Part One
If it had been up to me, who dared not run the risk contemplated by my other me, what ended up happening at one in the morning of October 10th, 2001 could not have possibly made it into my 28-year-old history book. But it did, giving me pause to think on where my naiveté could lead if ever I decided to visit John’s place again.
A friend, whose questionable intentions gave me further reason to deliberate the consequences of another adventure, introduced us at a party. Yet, regardless of how purposefully I tried to resist, urgings to call the new number in my sparsely populated phone book inspired many a sleepless night. Over and over replayed the highlights of that first taste of ‘forbidden fruit,’ my first exquisite encounter with what Judy called ‘delayed gratification.’ Secretly, I thanked her for not divulging the details of what that term represented. If she had, I might have spent the rest of my life wondering what it might feel like to turn my body over to a man of John’s talents and fore-playing imagination.
He wasn’t particularly handsome. Attractive, yes, in a strangely provocative way, but hardly what I would call GQ material. Yet, there I was at his curiously renovated, warehouse apartment on the lower west side of Manhattan, surrounded by some of the most unique pieces of furniture I’d ever seen. Vintage typewriters, in plastic, pedestal cases, stood everywhere. But not one accessory served to indicate the nature of his offbeat, erotic nature. We were on the roof of the huge, ten story relic he called his funhouse, sipping sodas and chit-chatting about everything but the reason I’d decided to risk my first improvisation in the tantalizing realms of real time B/D with him.
“You are one of the most intelligent women I ever met,” complimented my very first kinky playmate.
“And what brought you to that conclusion?”
“Call it an educated guess.”
An alerting impulse gave me reason to believe the game was about to begin. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Are we ready?”
“As we’ll ever be,” I heard myself say as I turned and planted a gentle kiss on the lips of my latest perfect stranger.
We were immediately at ease in each other’s arms, making it abundantly clear the intense attractions both of us now felt were as compatible as our intuitively belated expectations dared to imagine.
Judy had more than just briefed me on what to wear. My highest, low cut mini, skyscraper pumps, and a severely drawn ponytail seemed perfectly appropriate. Everything was fire engine red, including my medium-long, professionally sculpted nails. One thing led to another, and before I knew what was happening, we were face-to-face, and John was, while doing all sorts of wonderful things to my neck with his mouth, binding my elbows together behind me. I threw my head back and relished every second of afore playing sensuality, grinding myself into the subtle bulge in his jeans, while wondering how he could manage the rope work, and kiss me crazily, without losing his concentration or control over the knots that were now making it perfectly clear I was in the hands of a very calculating and motivated expert. I did my best to remain quiet, but a passionate symphony of erotic feedback echoed out from my overwhelmed self-control, erupting volcanically as each kiss and turn of rope quickly and unexpectedly separated me from my dwindling autonomy. The experience was, to say the least, unimaginably sensational.
‘I hope no one’s watching.’
Someone was.
“Downstairs,” said John. His tone had evolved from romantically playful to disturbingly unemotional.
All I could come up with was “Huh?” A delicious dizziness overtook my fear as I watched him head for the roof door. “John?”
“Downstairs.”
Negotiating the spiral staircase added a perilous edge to the unusually urgent sensations building up between my legs. Attempting to control that outer cutting edge, while struggling in the realization that my elbows were inescapably welded together with rope made the journey an eerie exercise in pure, erotic anticipation. The next kiss was all I could think of, all I could wish, hope and pray for. He sat on a couch in the middle of a huge living room in the center of his funhouse.
“Come here.” Skeins of shiny-nylon rope lay next to him, a short length of which dangled from his right hand.
I stopped to savor the magic of the unprecedented moment. Again, his vocal manner continued to grow more and more indifferent. “Turn around.” He quickly and tightly crossed and bound my wrists together... “Turn around.” Another, longer and juicier wet one sent a massive rush of erotic commotion racing through my sexual appetite... “Open your mouth.” It was instantly filled with a red ball gag. It fit perfectly.
“Ahnnnah!” I had never been gagged before.
