|The Agency - Meeting Kat|
|by Max Roper|
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|© Copyright 2012 - Max Roper - Used by permission|
|Storycodes: F/m; bond; rope; gag; bfold; chair; harness; denial; first; cons; X||
|The Agency - Meeting Kat Max Roper F/m; bond; rope; gag; bfold; chair; harness; denial; first; cons; X|
The bracelet made of clothesline got his attention so he asked her about it.
“You like it?” she asked. “A special friend made it for me? I wear it cuz it, like, reflects my lifestyle?”
She was half his age at most, way too skinny for his tastes, and the question marks at the end of her sentences were a definite turnoff, but he still had to ask. “What lifestyle is that?”
“Duh! Bondage? You're into it too, aren't ya? No one even notices the bracelet if they aren't. So do you, like, know about The Agency?”
“What Agency?” he asked. “The CIA?”
“No, silly. Models of Restraint? You're into bondage and don't know The Agency? Look 'em up on line. You do have internet, don't you?” She gave him a password to use – GallantGallant – and then drifted off.
Shortly thereafter, he received an email saying that he had a “provocative profile” and offering to send someone over for a “hands-on interview”. After a few emails back and forth, a date was agreed on which gave him sufficient time to have second thoughts. But what the heck, he decided.
On the appointed day, he answered the door to find an attractive woman of a certain age with shoulder length brown hair. She was wearing jeans and a green flannel shirt and and carrying a very large leather shoulder bag.
“Hi,” she said. “I'm from the Agency”.
“From the Agency? Oh, sure, of course...it's just ... you're not exactly... I mean... Oh! I'm sorry. Come in.” He was stammering and sweating already. He took her jacket and decided to try again.
“I'm just nervous, I guess,” he said.“ It's just that you're, um...”
“Older?” she ventured.
“No! Well, okay. To be honest, maybe a little, but mostly it's that you're, um...”
“Rounder?” she supplied. “You expected Miss February maybe?”
“No! I didn't mean --”
“I'm sure I don't care who you were expecting, Who you get is me. If my appearance is unacceptable, I can leave. Other arrangements can be made. Perhaps there was a screwup with the questionnaire. I think Kurt is available if that's the problem.” She threw him a questioning look.
“No! You're fine. In fact --,” he started.
“Never mind,” she said. “Take off your shirt and jeans. You can keep your shorts and socks.”
She gave him a pitying look.
“No, no, no,” she scolded, wagging a finger. “Wrong. You don't question my orders. You do as you're told. For the time being, you may ask polite and respectful questions. You may call me Ma'am. Now, take off your shirt and jeans.”
As he politely and respectfully complied, she rummaged in her bag and came up with several coils of white rope.
“C'mon over here and let's get a good look at you,” she said, looking him over.
“Okay, turn around and let me see your butt. Ooh, very nice. Okay, face front, hands together and towards me.” She selected one of the ropes and methodically wrapped several turns around his wrists before cinching it snugly, leaving the last few feet dangling for future use.
“Ma'am?” he asked tentatively.
“I thought we might talk a little first. Sorta get to know each other a bit? Before we, you know, got started?” Oh jeez, he thought. Now I'm using inappropriate question marks.
“Of course you did.” she replied with a smile. “And we will. But in my experience, it's best to break the ice right off. I've wasted too much time in my life dithering around, trying not to appear impatient, waiting for the exact right moment, blah, blah, blah. But here we are with your hands tied so there's no question about what's going to happen or who's in charge. Now, I want you to sit in that chair and put your hands behind your head.”
He did as he was told and she proceeded to tie the loose ends of the wrist rope to the back of the chair behind his shoulders. As she walked around him, he was becoming quite aware of the growing bulge in his briefs, and began squirming nervously.
“Make yourself comfortable. I'm going to poke around a little. But first,” she flourished a cotton scarf, “I think we'd better make sure you don't call for help, hmm?”
She leaned over him to thread the scarf behind his neck and gently but efficiently gagged him. Her hair tickled his nose and he could feel her flannel-covered breast against his bare chest.
