|by Max Roper|
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|© Copyright 2017 - Max Roper - Used by permission|
|Storycodes: FF/m; captive; strip; bond; rope; chairtie; gag; tease; discovery; emb; uniform; mast; climax; cons/nc; X||
|The Hostage Max Roper FF/m; captive; strip; bond; rope; chairtie; gag; tease; discovery; emb; uniform; mast; climax; cons/nc; X|
[There was a longer story here, most of which has been excised. If you’re like me (and I know I am) the preliminaries are often just chaff to be sifted through on the way to the Good Stuff. I’ve chosen to eliminate the chaff.]
The older woman held the gun. It looked enormous. Meanwhile the blonde pulled several bundles of rope from her satchel.
“I’m going to tie you up now,” she said matter-of-factly. ”I don’t want to hurt you but we must be assured enough time to get away. Please don’t make us use force.”
I nodded. I’d assumed this situation could end poorly. There was a cold hardness to the older woman and I had no doubt she’d use the weapon if necessary. If allowing myself to be tied up was the way to avoid that eventuality I wasn’t going to argue.
The blonde put a sturdy wooden chair in the center of the room and told me to sit.
“Not yet,” said the older woman. “He’ll need to strip first. My experience tells me a naked man is less likely to cause problems.”
The blonde shrugged. “You heard her.”
I hesitated, then nodded again, removed my jeans and tee shirt, and sat, feeling like I’d gotten away with something by retaining my briefs. The blonde moved in with her bundles of rope.
She began by tying my wrists together behind the chair. She wrapped a rope around my chest and upper arms, cinching it up tight. Another rope went round my waist holding me against the chair back. It was snug but not excessively uncomfortable. She knew what she was doing.
She knelt to tie my ankles and I felt myself responding to the sight of her legs doubled up under her. She saw my growing erection and gave me an up-from-under look.
“Oh you like this, do you? ” She smiled. “Sorry, but there’s no time for me to deal with you properly now. Perhaps some other time.” She gave my cock a gentle squeeze, then set to work tying my legs. She roped them up at my ankles, calves and thighs, then pulled my feet under the chair and attached my ankles to my wrists. By this time my cock was quite aroused.
I’ve read about people being tied up so they couldn’t move a muscle. That always seemed unlikely and in fact I could move a few muscles, but that movement was decidedly useless. I could wiggle my knees back and forth a few millimeters. Likewise my shoulders. But I certainly wasn’t going anywhere until someone untied a lot of knots.
“I’ll call the police when we’re well away and alert them to your predicament,” she said. “I’m afraid you may be here a while. We do appreciate your cooperation.” Her accomplice snorted at that. And then they left.
I wiggled around for a while, seeing if there was any give in the ropes. I didn’t have any success but the waist rope was close to my crotch and my futile struggles slowly became more about rubbing the rope than about escaping. Then it occurred to me how embarrassing it would be to have the police find me with a large wet spot on my undershorts. That wouldn’t be good. I eased off and tried sitting quietly. The excitement sort of drifted away but was still in the background. I kept thinking of how she looked kneeling in front of me, her head even with my crotch.
I unconsciously began wriggling against the rope and was once again nearing orgasm when I realized what I was doing.
Stop. Regroup. Do NOT think about her legs.
I was doing alright, the pressure was backing off, except there was a tiny wet spot already visible where the tip of my cock was pushing against the fabric of my briefs.
The cops would see that bit. It wasn’t going to dry. I hoped they wouldn’t mention it.
I heard a car pull into the driveway, saw blue and red lights flashing against the wall.
The door was unlocked. They knocked a few times, then came in, announcing their presence loudly.
Oh my God. It’s two policewomen, one tall and slim, one short and powerful. The short one smiled reassuringly.
“I’m sure there’s quite a story here. But first let’s just get you untied, shall we?” she said as she squatted in front of me, her thighs and calves bunching up in that way I find so irresistible, even under police uniform trousers.
She placed her muscular left forearm on my bare thigh to balance herself as she began picking at the knots. Her sleeve was rolled up and it was skin-to-skin for a moment.
That was all it took.
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