She stood in the shower, letting the hot water caress her, trying not to be too impatient. But it wasn’t working. The shower only served to heighten her arousal.

She tried not to think but she couldn't help trying again to guess what he had in mind. She had already run through a dozen erotic possibilities, each more devious than the last. But she knew he’d be planning something she couldn’t anticipate. Damn him! That’s what she loved about him.

He had e-mailed her on her lunch break. “There’s a reservation for tonight at the downtown Raddison in your name. All you have to do is check in. The room charges have been taken care of.”

That was it. Typically cryptic. Just enough to make her start thinking. Just enough to make her crazy. That was part of his plan. He knew she’d begin spinning fantasies as soon as she read it, that she’d try to anticipate him, all the while imagining what he was going to do to her. He also knew that, by the time she got there, she would have worked herself into such a state of arousal she'd be ready to do it right there in the lobby.

He knew it and he used it. He’d done it before, leaving her messages in different places, sending her on a frustrating two hour scavenger hunt through the city so that, by the time she got back to the room and found him waiting there, she had soaked her panties through three times over. It was a good thing he had the cuffs ready.

He knew how far he could push her -- just enough that one more thing would ruin it but always further than she would think possible. He’d push her just enough every time. And that made her crazy too, that he knew her that well.

There was a message for her at check-in this time too. But it simply said, “Take a shower...I want you all pink and perfect.”

That really made her start wondering what he had in mind. But a shower sounded wonderful after a day at work.

Finally, unable to contain herself, she shut off the water and got out of the shower. She half expected him to be waiting there. But he wasn’t.

Disappointed and now even more frustrated, she wrapped herself in the fluffy robe the hotel provided, twisted her hair up in a towel and went to check to see if he’d left another message while she’d been in the shower.

No message light flashed on the phone but she dialed the desk anyway. No message. She slammed the phone down and stared at it as if it were to blame for her growing feeling of urgency. This time, he was going to go too far.

“You bastard!” she muttered. “You’re just going to make me wait, aren’t you?”

“No bitch,” an unfamiliar voice growled in her ear, “you’re gonna get it right now.”

Before she could scream, before she could turn around, the towel was pulled down tight across her face. He must have had some tape because she could feel it wrapping the towel tighter and tighter across her eyes, nose, mouth and then around her neck, holding the towel snugly in place.

She could breathe, barely, but the towel muffled sound and stole her sight.

She felt the robe pulled down her shoulders. She tried to turn, to fight him off but he pulled the robe free of her before she had a chance.

She was catapulted onto the bed. She landed awkwardly and he was on her before she could even try to roll away.

He rolled her onto her side then straddled her, letting his full weight pin her to the bed. He pulled her wrist down to her ankle and taped them together. Then he rolled her on her other side and repeated the tape on her other wrist and ankle.

Apparently satisfied, he got off her and twisted her around to lie face down, spreading her legs wide apart so her ass stuck straight up in the air.

She screamed but it was useless, the towel and tape proved too effective a gag.

She felt him moving on the bed. She felt ropes going around her ankles then felt them being pulled tight, splitting her even wider apart.

It had to be him, she realized. This was his plan -- to give her the mock-rape she’d fantasized about for years. But he’d wanted it to have that aspect of real fear. And it was working. Oh, was it working.

She couldn’t hear him moving but she felt the bed move as he got off it. Then she waited, trembling with excitement and doubt and fear and need. It was him. It had to be.

Nothing. Nothing happened for a long time. She waited, expecting at any moment to feel his cock enter her savagely, urgently; waited for him to take his pleasure first. But nothing happened.

She twisted against the bonds but they were too tight to allow her any movement. She struggled again, suddenly feeling completely exposed now that he seemed to be only watching. It was one thing when he was touching her. Then it was sexual. But this, this it was something else. It embarrassed her and she felt her vulnerability all too keenly.

Still nothing happened.

It was driving her crazy.

What was he doing?

Maybe...oh God no...maybe he’d called housekeeping and asked them to put some more pillows or towels in the room and then left. Or maybe he’d called room service. Or...or maintenance. Yes...that would have to be it. “There’s a bulb burned out by the desk. I’m going for dinner...could you replace it before I get back?” She could see him doing that, hear his voice so calm and professional and even bored.

She struggled in earnest, desperately needing to get free, to cover herself before anyone came in and found her like this. It was bad enough to be found exhibited like this...what was unbearable was that the maintenance man would see how totally aroused she was.

Her desperation rose as she thrashed on the bed, tugged at the ropes but the knots only seemed to get tighter. She started screaming incoherently, sobbing and cursing and begging -- all of it unintelligible even to herself.

Crack!

The slap landed with telling accuracy on her naked flesh.

She screamed in pain and relief. He was still there!

Then she winced at the pain. That hurt!

Crack!

The other cheek. She realized with horror that this was just the beginning.

She was right.