She's fantastic, he thought. She produced another scarf and used it to blindfold him. He heard her gather up her bag and leave the room and was aware of her moving about the house. He had no idea how much time had passed when he felt her standing in front of him again.
“Close your eyes, please. I'm going to take off the blindfold.”
He felt the scarf removed from his eyes. After a moment, she said, “Okay. You can look now.”
She was leaning back on the couch with her legs crossed and a little smile on her lips. The jeans and flannel shirt were gone, replaced by a short-sleeved man's cotton shirt, a denim skirt, and knee socks. His eyes took in the lush calves, the tantalizing glimpse of bare skin between sock and skirt, and all the promising curves covered by cotton and denim.
“Too bad you don't like older, rounder women,” she said.
“Mmmf mmffmm,” he replied through the scarf.
“Although your eyes sure got big when you saw me in this outfit. See? I did read your questionnaire. And your eyes aren't the only thing that got bigger,” she added, glancing at his groin. This caused him to squirm around again in embarrassment at his obvious excitement. There was already a tiny wet spot on the front of his gray briefs, Shoulda worn black, he thought.
She rose and walked around behind him, untied the knot holding his hands to the chair and gently lifted them over his head and onto his chest. As she removed the gag, she said, “Now we can have our little chat.”
She sat down again and said, “I was going to liberate a bottle of your wine, but it looks to be pretty nasty so it's fortunate I thought to bring some of mine. May I pour you a glass of wine?”
“Yes, ma'am. When you're done, of course, ma'am. And ma'am, if I may say so, you are quite attractive.”
“Good for you,” she said. “Politeness and flattery. Excellent tools to have. Now, I'm going to tell you what I've gathered from looking at your responses to the questionnaire and from poking around in your stuff. Then, when I'm finished, you may correct or embellish anything I say. Okay?”
“Sounds interesting. Fire away.” he said. It's difficult to appear nonchalant with bound wrists while wearing nothing but briefs and socks, but he gave it a shot.
She smiled at him over her glasses and then glanced at some papers she had spread out on the coffee table.
“Right,” she said. “You want to be captured. There doesn't seem to be a dominant story line involved. Certainly no desire for pain or even threat of pain – although being cooked and eaten is in there, so... a little contradictory. But contradictions aren't usually a problem in fantasy. The main thing is that someone wants you enough to capture you and tie you up. Occasionally you manage to escape and turn the tables, using the ropes that bound you to tie your former captor. You admire the way she looks all trussed up, you enjoy stroking her bound body, teasing her, pleasuring her. Pleasuring yourself. But generally you see yourself as the captive. Even when it's her in the ropes, you sometimes feel as if you are her. You see her as the same beautiful captive that you wish to be. And it's always “she”, isn't it? Your responses indicate that you appreciate well formed male bodies but that they don't turn you on. With one notable exception: Your own.”
She glanced up at him in time to see the blush blossom in his face. Ignoring his embarrassment, she went on.
“I expect you like to use mirrors to see your bound body. You could probably spend many happy hours watching yourself squirm and wriggle. You like to be teased and denied, released and retied, then maybe left to watch in the mirror for a while longer. And your answer to the question about orgasms, do you remember? You checked the one that said 'You decide'. I like that answer.” She paused for a moment and looked again at her papers.
“But what really got me was your essay. How you find yourself going outside your body when movement is restricted. And how the universe can become the gag filling your mouth, or the band of rope around your shoulders. Because I know exactly what you're talking about. That's what I look for – someone I can take to that place. And maybe further.” She looked up into his eyes. “You may be wondering how many people read your information and why I was chosen to be here.”
“Not many. The program knows who to send it to. It chose me. And I must say it chose well, because if the assumptions I have laid out for you are true, then you and I can do a lot for each other. So, questions? Corrections? Comments?”
“That's amazing,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “You do seem to know me pretty well. At least the bondage part of me. I mean, when you said, 'The main thing is that somebody wants you enough to capture you and tie you up', well, that's it, isn't it? A very succinct analysis. The positions and rope and mirrors, they're all just extensions of that theme, although exquisite extensions indeed. So no, I have no corrections. You nailed me. Now what?”
