Kylie’s Song

The single-story house sat on a cul-de-sac, far away from the traffic on Blackstock Road. Inside, in front of a mirror shaped like a giant teardrop, a woman examined herself. She was almost naked as she studied her slender yet athletic build. Kylie didn’t know whether to be excited…or terrified. He was coming. In less than 30 minutes he would be here.

Would Brayden really do this for her? She had her share of doubts. ‘He’ll hate me after this for sure,’ she thought. ‘He’ll think I’m disgusting.’

Of course right now the 23-year-old looked anything but disgusting. Kylie’s alluring beauty practically taunted her in the mirror. She wore only a deep magenta bra and matching panties. The deep purplish-pink set off her dusky skin tone perfectly. The push-up bra barely contained the swell of her breasts. She twisted side to side, gazing at herself. A smooth, firm belly and abs guided the eye down to lean hips and long, sexy legs. Her perfectly sculpted face had high cheekbones and chocolate-brown eyes filled with turmoil. This was the night. This was it. She’d told her boyfriend her awful, deep, dark secret fantasy, and he’d promised to fulfill it.

Kylie’s cell buzzed. The girl grabbed it from the nightstand.

“Shauna, you know this isn’t a good time.”

“Hey, girl!” Her best friend wasn’t someone to be deterred. “Just wanted to call and wish you good luck. I hope your handsome hunk leaves you exhausted.” Shauna’s delightful laugh drifted through the phone, making it nearly impossible to stay mad at her. Kylie smiled.

“Shut up. He’s going to be here in 26 minutes. I don’t have time to run my mouth, or listen to you running YOURS.” But Shauna must have heard the affection in Kylie’s voice overcoming her irritation, because the girlfriend just laughed again.

“All right, whatevs. Listen though, I’m your best friend forever, girl, which is shorthand for ‘I’ve got your back no matter what, no matter who, no matter if the house is falling down on you.'” Kylie rolled her eyes. Why did her best friend have this stupid obsession with rhyming? Kylie groaned, smiled at the same time. Sometimes she didn’t know whether to strangle her best friend or hug the life out of her.

“All I’m saying, Ky, is if things don’t go as you planned it or if Brayden wigs out on you, I’ll be there faster than the speed of light, aight? And you can bet I’ll be bringing a gallon of your favorite ice cream, if it all goes to shit. OK?”

Kylie couldn’t help from smiling yet again. “OK, OK. Now will you please let me go? I only have 24 minutes left.”

“Oh, shush girl. You probably all set and ready. I bet you look gorgeous. Ah, fine, this is me saying goodbye. Love you babe.”

“Love you too,” Kylie sighed before her best friend hung up.

There were just two steps left to take. Kylie lit the candles placed all along the dresser, the desk, and the cherry wood nightstands. Then she switched off the lights and took out two pairs of handcuffs. She laid back on the bed face-up. Kylie cuffed one of her wrists to the headboard with the first pair of handcuffs. Then, although it was awkward, she managed to cuff her other wrist to the headboard using the second pair of handcuffs. Now she sighed, closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. Waited.

Minutes ticked by. She felt her body getting hot – and not from the candles all around the bedroom or the heat of a South Carolina summer night. Anticipation sparked into a slow, insistent burn. She was nervous too. She tried to reassure herself, but it was hard. Not because she didn’t love Brayden. Not because she didn’t trust him – or want to, at least. It was just…she had been disappointed too many times in the past.

‘Is he going to be like all the others?’ she wondered. ‘Why couldn’t I just be a vanilla girly-girl? Why do I have to be so weird?’ It wasn’t easy, being a talented pitcher in minor league baseball. The pay was mediocre but what she hated the most was the assumptions guys made about her. They fell into one of two categories. They either assumed, because she was this tough athlete, that it meant certain things in the bedroom. That she liked to be dominant and take charge. Or, they demanded the exact opposite; that she would be totally traditional, the girlfriend who wanted vanilla sex, pliantly and often.

The truth was complicated – because women were complicated. Kylie had a healthy libido, but it didn’t run her life. And, most importantly of all, her tastes in the bedroom were…unusual. Downright rare. Because Kylie had the darkest fantasy of all. She liked to be dominated by her man, but it went far beyond that. She had this forbidden fantasy of being captured by a serial killer. Of him saying all of the awful things he would do to her as he tied her up helpless and had his way with her. Threats and dark promises turned her on during sex – even if those threats were obviously NOT things she would ever want a man to actually carry out. The human brain was filled with contradictions. ‘I’m filled with contradictions,’ Kylie thought ruefully. The question was, would Brayden be okay with it? Would he love her for who she was? Could he play the role she’d asked him to? Or would he realize that she was broken, that maybe she didn’t deserve his love?

Those were the questions that nagged the beautiful girl as she heard a key rustle in the lock to her front door. Kylie listened as the door opened. She heard footsteps and suddenly her bedroom door swung wide. Brayden was there, the 6’4 football player with biceps as thick as tree trunks and a chest sculpted with washboard abs you could chop bricks on. His rugged face and eyes shone with primal hunger. Apparently he had stripped out of his tee already, revealing glorious muscles like all the eye candy Kylie could ever hope for.

“Well, well. If it isn’t a poor, helpless, captured bitch,” he said, his voice soft yet hard at the same time. He had a small duffel bag. He was in the role now – the role of the sexualized serial killer. He put the duffel to the side, unzipped it, drew something out which flashed in the candlelight. A long, wickedly sharp knife. He laid it near the foot of the bed. Kylie felt a thrill of fear – and lust – as her body suddenly sparked to life from her toes to her fingertips to the tips of her breasts, and everywhere else besides.

“Please…let me go,” she begged. Her pussy twitched when she watched him unbuckle his belt, take off his pants, shoes, and socks, as his long, thick cock bobbed into view. It had to be a good 10 inches long when erect. And right now? Now it stood out like a slab of silken steel, hard for her. Yearning to be buried deep inside her heat.

“Let you go? Why would I do that?” Brayden purred. He picked up the knife. He pressed the flat of the blade to the bare skin of her thigh and slid the edge underneath the side of her panties before slicing through the wispy fabric. She gasped. He ignored her, just folding the ruined panties out of the way, revealing her lush, exposed sex.

“Mmm. And what’s this? This pussy is screaming to be fucked and tortured, isn’t it little girl?” He lightly petted Kylie’s shaved snatch. The girl was suddenly panting a mile a minute. She felt fresh heat coil through her loins. She felt the first promise of her fluids start to trickle between her thighs.

“Please…don’t do this,” Kylie sighed. The fantasy deepened. Her libido soared. She watched, biting her lip as Brayden leaned over her. His hand left her pussy and she nearly cried out. Her clit already missed the tantalizing touch of his fingertips. As if her body was no longer her own, she felt a tiny voice inside her crying out, ‘No. Don’t stop.’ The dusky-skinned girl gazed at the point of the knife as it slowly came down toward her breasts. Brayden cut away the straps of the bra.