He trailed something across her back. It was the tie from the robe...only it had been soaked with water, making it an effective lash.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

He administered the lash with practiced efficiency. He might have been talking to her but she couldn’t hear a thing. Her whole world narrowed to the sting of each blow on her back, ass and thighs.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

She could feel the welts starting to rise as he savaged nearly every inch of her body. Every muscle in her body spasmed with each crack of the lash, leaving her weak and gasping.

The suddenly there was a new sensation. Ice!

Rubbed across her burning flesh, the frigid water trickled down between her cheeks, over her ass and down to her throbbing pussy.

She wanted to throw her head back and howl but her position made it impossible.

The ice moved between her legs, skirting her most sensitive areas but so cold that it burned as it traced the crease next to her thighs. And then it assaulted her directly, sliding down between her open kips, probing into her, then fastening on her clit, rubbing just enough to drive her to even greater levels of arousal even as it threatened to bring her crashing down.

She did howl, not because she wanted to but because the terrible balance between pleasure and pain could not be endured.

But she had to endure it, and she did -- for far longer than she believed possible. She was on the edge, so close to orgasm she was sure the next breath would bring it. But the next breath would bring just a bit too much pressure, would make her cringe and writhe just as the next breath brought her back to the brink of orgasm. He held her there, just enough pain, just enough pleasure, dangling her over the abyss without letting her drop.

She was bathed in sweat, gasping for air, close to passing out from breathing the stale air trapped inside the wet towel.

Her world became focused on the ice, on the single point of her body that screamed with agony and delight at the same time.

And then the ice was gone. In its absence, her flesh heated to almost burning.

Then there was a sharp slap on her pussy, making her scream again.

And another and another.

She could not stop screaming. But it was because she wanted this, the hand between her legs promised to deliver her from her wild, mindless need.

A hand moved to her swollen lips, pushing inside her, first the fingers, then the whole hand.

The other hand cupped her pubis and started massaging her clitoral region.

She bucked and thrashed as much as the bonds would allow, mindlessly driving herself onto the hands that needed no help in sending her over the edge and into the wild abyss of ecstasy.

Her orgasm came in mad, shuddering waves that robbed her of what little conscious thought she had left. It ran through her like a tsunami, each wave more shattering than the last -- on and on until she thought the next one would rip the flesh from her bones, until the next came, and the next.

Her muscles screamed from the abuse, her breath came in such short gasps she could not get enough oxygen. She could not take it any longer. She went limp, unable to move or think or care even as spasms of pleasure wracked her.

At last, when she could no longer even register her orgasms, he withdrew his hand and substituted his hot, hard cock.

She felt him sliding it teasingly around her pussy but she was beyond teasing, beyond lust, beyond need. She was nothing now but a repository for his lust and she didn’t care.

His cock slid briefly inside her before moving up to her ass.

She grunted quietly as he entered her and felt him thrust hard against her. She floated on the sensation, blissfully disconnected from anything but the feeling of him rocking her back and forth on his cock, feeling his need quickly build to the boiling point, feeling him pull out then the hot rush of wetness as he shot his semen onto her ass, felt it cool as it dribbled down to her pussy.

She floated, unable to see or speak or hear or move or think.

She felt the tape being removed from the towel and the towel being loosened but not removed from her head.

She felt him get off the bed, heard him zip his pants and buckle his belt.

Then she heard him leave.

The sound of the door opening and closing jolted her out of her blissful state.

She wriggled her head until the towel fell free.

She took a deep breath, then another, filling her lungs with fresh air for the first time in what seemed like hours.

Then she wondered.

What was he planning next?

It had been him.

It had to have been him.

But why did he leave?

She ached all over from the cruel position and from the countless orgasms. He would have known that and would have released her, then massaged her cramped muscles. He might even have drawn her a bath to soak out the stiffness.

But, instead, he left.

Why?

She felt the rising tide of panic again. What if it hadn’t been him? But if it hadn’t, where was he? But if it was, why did he leave?

She was so utterly drained and helpless, so uncertain. And so alone.

She could scream...but...would she?

She heard the door click open, heard a sharp intake of breath.

Oh God, she thought, he called someone.

But no. It was him.

“My God!” he said. “What happened?”

She heard him rush over to the bed and felt him begin to untie the knots even as her stomach twisted itself into knots.

“I got caught in traffic,” he said, freeing the ropes and tearing at the tape, gently laying her out on the bed. “Are you all right?”

She began trembling all over as the realization of what had happened tore at her. And that she had enjoyed it. Oh God, had she enjoyed it!

She wanted to cry, to beg his forgiveness for having allowed herself to enjoy her rape. But she had thought it was him. She really had.

He stretched out on the bed beside her, rolled her gently onto her side as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Are you all right?” he asked again.

She couldn’t look at him but he raised her chin and made her look.

There was a glint of mirth in his eye that was unmistakable.

“It was you!” she said. “It was!”

He looked at her without speaking, his eyes questioning and laughing at the same time.

Just enough to make her wonder.

Just enough.