She smiled mischievously. “Now I think we should finish our wine and see about getting you thoroughly trussed up. Okay?”
When they reached the bedroom, he saw that she had arranged three mirrors and set a kitchen chair in the center.
“We need a few ground rules,” she said as she led him to the chair. She sat on the bed behind him so he could see her in the mirror. “First, and most important: If anything major bothers you in any way, trouble breathing, cramps, my attitude, anything, I want you to let me know. If you can't speak, which will be likely,” she smiled, “make a noise or a movement or whatever of 'one-two-three, rest. One-two-three rest'. Got it? Unh, unh, unh. Unh unh unh. Try it.”
“Unh, unh, unh. Unh. unh, unh.” he said.
“Very good. But ,” she gave him a hard look. “It better be a real problem. Okay, next: As long as you have a rope around you, you are my prisoner. Neither one of us wants to get into a real wrestling match, right?”
“So until I remove the last rope, you do as you're told. We might try that idea where you escape and turn the tables some time, but not today.” She then untied his wrists. “We're going to start with a crotch rope. I'm not ready to put my hands there, so you'll be installing that one.”
She handed him a length of rope and directed as he installed a snug little crotch harness. She then wrapped a longer rope around his chest and over his shoulders producing a larger but equally snug arrangement. There was no restriction of movement, but the feel of being wrapped with rope was inescapable. He shivered in anticipation as she produced several more lengths of rope and a white martial arts belt from her seemingly bottomless bag. She then began binding him to the chair. His ankles were tied apart to the front legs of the chair, and more ropes held his thighs and torso. His arms were pulled snugly behind and the gag was back in place, tighter than before. He was one with the chair, unable to make a sound and unable to move more than a millimeter in any direction. She stood to the side watching him for a while, then moved out of his sight. His ears strained to hear her as she quietly moved around, then all was silent.
He was aware of the ropes around his body, the gag filling his mouth, the sweet frustration in his groin. Eventually his breathing slowed, his eyes fluttered shut and conscious thought faded. There was a circle of stars inside the top of his head, humming and pulsating. The vibrations from the star circle became a low pitched chant. The chant went on for quite a while until it became her voice.
“It's been a long time, pal,” she was saying gently. “You're gonna be sore tomorrow if I don't let you loose.” She smiled, and added, “At least for a while.”
She quickly untied him, then asked, “So, how was that? Cuz I gotta say you looked really good.”
“Wow,” he breathed. “That was..um..Wow.”
“Oh. Okay, you'll be wanting to process for a bit. We'll talk later,” she said. “Meanwhile, I know it's something of a cliché, but I could use a cigarette.” She looked at him to see if he got her point. “You can put on some clothes if you want to join me. First though, roll up the strap and coil those ropes for me,” she added as she sailed out the door.
“There's several ways to use the Agency,” she explained as they strolled through the garden. “You can just use the online resources and get your money's worth there. But there's a lot more. Some of us even get actual paying gigs as models. Can you imagine getting paid for being tied up? Or for tying up someone? And paid pretty well, I might add. There's not a lot of call for that, but you'd be surprised at some of the deals we get. Usually I like to do the tying, which works out well. There's a guy who does woodworking projects for me in exchange for having me tie him up. And Raoul will do just about anything for what he calls my 'sweet knots'. On the other hand, sometimes I like to be bound, and for that I have a deal with my hairdresser. In exchange for the occasional cut and style, I 'allow' him to tie me up. He's a gentle man and knows what I like,” she added dreamily. “So anyway, back to the present. Do you have anything to add to 'that was um...wow' yet?”
“Yeah, I do. First, and most important, you knew precisely when to untie me. I think empathy is the key ingredient here. I got very close to orgasm several times, but the position made it too difficult to achieve. Which I liked,” he added sheepishly.
“That seems to be pretty normal,” she said. “Because once you come, you lose interest in playing. At least for a while, right?”
He nodded. “Right. And I don't want to lose interest in playing.”
