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Meeting Strand
by Max Roper
mrmaxroper@gmail.com
© Copyright 2011 - Max Roper - Used by permission
Storycodes: M/m; bond; rope; gag; hotel; tickle; tease; frottage; cons/reluct; X
jpn
Meeting Strand Max Roper M/m; bond; rope; gag; hotel; tickle; tease; frottage; cons/reluct; X

I am a heterosexual male with a lifelong desire to enjoy bondage games with an attractive woman. As I grow older, I have come to the sad realization that, regardless of the stories one might read on sites like this, there are precious few women who are truly into bondage, and the odds of meeting up with one are slim indeed. So it was with a great deal of interest and understanding that I read Strand Ankler's “How I Got Myself Tied Up” series of stories relating his experiences with paid women and gay men. When my first bondage story was published, I was quite pleased that Strand was one of the first to respond. We developed an email friendship and discovered that he lives in my old hometown. Recently I was planning my first trip back in several years and we agreed to meet up. Here's my (fictional) tale of that encounter:

I arrive at Union Station at the expected time and get a taxi to my hotel. As I check in, the young lady at the desk tells me I have a message from Dr. Ankler - she gives me a funny look as she says the name - and that I am to call upon arrival. I thank her, take the phone number and go up to my room.

Turns out I've been upgraded to a suite. Sweet!

In addition to a large bedroom and bath, there is a living room with a couch, recliner and coffee table and a kitchen area with a small table and two sturdy wooden chairs. The kind of armless chairs that are perfect for my nefarious purposes.

I call the number I've been given and get voicemail. I leave my room number and say I will be in from noon until at least 6:00pm after which I have a family dinner planned.

I unpack, go to a little grocery for a few supplies and am back in my suite by 11:30.

Promptly at noon there's a knock at the door. It's Strand. I let him in and we meet face to face for the first time.

A few awkward silences, a few times when we both start talking at once. Not unlike a first date. I show him some of my bondage drawings. He looks at them with a serious eye, points out two that he likes in particular. I note which positions are shown in those drawings for future reference.

He asks to see the rest of the suite. As he looks in the bedroom and bathroom I place several things on the table. They include a bottle of single malt scotch, a bottle of soda water, a large bag of pre-cut cotton rope and bandanas, a pair of handcuffs, and an air pistol built to resemble a .38 Special.

He returns and glances at the items on the table, then looks at me questioningly.

"I want you to pick out whichever of these you'd like to have used this afternoon," I say.

“Well I think I could use a drink,” he says with a laugh. “A little icebreaker.”

I make a couple smallish drinks. Neither of us is much of a drinker but they will give us something to fiddle with. He examines the BB pistol closely, then pushes at it and the bag of ropes towards me. After a brief pause, he smiles and adds the handcuffs.

He has chosen everything. He unzips his nylon day pack and removes a candle, a large feather and a narrow leather belt.

“It seems we won't need my rope and handcuffs,” he says with a smile. “But let's just add these, shall we?”

“We'd be fools not to,” I reply.

We sip our drinks and discuss our mutual interests, getting to know each other, sizing each other up. We have a brief discussion outlining limitations and safe words. He excuses himself to use the toilet. When he returns, I am standing with the toy pistol leveled at his chest.

"Strip," I order.

He looks suitably surprised and does as he's told, but leaves on his jockeys and socks. I decide to let him have them. For now.

I hold out the handcuffs.

“Put these on. Behind your back.”

He hesitates.

“No,” I say. “Don't think about it. Do it.”

After another brief hesitation, he nods, takes the cuffs and snaps one on his right wrist.

He puts his hands behind his back and quickly snaps the other in place.

A line has been crossed. We look at each other for a moment.

Our breathing deepens, becomes audible. Something changes in me.

"On the floor,” I command with a husky voice. “On your knees."

He does as he's told.

I push him roughly forward so that his chest is against his knees and wrap a rope around his upper arms just above the elbows, then cinch it off into a bar wrap leaving his elbows about eight inches apart.