He worked quickly, binding my ankles and upper knees together with thicker ropes and an emotional detachment that did more to turn me on than worry about the out-of-control side of my curiosity I’d reluctantly left up on the roof. ‘Too late now.’ Meanwhile, the hard-rubber ball in my gaping mouth made it abundantly clear there wouldn’t be any lip kissing for as long as it was in there. He stood and stared deeply into my hungry soul windows. “Sit.” I hesitated for a few seconds, not wanting to be further away from him than I absolutely had to. He leaned forward. His chest pressed against my heaving breasts, challenging my balance and sending me, butt first, down onto the cushions behind me, where I bounced a bit amidst a surprised, nasal sigh. The phone rang.
“Yes?”
His free hand grabbed a nearby remote and punched on the giant TV screen and VCR directly opposite the couch.
“Really?” A glance in my direction wore a look of mild surprise. “Be right down.”
A bondage video screened a very hot and bothered model. Another wave of tingling energy raced to my lower parts when John hung up the phone and headed for the huge elevator on the south end of the room. My excitement tripled, as did the need to free myself.
‘Where is he going? He can’t just leave me here like this.’
My heart pounded hysterically as he boarded the industrial strength lift and slowly disappeared. In the frantic minutes that followed, every sensual cell in my body exploded with unfamiliar abandon, inspiring what would be my first concerted attempt at escaping the meticulously knotted ropes holding and limiting me to the general vicinities of the room. I finally got to my feet, just in time to respond to another three phone rings. The machine picked it up. Another, onscreen damsel stood bound and naked.
“Hi stupid. Guess who?” (I immediately recognized Judy’s scratchy little voice.) “I sent him on a wild goose chase. He thinks I’m downstairs in my car, delivering a package filled with your favorite kinky toys. You and I know this is your first bondage experience with a man. Thanks to me, and a few of my gullible friends, John thinks you’ve been doing this sort of thing for years, and that you love rough sex, anal and vaginal enemas, spankings, and verbal abuse in excessive bondage. Since you haven’t as yet picked up the phone, I’ll assume you’re well bound. I’m calling from my cell phone. He just hit the sidewalk. I’m watching with binoculars, a block away. We also watched him do your elbows on the roof, so we know by now you are well secured. He always gags his damsels early in the fix, so I’m betting, also, you won’t be able to tell him about this call when he gets back. And don’t imagine he’ll get this message, ‘cause when the time comes to press the send key, I’m going to press cancel instead.” She gave the enlightenment a few seconds to sink in, scratching the phone to make sure the machine did not send her to the menu.
“Why am I doing all this? Why did you steal Brandon from me at the lake last summer? Why are you as dense about boys as you are, and why were four of my stupid girlfriends more than willing to go along with this sting? U-oh, he’s wise to the game, and heading back. Wonder what he must be thinking right now? What are you thinking?”
I, of course, saw the hole in her plot. But when John finally came back, he was carrying a cardboard box. A mischievous smile gave me reason to believe Judy, or one of her co-conspirators, had actually delivered it. I tried to compose myself, but the fire down below betrayed most of my excitement, giving John the green light he’d been hoping for from the moment Judy introduced us.
He sat, opened the box, and emptied its contents onto the couch. The collection of dildos, whips, water sport paraphernalia, gags and alike did much to raise my brows and posture, not to mention the temperature of my already redlining, sensual pressure cooker. “Later,” assured my trusted initiator before reaching for a very long line, which was used to thoroughly bind my upper body, making it impossible to move my bound arms in any direction.
I could not help but swoon in the erotic embrace of tightly tied rope, which, of course, gave more affirming evidence as to the validity of Judy’s maliciously intended misinformation. I’d been had, quite handily, and there was, at the moment anyway, nothing I could do about it. Even if I protested, when or if ever the gag was removed, John would probably misconstrue my pleas as just another part of our fantasy role-play. ‘Why didn’t I insist on a safe word and sound?’
In the hours that followed, he tied me in several provocative positions. Each one made me crazier than the one before, until I was naked and spread-eagled on his bed, watching the evening’s adventure on a suspended TV monitor above its foot, and waiting for him to finish taking a shower. The whips and gags and such had long since been removed from the game, but an aura of sexy uncertainty continued to tweak my apprehensions. He hadn’t once taken advantage of my vulnerability, nor had he been excessive with the toy-playing aspects of out mutually satisfied curiosities. I was almost completely spent, my bondage orgasm cherry broken. Yet, as I lay there, contemplating the video and wondering what was going to happen next, the need to feel John’s perennial erection deep within me easily overrode the last vestige of nervousness my other self had unsuccessfully engendered since moment one of our outrageous evening together. The vibrating dildo, leaning up against my pussy, didn’t make things any less stupendous, either. Then there was the little debate going on inside my reasoning as to why I hadn’t spilled the beans about what was really going on, now that the gag was out, and had been out for some time. ‘Am I hooked, or what?’
