Here’s a great story that just arrived in my mailbox from a favorite correspondent:
Twenty years ago, I was pretty reckless. I’m not proud of that, but I was. I’m also a major bondage freak. I was probably four years old or so when I first saw a man get tied up and gagged on a TV show (it was actually Jim Nabors on an episode on “Gomer Pyle”), and that was very much the beginning of the beginning. I was hooked on it.
The reason I bring up the recklessness was the night I met Don. I was drinking a lot of booze back then, and also smoking a lot of pot and inhaling mountains of coke. I’m not proud of that except for the fact that I’m in recovery and I’m coming along just fine, but this one night I happened to go to an after-hours club in the West Village and there he was. He was short, about 5'4", with very long black hair, green eyes and a beautiful smile. And he wanted me badly. I just happened to be house-sitting for a friend in Hell’s Kitchen, so after we did a couple of lines and smoked a joint, we poured ourselves into a cab and headed for 46th Street.
Now, I didn’t say anything about being into bondage. So far as I knew this was just going to be a very casual one-night stand kind of thing, because it wasn’t even my apartment. But we wasted no time getting naked and climbing into the loft bed before we got down to the nitty gritty. And all of a sudden, after fucking me in every position imaginable (and he was great at it), he climbed over me while I was on my tummy. His long black hair felt like goose-down on my back and shoulders as he guided his dick into my butt again. “I want this one to mean something,” he said, and clamped his left hand over my mouth while he pumped away at my asshole.
“Tie me up,” I said.
He didn’t pull out, but said, “What?”
I said, “Tie me up. Tie me up and gag me tightly. I want to feel like you’ve kidnapped me to be your sex slave.”
He said, “Are you sure? Are you serious?”
I replied, “I’m as serious as a heart attack.”
So Don pulled out, reached for my robe, grabbed the sash, and cinched my wrists behind my back. Then he took a pair of my socks that were lying there next to the bed, fingered one slowly into my mouth and cleave-gagged me with the other. I could barely make a sound. And he climbed on top of me again and inserted his rock-hard cock up my desperate hole. My hands were in a palms-up position, so they pushed against his stomach while he fucked the hell out of me and I groaned into my gag with every thrust. He finally came and collapsed against my back.
Once spent, Don hogtied my wrists to my ankles. I couldn’t believe this wasn’t the end of it, but he laid me on my side with him spooning against me from behind and jerking me off. There was no verbal exchange, and I was still so securely gagged anyway. It was only when he started licking my right earlobe that I came like nobody’s business; I literally hosed the room.
He finally relaxed and stood up. “Let’s have a shower,” he said.
“OK,” I said. I ran us a shower and a few minutes later we were under the pulsating water. I said, “So…is there a chance we might repeat the experience? That was one hot fuck.”
He said, “We’ll see.” Put his clothes on and left without even kissing me goodbye.
I never saw him again, but there are moments you never forget. Don was one of mine.
Not to be picky but I fail to see where the term "kidnappee" comes into play. No one was kidnapped, were they?
Posted by: Leo Devin | July 16, 2013 at 06:39 AM
Oops, I missed a sentence
Posted by: Leo Devin | July 16, 2013 at 06:42 AM