It's snug, tighter than he expected. He doesn't complain, just moves his shoulders around, experimenting.

I remove the handcuffs and tie his wrists, cinching them tight. I wrap a rope around his chest and through the elbow rope, pulling his bound arms tight against his body.

There is a noticeable bulge in his shorts, which I studiously ignore. I gag him tightly with two bandanas, one jammed in his mouth, the other wrapped around holding it in place. I help him stand and pull off his jockeys. His erection springs out. He stands quietly, submissively.

I move the coffee table to the side and have him squat on the floor with his back against the couch. I tie his legs individually heel-to-thigh and caution him to stay up on his toes with his legs apart.

He watches as I slip on a pair of surgical gloves and remove a long bootlace from my rope bag. I wrap it tightly around the base of his cock and balls, leaving one long tail.

Now that his balls are tied, I close his legs over them and tie them together with one rope at the top of his thighs and another halfway to his knees. I order him to crawl toward the center of the room. It isn't easy, tied like that.

I take a camera out of the drawer and snap a few pictures. You never know. Blackmail can be a rewarding occupation.

Following my commands, he lies on the floor and wriggles himself onto his stomach.

He is lying face down with his arms pulled tightly behind and his legs doubled up.

I connect the long tail from the cock rope to the wrist rope.

I use another rope to attach his wrist rope to the ropes holding his legs together, pulling it as tight as I can. He is now in a very strict hogtie. He moans a little into his gag, arching his back, testing his bonds.

I make sure everything is snug, then sit back on my heels.

"You have an hour to get loose," I say reaching for my drink.

"If you don't free yourself, I'll assume that means you wish to be my slut. If you do free yourself, you can tie me."

In spite of my confidant tone, I'm worried. I tied him tight but it's the first time I've tied up a grown man. He looks strong and I have no idea if he can escape. I hope I got him tight enough. It probably wouldn't be fair to interfere if he begins to free himself, but I don't think I want him to tie me up today.

He starts squirming, reaching for knots. He's fun to watch. He quickly manages to roll onto his side but after that makes very little progress in spite of his exertions. I move to a chair and watch in growing amusement as he thrashes about. The minutes tick by. It's a demanding pose.

"Almost time," I announce.

He actually still has ten minutes, but I enjoy watching the panic build as he eyes the bulge in my jeans, understanding that he may have to deal with it soon.

Finally I look at my watch.

"Time," I say.

A few ropes have worked a little loose, but mostly he's no closer to escape than he was an hour ago.

I let out a little sigh of relief.

I untie a few of the ropes and help him up so he's kneeling with his back against the couch. He is now resigned to his fate, but still wondering how I intend to use him.

"I know we had an agreement," I say. "No anal sex, no oral sex, no hand jobs. Right?”

He nods.

"And I intend to comply."

He looks relieved.

"But that still leaves me some options," I add.

I'm sure he's wondering what those 'options' are. I have no intentions of having sex with him, but a little apprehension will undoubtedly add to the experience. I pick out the longest of the bandanas and use it to blindfold him.

As I stand in front of him, I can't help noticing that he is kneeling in the classic pose of submission, and that his mouth is at exactly the right height for a blow job. I hesitate. I am very aroused. It would be so easy. In fact, I suspect it's what he's expecting.

I shake my head sadly, tighten up the ropes and go sit at the little table, leaving my tightly bound captive on his knees wondering what's next. I pull out a pad and do a few sketches.

After a half hour or so I pick up the feather and squat by my prisoner. He is startled by my approach and squirms anxiously, trying to see around his blindfold. I run the feather along his arms and legs, his stomach and neck, trying to find his sensitive ares. He doesn't react much until I give his cock a few gentle strokes. He jerks wildly and his hips begin to thrust, so I stop. He calms down and I do it again. Eventually I back away and watch him frantically try to find a source of friction for his pulsating cock. He gives up and slowly settles down again.