Now, as I sat on the edge of my bed, wondering what to say to John, should I succeed in rallying enough courage to call, the video images of my premier experience with delayed gratification flashed me back to our week-ago evening of groundbreaking foreplay. No, he didn’t take me that night, a consideration over which many of my suspicions continually wondered. Nor did he abuse, or in any way hurt me the way Judy and her lying girlfriends had hoped. He did, however, make exquisite, non-penetrating love to me, and only playfully threatened to use the enema.
Just as I reached for the phone, it rang. “Hello?”
“Dawn?” It was John.
I blushed clumsily. “...Hi.”
“Busy?”
“...Not particularly.”
“I’m downstairs in my car. Wanna come out and play?”
We went straight to the funhouse, passionately hugging and kissing during the one minute, ten-second elevator ride to my next kinky adventure. I had to fill him in.
“I have something to tell you about what hap...”
He silenced me with a long, hard kiss, and then said, “Let it wait until
you see what I’m about tonight.” He then indicated we should assume a more
platonic posture. I figured a party waited for us above, but upon our arrival
my eyes were instantly focused on a lone figure standing strictly in front
of the couch. A line drawn taught from a pulley in the ceiling kept her
knees locked, back straight, and torso tethered at the rope web between
her upper arms. She wore black Bikini panties and strapless bra, with shiny-black,
skyscraper heels. Her back was to us. John motioned to be silent and out
of sight for a while.
It didn’t take me long to recognize who the strictly bound woman was.
‘Judy.’
John had done her exactly as he had done me after we’d come down from the roof; with one noticeable exception: a thick crotch rope ran from the wrist cinch to the front circles of waist rope. Whenever Judy bent her knees, the rope between her legs gave the bitch an unreasonable, diametric choice: either keep standing tall, or sorely regret not having done so later. I watched from behind the 40s jukebox, fighting an urge to touch myself, and secretly relishing every second of the ironically bizarre events unfolding before me.
‘I love it.’
Judy was not gagged. A TV camera captured every detail of her predicament. At first, John ignored her, standing in front of the image of his damsel date on the tube, with his arms folded in front of him, in the classic pose of a master wondering what next to do with the wench in hand.
“Is there anything you wish to tell me?”
Her answer was “How much longer are you going to keep me like this?”
“As long as you like.” He turned to face her. “How much longer are you and your friends going to lie to me about Dawn?”
The sound of my name brought a new jolt of consequential voltage to her now redlining wet spot.
‘What goes around comes around,’ I thought.
Judy’s flustered silence ended the scene as John’s motioning finger beckoned me to his side. When the bitch caught sight of us in each other’s arms, a worried look took up permanent residence on her blushing features. John and I embraced passionately for several seconds. Each kiss brought a twitching shiver to the damsel’s unwinding sensibilities. We did our best to completely ignore her, but couldn’t help but sneak an occasional peak at Judy’s frantic gyrations. She was obviously experiencing her own, personal Waterloo. I could not have cared less.
We decided to stuff her mouth with a sock, held in with a huge ball gag, before slowly stripping down to our underwear and getting into it on the couch. It was then I took careful note of the Manhattan phone book under Judy’s heels, which forced her to stand on tiptoes. If it had not been there while John was out collecting me, things would have been a good deal more precarious and demanding than they were.
“Shall we lose the phone book?” suggested my dream date.
Without saying a word, or batting an eyelash, I did just that by kicking it out of reach and lying down next to John, giving him ample reason to totally ignore Judy’s dumbfounded illusions. During the hour or so that followed, we made love all over the room. Judy did her best to keep her line of sight tuned into every pleasurable moment.
Later, John screened a preview tape of 20-second snips from various bondage videos.
“Take your pick, and we’ll put her into it. Or make one up yourself.”
I looked up at the bitch and said, “Let’s go to the videotape,” before planting another heartfelt wet one on my lover’s smiling lips, “and don’t fast-forward play.”
01.01.04
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story continues in Fast Lane Bondage 2
o0o