“Well we are done, at least for now. But don't worry. We'll play again soon.”
She suggested going out to get something to eat. He was bursting with questions that would be too embarrassing to ask in a crowded restaurant so he volunteered to make sandwiches and coffee. She readily agreed. As he began assembling the meal and fussing with the coffee, he asked about her interest in ropes and how it started.
“How about this,” she replied. “I'll tell you my story and then you can tell me yours, okay?”
When I was a kid I often spent the night with my cousin Janet. As we got older, sometimes her parents and my parents would go out and we'd stay at Janet's with her older brother Dave as our babysitter. He was a tall, lanky, handsome guy who pitched and played outfield for a semi-pro baseball team during the summer. I just love ballplayers and he was my first crush. One night when our folks were out for the weekend, I couldn't get to sleep. I'd heard Dave and his friends laughing and talking downstairs, but it had been quiet for a while so, deciding that Dave had gone to bed, I went down to look for a book. I wandered into the library and just inside the door I froze. There was Dave, naked except for his jockey shorts and white crew socks, tied to a straight back kitchen chair with what looked like about a mile of clothesline. He was gagged and blindfolded and sitting quietly. My first thought was “Uh-oh! Burglars got him!” I started over to free him and he must have heard me as he began “mmmfing” through his gag and sort of grinding his pelvis. He turned his face towards me and he was smiling under his blindfold while sort of pleading at the same time. My eyes went down to the huge bulge in his shorts. I was old enough to know what was in there and had a good idea that it wasn't usually that big. I couldn't help myself. I had to touch it. So I went up to him and gently put my hand right on the bulge.
The result was breathtaking. He jolted as if hit with an electric shock and pushed his crotch against my hand as much as the ropes would allow while moaning softly into his gag. “He likes it!” I thought, so continued touching and stroking. He became more frantic and started rocking rhythmically. The rocking became so intense I was afraid he was going to tip over so I backed away. The rocking stopped and the pleading began again. Then I heard the back door opening.
“The burglars are back!” I thought, and scampered back to the stairs. But it wasn't burglars. I recognized one of the voices as Dave's girlfriend Anne, so I decided to see what was going on. I pretended I was just coming down the stairs and walked into the kitchen. Anne, another girl, and a guy I knew from Dave's ball team were taking beer and snacks out of a grocery sack.
“Hey Kat”, said Anne. “What're you doing up?” I told her I couldn't sleep and was looking for Dave to see if he could recommend any books. “Well Dave's kinda tied up right now,” she said. The ballplayer dude snickered. “Why don't you go back to bed?” she suggested. I said okay and went back up the stairs and sat down around the corner where I could listen without being seen.
I heard Anne tell the others to go have a beer and watch TV or something and that she'd take care of Dave. I heard her go in the library and close the door and then I heard the TV go on in the living room. I sat there for about an hour, but heard nothing except the Tonight Show.
Eventually I heard Dave and Anne talking and laughing as they went into the kitchen, so I knew she hadn't hurt him and he wasn't tied up anymore. I went back to bed, but it was a long time before I could get to sleep. I kept seeing Dave with his muscles straining against the ropes and pleading with me to keep touching him. I wished I'd had more time with him because I'd felt so important. Not a common feeling for a 13 year old girl. He'd really wanted me, needed me, to keep touching him until he could... until he could what? I wasn't sure, but inevitably I started touching myself in the same area, and even though I didn't have a bulge like Dave, it felt great.
The next morning Dave kept looking at me in a weird way but he didn't say anything about the night before and neither did I. I think he knew it was me touching him and I guess we were both embarrassed by what had happened so we just pretended it didn't. But pretending with Dave didn't make me stop thinking about it. Pretty soon it got to the point where I would imagine that every good looking boy I saw was tied up in his underwear, begging me to touch him. Of course I kept it to myself because I knew there was something wrong with me for doing it, but I was also learning how to masturbate and that felt good enough to keep me from worrying too much.
