I am a fantasy. It’s a living. I have a small select group of people who enjoy my services. All my clients come on a referral basis. Other people in my business know what I do and send the occasional prospect my way. There is some turnover so there is sometimes a space on my calendar but generally I don’t need new clients. The ones I have treat me well and are sufficient.
Jon is a regular client. I was first introduced to him several years ago. We agreed to meet in a coffee shop near my home where we interviewed each other. He is about fifty, somewhat (but not much) older than me. He presented well, wearing a nice outfit, hair long but clean and combed, polite and respectful. I ascertained that he was a rope bottom, interested in incapacitating - but not painful - bondage.
As it happens, that’s one of my specialties.
We set a date and he arrived, right on time. He doesn’t much care for the dominatrix regalia, suggesting bare legs, a skirt or shorts. How refreshing. Honestly, I get tired of stockings and garters and high boots. I chose a short denim skirt, white crew socks and sneakers, and a short-sleeved white top. I was comfortable and he was suitably impressed.
I offered him a drink which he accepted. After a few moments of chitchat I started a timer. He knew he was paying by the hour and the clock was now started.
“Stand in the center of the room,” I told him. “I want to get a good look at you.”
He stood in front of my chair, his face reddening, a nervous smile on his face, his eyes flitting back and forth between my bare knees and the large pile of white cotton rope on the table next to me.
“I’d like to see more of you. Take off your clothes. All but the underwear.”
He did a slow strip for me, soon standing in just his black briefs and tight black tee shirt. He looked quite nice, obviously in good shape for a man of his years.
“Kneel in front of me, facing away, hands behind your back.”
I took the first piece of rope from the table and used it to bind his wrists. Another one was then wrapped around his upper body and cinched between his upper arms and chest.
“Stand, turn and face me.”
He wobbled to his feet and turned. I reached forward and touched the bulge in his undershorts. The head of his cock was threatening to push past the elastic waistband.
“Use your hands to slide those shorts down.”
He squirmed around, working them off as best he could with bound arms until his cock sprang out. He continued working the jockeys, managing to get them down to mid thigh.
“That’s a good boy,” I cooed, brushing my fingers along the underside of his shaft.
He shivered a bit and moaned quietly as I pushed the little pants the rest of the way to the floor. He stepped out of them and stood before me, twitching slightly as I knelt and tied up his legs. I used four fifteen foot ropes, wrapped and cinched, one each at his ankles, below his knees, above his knees, and at his upper thighs, the last eliciting a moan as I reached between to cinch.
I sat back on my chair and spread my legs slightly, my hand reaching for my own crotch and giving myself a little rub. I really do enjoy my work.
“Don’t you look delectable, all roped up in nothing but your little tee shirt. Now whatever shall I do with you?”
“Pretty much anything you want, ma’am,” he replied hoarsely.
“Ah, see that was what’s called a rhetorical question. You were not given permission to speak. Do you know what happens to men who speak out of turn? You may answer.”
“Yes ma’m, I believe I do,” he replied.
I stood and balled up the tiny shorts he’d only recently removed, noting happily the drop of sticky pre-cum. I rolled them up and stuffed them in his mouth, poking the corners in, then wrapping a stretchy rubber exercise band round and round over his mouth, tying it off at the back of his neck. His cheeks bulged somewhat uncomfortably but he was now incapable of making remarks. I suspect he’s glad he didn’t choose boxers.
“You were right, though,” I whispered. “Anything I want. I could keep you tied up all day and all night, teasing you, never letting you cum.”
I ran my fingers up and down his shaft, reached around and fondled his nice tight ass, squeezing, teasing.
“Or, how ‘bout this. I could invite over some of my girlfriends. We could have us an allgirl orgy while you stand, bound and gagged, unable to join in. Hmm? And afterwards, we could roast you and eat you. Cook those thighs to a golden brown and just gobble you up. Three or four ladies consuming you. Would you like that?”
His response was muffled by the gag but his cock twitched and he was having trouble with his balance.
I knelt at his feet and began kissing and licking his legs, working my way up his calves and thighs to his groin and stomach, my fingers playing with his hard cock. He was working hard to maintain his balance and remain upright.
“Eat you all up,” I muttered between bites as he shivered and moaned.
I don’t give blow jobs.
No penetration of any kind is permitted.
However I’m not responsible if, in the course of a massage, the client has a sexual response.
It took a while, but Jon definitely had one of those.
He set up a return appointment before leaving.
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