Dangerous Games

Chapter 1 - His Captive

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.