It was several years before I discovered I wasn't the only one with such desires, but usually it was boys wanting to tie me up and that didn't really meet my needs. I did eventually find a guy who liked having me tie him and tease him, but other than that he was a jerk. I dumped him and tried to push my desires into a closet. Of course that didn't work. Then I met Max and he told me about the Agency. It seemed I was in demand. Lots of men wanted what I had to offer. Apparently women who like what I like are quite rare while men who want what I have to give are quite plentiful. So I get to choose my playmates.
I grew up in a nice little suburban community. Playing ball in the schoolyard, cowboys and Indians in the woods behind the school, riding bikes, etc. Next door was a family of three girls. Betsy was my age. Her sisters were older. One hot summer day when I was about eleven, Betsy and I were playing in the yard when she announced that she was the Queen of the Orangutans and that I was her prisoner. She had me stand against a tree and used a jump rope to tie me to it. She then put some twigs around my feet and pretended to light them. “The orangutans are going to cook you and eat you,” she explained. She hadn't done a very good job with the jump rope so it soon slipped off and I made my escape. She chased me around the yard for a while making monkey noises until we both fell down laughing. Then I had her stand against the tree and I tied her to it. I learned from her mistakes and got her hands tied behind the tree rather than just wrapping the rope around her. I danced around her for a while and then let her go.
That night as I lay in bed I kept remembering what it felt like to be tied to the tree. The next day I asked if she wanted to play orangutans again. She said her sister told her that orangutans don't eat people and that this time we should play cannibals. I said, “Okay, how do we play?”
“You'll be an explorer who gets lost in the jungle,” she replied. “And then I'll catch you.”
Before long, I was tied to the tree again, this time with several ropes that she and I had collected. Once again twigs were piled at my feet and she pretended to light them. She danced around me for a while and finally said I was all cooked. Then she sort of pinched and squeezed all over me going “yum yum chomp chomp”. I was in absolute ecstasy and had no idea why.
After a few minutes of this, she untied me and I decided it was her turn, so I gathered up the ropes and had her stand against the tree while I tied her up. She was wearing a tee shirt with shorts and socks, and I had my first touch of girl legs as I tied a rope around her thighs. Oh my! Then I repeated the cooking and chomping just as she had done, and eventually untied her.
Apparently she had as much fun as I did, as she wanted to play again, but suggested that it wasn't fair since I was wearing long pants and she couldn't get as much meat as she wanted. I quickly dashed home and changed to shorts (the shortest ones I could find) and we tied and “ate” each other a few more times. We continued our games for most of the summer and learned a lot about how to tie someone so that they couldn't escape. Sometimes other kids would play, and while there were some exciting tie-ups, none of them seemed to get the same thrill from it that Betsy and I did. It became obvious that Betsy preferred being the cannibals and I preferred being the captive so we generally did it that way, although sometimes I would tie her up too.
When it rained, we played in the basement. I was tied to the support pole, to a chair, on the floor, and in the laundry tub (which we pretended was a stew pot). I always wore shorts, a short sleeve shirt that could be unbuttoned, and white socks. Betsy usually wore shorts or a skirt with a tee shirt and knee socks or crew socks. I loved looking at the patch of bare leg between the top of her socks and the hem of her skirt. She seemed equally enamored with my arms and legs and spent a lot of time nibbling on them while I squirmed around in the ropes.
I noticed that my cock would often get bigger when we played and I suspect Betsy did too, but I had no idea what that meant. After we went back to school that fall, the cannibal games slowly faded away and never really got started again. We did play a few more times, but somehow the spark had gone. I missed it, but found I could play by myself. I would tie my legs up and roll around on the floor and eventually I managed to squirm myself to my first orgasm. Okay! So that's what this is all about. I became adept at tying myself quickly and snugly and was quite the fountain of joy for a few years but, like most masturbation games, it was no substitute for a real partner. I thought it would be impossible to find someone to play a weird game that, presumably, Betsy and I were the very first to discover. Then I came across an underground newspaper that listed names for various sexual kinks, and there, right at the top, was: Bondage - the act of tying someone or being tied for sexual pleasure.
“Hey!” I thought, “ I'm not the only one!”
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23.03.12 | updated - 04.05.17
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