, ankles, in an intricate pattern;
even the heels of her shoes were bound together.
She winced as rope pinched the insides of her thighs. It
hurt. She nearly panicked, feeling a brief flash of
claustrophobia before the calm returned.
Then stillness. An amazing stillness. Her body was
restricted yet her mind felt strangely liberated, free, as her
focus turned inwards, heightening awareness of every
sensation.
It was as if she was experiencing her body for the first
time: a kind of revelation. Then rope was passed between
her legs, grazing her delicate inner lips, like some invisible
fingertip. She gasped. Suddenly her entire being became
focussed on this area, the slightest pressure magnified
tenfold, as if it were the only thing that existed. The only
thing.
Unable to move, Claudia’s focus travelled to the deep
recesses of her inner self; she experienced complete
introspection and serenity. In her meditative state, she
became vaguely aware of sounds in the room, other
voices, male and female: she had no idea how many. She
realized that she was being looked at, admired, an object
of abstract beauty and wonder.
‘She looks stunning.’ A woman’s voice, almost wistful.

‘A work of art.’ A man.
‘There’s a particular intimacy in allowing someone to
tie you up. There has to be complete trust that they won’t
abuse the power you are freely giving them. The intimacy
comes from opening yourself psychologically and
allowing them to enter, explore and guide.’
Another man. A familiar tone. Surely not Elliott? What
would he know about Japanese rope bondage?
‘I’ve heard the experience can be overwhelming, very
intense and powerful.’
The first woman again. ‘Can I take a photograph?’
Suddenly, Claudia was jerked out of her trance-like
state. She wanted to shout ‘No way,’ but, for some reason,
she couldn’t speak.
Then she heard Elliott reply, ‘Yes, of course.’
She wanted to scream at him, but she was reluctant to
abandon this feeling of peace and calm. After all, there
was nothing she could to do stop him. She was tied up,
helpless. She had to go with the flow. So she let go.
When, finally, an hour or so later, the ropes were
removed, one by one, she felt so light-headed she thought
she might pass out. She felt a hand reach out to support
her, to stop her falling. She didn’t want the blindfold to be
taken off. She wanted to stay like this. Forever. She did
not want to return to the ordinary world. Yet she knew that
once her eyes were open again she would feel anything but
ordinary. She felt like she had been reborn.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Elliott.
There was genuine concern in his voice, which both
surprised and moved her.
‘I don’t know.’
She tottered as she placed a foot tentatively on the
floor. Her knees buckled.
‘Hey, I’ve got you,’ said Elliott.

‘Yes. You have.’
She felt as high as a kite. Spaced out. And although the
actual ropes were lying in a coil on the floor, like a
sl**ping snake, she could still feel them around her body.
Glancing at her arms she saw the marks like livid red
bangles, deeply embedded.
‘The physical marks and feeling stay with you long
afterwards,’ said Elliott.
How did he know?
‘Really?’
She was smiling vaguely, her body rapidly melting. As
her legs gave out on her again, Elliott scooped her into his
arms and carried her across the landing into a dimly lit
bedroom. He laid her gently on the bed and knelt beside
her, kissing her lightly on the neck. Looking into his eyes,
so dark and intense, she knew that he would make love to
her and that it would be very good.
‘We can’t, not here, not in someone else’s bed,’ she
protested feebly.
‘It’s my bed,’ he replied, tenderly stroking a strand of
her copper-red hair.
‘Your bed?’
‘And my house.’
She blinked back at him, her mind fuzzy.
‘Anyway, you’re a very rich woman now. You can do
whatever you want.’
She sighed. She had actually forgotten about the
money. Yet it was the reason she was here, the reason she
had allowed this to happen.
‘I’ve wanted you for a long, long time,’ he murmured,
his lips grazing her cheek. ‘I couldn’t wait any longer.’
He began to trace the rope marks on her body with his
tongue.

She trembled as an unsettling thought struck her. Brake
failure, the police said. Unexplained brake failure.
Then the tip of his tongue found the newly sensitive
place between her legs and she arched her back and
moaned, abandoning herself once more to pure sensation.
Any uncertainty she had about Elliott vanished for the
time being. There would be plenty of time to think. Later.
Much, much later.
75% (14/5)
 
Categories: FetishHardcoreMature
Posted by KDG
1 year ago    Views: 2,054
Comments (5)
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1 year ago
very good
1 year ago
Great story
1 year ago
Very good and interesting
1 year ago
very sexy story! love to see that. And Elliot what a naughty man!
1 year ago
fantastic story !