“Time for your next position,” I announce and begin untying him. His wrists, elbows and balls remain bound but the cock rope is temporarily disconnected from his wrists. He is still gagged and blindfolded.

I help him to his feet and allow him to stretch his legs for a moment before I lead him to one of the wooden chairs.

I have him sit with his bound arms over the back and reattach the rope from his cock to his wrists. I tie his legs together with ropes at the ankles and above the knees, another around his torso pressing his arms and upper body tightly against the chair, and one holding his thighs to the seat, making sure his bits are sitting up on his lap rather than trapped between his thighs. We may want to do something with them later.

I attach one end of a rope to his ankle rope, pull it under the chair and thread it through the wrist rope. I yank it tightly, pulling his lower legs up under the chair and his arms and shoulders down while also applying interesting tension to his cock.

I sit across from him, sipping my drink. Watching him squirm. We both know if he couldn't get out of the last one, he'll never get out of this one, but he tries. The minutes tick by. The chair creaks with his struggles. Soon he gives up and relaxes.

I am really enjoying this. The feeling of power is good, but I'm also imagining myself in his place. Naked, bound, gagged and blindfolded by a man he hardly knows. There's a certain amount of fear, I suppose. And a lot of pent-up sexual excitement. I glance at his semi-erect shaft.

"Do we really need to wait a full hour?" I ask.

He shrugs, struggles a little more, then shakes his head. I remove the blindfold.

I put my feet up on his lap. They're in thick new white athletic socks. I know from our emails that he likes women in white socks as much as I do. I wonder how he feels about me in white socks. His eyes open wide as he watches my socks begin slowly stroking his cock.

"No hand jobs," I say, with a smile.

He smiles back around his gag and says the same in a muffled voice.

I keep stroking, leading him up to the edge, kneading him between my sock-clad feet.

Then, of course, I stop.

He knew I would, hoped I wouldn't, was glad when I did.

We do this for a long time. After a while, leaving him begging through his gag, I get up and go over to the couch and pretend to read a magazine.

When he settles down I come back and start again.

Up to the edge, then back off. Over and over until I need another break.

About twenty minutes into the third session I begin to worry about his sanity but go on.

Eventually I go a little too far. His eyes squeeze shut and he starts moaning and jerking. I back off, but it's too late. I hadn't meant to let him get off, but there's no need to ruin it now. I push my feet up against his pulsating cock, giving him something to push on, milking him. He bucks and moans for an awfully long time before finally sighing and slumping against the ropes.

Finally he looks up at me, hoping I agree that it's time to let him go. At least for a few minutes. Isn't it?

He sits, bound to the chair, his cock wilting, breath and heart rate returning to normal. There's a puddle of semen on his lap and stomach.

"Looks like you lost control there, Strand."

He nods and mumbles something into his gag.

"Did I give you permission to cum?"

He shakes his head.

“You got some of that stuff on my socks,” I comment.

He looks embarrassed.

"I'm not through with you," I say. "You'll have to be punished for this. But I'm going to let you sit and contemplate your sins for a while."

I take off my socks, shaking my head in mock exasperation.

"These were nice and soft and new. Now look at 'em. All gooey."

I get a warm moist washcloth from the bathroom and clean him up a little.

"I'm going to take a shower," I say. "If housekeeping comes in, tell them I don't need towels yet. Oh, I forgot. You can't tell them anything. Maybe the housekeeper'll be cute, want a piece of you, hmm?"

I check his ropes, put the blindfold back on him and leave.

He sits quietly. Well, what choice does he have? But it's relaxing. The sexual tension that had been building to an almost unbearable level is released. He's snugly bound to the chair, but not uncomfortable. He knows I put out the "Do Not Disturb" sign earlier and besides, I just checked in. So he isn't concerned about being discovered.

He is somewhat concerned about his "punishment".

