Doctor Vincent

by Max Roper

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© Copyright 2017 - Max Roper - Used by permission

Storycodes: MF; college; F/m; rope; bond; strip; bfold; voy; mast; climax; no-sex; cons; X

Note: This story could be either F/m or M/m - your preference - enjoy.

Dr Vincent is an older gentleman with whom I have an arrangement. I met him when he was was a fortyish professor at the college who had a taste for cannabis. I was a young townie with a connection. He had access to good scotch for which I had a taste exceeding my means. We worked things out. Before long we began getting together regularly and indulged in our favorite mood enhancers, played some chess, found out we had things in common, and became sortof- friends.

One day, after a game, we were sitting quietly, when he opened a new conversation, something we hadn’t discussed before. “So do you know what bondage is?”

This was many years ago, but still. Of course I knew. “You mean for sex?” No need to tell him every little thing.

“Yeah. Have you ever done it?” His eyes were bright.

“You mean have I been tied up and had sex?”

“Well sure, that. Have you ever tied anyone? ”

“Yeah, years ago. When we were kids someone was always getting tied to a tree or something.”

“But since then. As an adult. Does the idea interest you at all?” His tone was normal but he was red in the face, sweating slightly, obviously excited.

“How do you mean?”

“If you wanted... see, I’ve always had this idea that it might be fun to try to...” He paused, took a deep breath. “Look, this is hard for me. I trust you. Perhaps more than I should.”

I made myself look as solemn as I could. “I appreciate our friendship and your trust. Your secret’s safe with me.”

He sighed. Sat quietly for a moment, then began. “I really really like being tied up. I do it to myself sometimes. It’s sort of for sex, like masturbating. But it’s more than that. There’s an almost meditative aspect to it. I’ve been doing it since adolescence. I enjoy it greatly but have often thought it would be much deeper if, well, if someone else tied me up. So I couldn’t get away, even if I wanted to. I’ve tried prostitutes but they don’t understand what I want. I’ve never had a relationship that was conducive to bringing this up. I’m laying myself wide open, but here it is: Is there any chance you’d be interested in tying me up? With rope? I’m not asking for any kind of sexual contact. I’d tell you how I wanted it and oh, of course I’d pay you for your time and - what?”

I’d put my hand up, palm out. “Stop. You’re a brave man, Dr Vincent. I’d be honored to help you with your experiments in enforced meditation.”

He positively beamed. “Oh thank you, thank you so much. What an excellent description of my practice. Enforced Meditation indeed. How shall we do this? When can we start?”


That was, as I said, many years ago. We quickly worked out the details and I learned what he liked to the point that I could give the orders. I’d get a call specifying a time. I’d arrive at his house and we’d sit, share a bowl and have a wee dram. All the while a collection of neatly coiled cotton rope and a fat envelope of cash were posing seductively on the coffee table.

Eventually I’d stand up. “It’s time,” I’d say. “Take of your shirt and trousers and kneel. I intend to tie you up.” That last sentence was something he’d suggested and somehow it always got him into what he called “the zone”. He didn’t like being completely naked so I’d allow him to keep his socks and jockey shorts. He was a couple decades older than me but had managed to keep himself in shape. He jogged and lifted and went to the gym a couple times a week.

One of our favorites was the Ten Minute Game. I’d start by tying his wrists behind his back, palm to palm, six coils and a cinch. Next I’d do his ankles in a similar manner with enough of a cinch between his ankles to allow him to move his legs into different positions.Then I started my timer. I used the count-up mode to avoid the annoying beep. The first ten minutes were warm-up. He could move about relatively freely.

Early in our relationship I’d blindfolded him. He protested, saying he liked to watch. “Trust me,” I said. “It won’t be for long.” I quietly removed a large hanging mirror and leaned it against a chair it in front of him. When I removed the blindfold he gasped. “Oh my God,” he moaned as his hips began moving and he pushed his heels in against his crotch. I knelt down to stop him but was too late. He moaned loudly, called out to God again, and came in his shorts. Afterwards I apologized.

He said, “Nonsense. That was amazing. The mirror was a stroke of genius.” So we added that to the repertoire.

Now he has a triptych of mirrors set up when I arrive so he can watch himself from all angles. And I think he really enjoys watching me bind him. Anyway, after the first ten minutes are up (and if he hasn’t “accidentally” ejaculated) I add another rope. I continue adding ropes every ten minutes until we reach nine or until he has an orgasm. By that point he’s so strictly restrained an orgasm is pretty much impossible. In fact, he seldom has one after I’ve got him in four or five ropes. If it’s going to happen, it’s usually early on.

It’s the ten minutes between that he lives for. Watching himself squirm, sometimes fighting the urge to get himself off, other times pumping away, trying like hell to get there. But usually he’s fairly quiet, maybe wriggling around a bit, mostly sitting and drifting.Then it’s been ten minutes and time to add a rope.

I usually decide how to tie him as I watch his first ten minutes. Sometimes I bind his legs together, working my way up with one below his knees, then one above, then one at the top of his thighs. At that point I can either double his legs into a frogtie with his heels pressed up against his butt, or leave his legs straight and move on to his upper body. Another option is frog tying his legs individually. With his ankles still bound, I’ll do up one leg, then ten minutes later I do the other. From that point I sometimes tie his doubled legs together, sometimes not.

For his upper body I can tie a rope round his waist holding his wrists against his spine. It’s amazing how much that little thing stifles his movements. I can bind his elbows. They don’t meet, but a bar wrap does the job. Another rope can go round his upper arms and chest. Occasionally I like to push his thighs up against his chest and tie him into a ball.

Whatever I choose to do, I always try to keep him relatively comfortable. He’s now in his sixties and, while he’s still toned and flexible, he doesn’t enjoy being pushed to the limit and having his muscles and tendons overly stressed.

Lately we’ve added another bit of spice to the proceedings. He’s now a big wheel at the college and any leaking of our games could be highly detrimental to his career. Therefore I sometimes make reference to the notes and photos I’ve kept of our meetings, wondering how much he’d be willing to pay to keep them out of the wrong hands.

The first time I did this he got very agitated, making me promise again and again that I’d never betray his trust but afterwards he told me he’d found the potential humiliation extremely exciting and had almost orgasmed at the thought of being discovered. So of course I added that to the proceedings on a regular basis. But I really do have photos and notes. I really do wonder how much he’d pay to keep therm secret. I call it my pension plan.


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