He could see my erection through my jeans while I was doing him and knew I hadn't gotten any relief. He assumes I will not untie him until I get that relief. He wonders what I plan to do to him next. I've been relatively benign so far, but I just threatened him with punishment. He's had an orgasm with no breach of the rules. Although it seems the orgasm itself may have been a breach of some unnamed rule. Also, he's seen the condoms on the table. They weren't in the pile of things for him to choose from at the beginning of our session, but he saw them. What are they for?

Meanwhile, I take off my clothes and get into the shower, luxuriating in the hot spray.

I am a hetero male, I think to myself. Looking to get tied up, preferably by a woman. Instead, it turns out I have some serious dominant tendencies that I'd never been aware of. And I'm using them on a guy. I am really getting off on what I'm doing to him. I'm giving him something I always wanted, and it feels good.

Maybe it feels better than if I was receiving it. What's up with that?? Maybe it truly is better to give than to receive.

I am somewhat worried about how he'll treat me if/when he gets a chance to turn the tables. From our emails, I'm unsure if he will follow our rules.

I'm convinced he isn't gay, but I sense a cruel streak in him that could be fun, but could also be scary. I don't know if I'm ready for that. And there's the candle and that belt. I can guess what they're for. Actually, as a seriously ticklish guy, the feather scares me the most. I renew my intentions to keep him tightly bound, at least for this session. I'm not ready to find out what he'll do to me. Not yet.

I dry off and go back to the living room.

He's sitting right where I left him, bound, gagged, blindfolded, humiliated at being the captive of another man.

I let him have an orgasm but I haven't as yet had any relief. My erection has subsided but even after finishing my shower with cold water I am definitely in a state of sexual arousal. That's the price of being a benevolent dom, I decide, smiling to myself.

I could've... but am truly glad I didn't.

I'm giving him what I would want and nothing I wouldn't want. Eventually, before I change my mind, I untie him. He has spent almost four hours in strict bondage.

We both get dressed, then sit and discuss what's just transpired as we coil up the ropes and put them back in the bag. He says he expected me to take advantage of him. To at least force a blow job from him. I admit that I was close, but that I'm not ready to go that far. Not yet.

He smiles and nods in understanding.

“I wonder if I'd be that benevolent,” he muses. “I mean, when the hormones take over, anything can happen.”

He picks up the toy pistol, looks at it thoughtfully for a minute, then points it at me.

“You thought we were done, didn't you Max?”

My breath catches in my throat. I nod.

“But we're not done. In fact, we're far from done. Now it's your turn.” He tilts his head to one side and looks me coolly in the eye.

“Take off your clothes,” he says casually. “All of them.”

My heart is pounding and my throat is suddenly very dry.

“Um... I thought we'd maybe wait till next time for my turn?” I stutter lamely.

“Well you thought wrong,” Strand says firmly. “Quit stalling and strip.”

I'm embarrassed by my fear. He was so cool, whereas I am shaking so badly I can barely breathe. And I'm so sexually excited that I'm afraid I'll ejaculate and embarrass myself even further.

But I see no graceful way out. I don't want to appear a coward, so I take off my clothes and stand in the center of the room, naked and shivering with fear, embarrassment, and anticipation.

“I read your stories,” Strand says, ignoring my discomfort. “And I know you consider yourself an expert at self bondage. Let's see what you can do. But I don't want any bitching, or stalling for time, so we'll start with a gag.”

He gestures at my socks on the floor.

“One in your mouth, the other around the back of your neck holding it in,” he orders.

I pick up the socks and gag myself as directed.

He tosses me the rope bag, keeping the pistol leveled.

“Now let's get you trussed up.”

He has me begin by wrapping the bootlace around my cock and balls.

“Tighter,” he commands.

I pull the cord as tight as I can stand. Then, at his urging, tighter still. I knot it off.

He instructs me to sit on the floor and tie my legs at the ankles, above and below the knees, and at the upper thighs. He tells me to be sure my cock is out from between my thighs.

“If any of the ropes are less than extremely tight, if any of the knots aren't pulled down hard, you will pay,” he warns me.

I nod in understanding and double check my knots, snugging things down.

“Good boy,” he says.

He tells me to pull my heels up under my butt and use a long rope to tie them in place. When done, I'm kneeling with my bound cock and balls sitting helplessly above my thighs, my legs tightly bound with five long ropes. I work on my breathing, successfully controlling my impending orgasm.

He puts down the pistol and checks my knots. After finding everything to his satisfaction, he tightly binds my arms behind me with my forearms parallel, wrapped from wrist to elbow. He wraps another rope around my arms and chest and cinches it up under my arms.

I am really tied up. The ropes bite into my arms and legs. I have never before felt bondage so tight. This is the real thing and I revel in it, drifting on a sea of sensations.

I am snapped out of my revery by the crack of his narrow leather belt across the tops of my thighs.

I gasp into my gag and look up at him

He steps back and looks me over.

“Did that scare you?.”

I try to smile around the gag. I shake my head.

“Well you should be scared,” he says coldly. “You're my bitch now.”

He takes off his pants, then his shorts.

He steps over to the table, selects a condom, and puts it on his rigid erection.

He walks around me, checking and tightening the ropes, allowing his sheathed cock to brush against me.

He stands in front of me, his cock inches from my face. He cups my chin, forces me to look up at him. His latex-wrapped member bobs against my cheek.

I try not to flinch, not to show my fear and revulsion.

“You wanted to be a bound captive, didn't you?”

I hesitate, then nod.

“You want to look as sexy as the bound women you drool over on the internet and in magazines, don't you?”

Again I hesitate. I see where this is going. But I can't deny he's right. I nod.

“Well here you are, all tied up on your knees. What do you suppose happens now? You think I'll just take a couple pictures, maybe a video, then let you go?” he asks sarcastically. “Just because you're foolish enough to give up a free blow job doesn't necessarily mean I am.”

He loops a short rope between the one around my chest and the one above my knees. He pulls on the end, drawing my chest down against my thighs. He knots it off and steps back. Any movement is transferred as friction to my cock which is trapped between my legs and my stomach. I must stay perfectly still to avoid orgasm.

“Maybe I'll just go home now,” he suggests. “Leave the 'Do Not Disturb” sign out.”

He pauses to let me consider the prospect of twenty four hours in this position. I shudder.

He sits at the table and reads through my stories and looks at my drawings.

I begin to drift back into a trance, as I do In self bondage scenes.

Suddenly I feel a sharp smack across my butt from the leather belt.

It's more of a shock than real pain but it certainly gets my attention. He releases the rope holding me in a ball and helps me back to a kneeling position.

With a half smile, he picks up the feather and begins sliding it up and down, oh so gently, on the underside of my cock. Just like I did to him.

I had been holding on pretty well. Now I am again very close to an orgasm. I feel it building and don't know if I can stop it. The only thing that keeps me from ejaculating is the tightness of the cock rope. He can tell how close I am.

“I think you better keep that inside,” he cautions. “If you cum, you'll need to get me off too, one way or another. And I don't think stroking me with your feet will do it this time,” he adds meaningfully.

I use every mental trick I know as he continues teasing me with the feather. It would be so easy to give up and let myself go over the edge, regardless of the consequences. Then I think about him putting that rubber-clad thing in my mouth and redouble my efforts to hang on

As he backs off again, I notice the difference in our techniques.

I had him working hard to have an orgasm.

He has me working hard to avoid one.

As I regain control, he moves in again.

My world revolves around the feather. The touch is so soft, yet insistent.

I hear a strange sound and realize it's me moaning into my gag.

He backs off again and looks over at the clock. It's a ten til six.

He sighs and puts the feather back on the table. He removes the condom and puts his pants back on.

“Saved by the bell. Enjoy your family dinner. And call me if you want to do this again before you go home,” he says, loosening a few ropes.

I nod, already working myself out of the ropes. He puts my EMT scissors where I can reach them if necessary, gathers his belongings and breezes out the door.

Well of course I called.

Anybody interested in what happens?

31.07.11

continues in Another Date with Strand

o0o

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