Fantasy Makers

by Uto

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© Copyright 2020 - Uto - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; F/m; bond; rope; tape; chair; tease; gag; blindfold; strip; sex; cons; X

Joel and Emmeline were a couple, both in their late twenties who had been keeping company for nearly a year. Their relationship didn’t seem to be going anywhere much but they stayed together because neither could see any alternative. They had been lovers on occasion, sadly, not always satisfactorily.

Emmaline was twenty eight. Slim, healthy with a narrow face and pointed chin, framed with short straight brown hair. She smiled frequently and was a qualified computer programmer by occupation. Tonight she wore a winter skirt and thick cardigan.

Her companion Joel was a few months older, also lean, fit and slightly taller. He had a square faced, determined look about him and tended to be both cautious and serious. He worked in accountancy.

This evening they had been to see a film. A foreign made, romantic comedy which neither had liked or even been able to follow very well. Afterward, as was their practice, they planned to have coffee but none of the places they usually went were open. Altogether, not a very successful evening.

“Well,” said Emmeline at last, “My unit’s not far from here. I can provide instant coffee and a few biscuits. Let’s go there.” Neither liked the idea of a bar and as there was nothing else they did just that.

Her home was a first floor, single bedroom apartment unit about five hundred yards away. The weather was worsening and as neither had any wet weather gear apart from Joel’s waterproof jacket they walked quickly.

Emmeline opened her front door and in the lounge room the first thing they found was that she had mistakenly left the TV on when she had gone out. It was now showing a very old film. And not a very well-rated one, even in its own day. Not one of Hollywood’s best.

“Watch that if you like,” she said, “I’ll make the coffee. Change the channel if you want to. Though all they show at this hour are those old pot-boilers.” She went into the kitchen.

Joel remained standing in the middle of the lounge looking at the screen. He reflected this was the second bad film he was seeing in one evening. Getting into a rut, he thought wryly. And yet with all its shortcomings he found himself becoming interested in this old relic. He did not change the channel.

Meanwhile Emmeline busied herself in the kitchen making instant coffee in large mugs. Three biscuits were all she could find. Putting it all on a wooden tray with some paper napkins she carried it into the lounge. She found Joel sitting on the sofa looking at the old B-grade epic. She’d thought him a little more intellectual than this. Putting the tray down on a coffee table in front she sat beside him. And looked at the screen herself.

The film, just started, was a low-budget gangster thriller at least forty years old. And, as mentioned, not one of Hollywood’s best cinematic efforts.

The plot was simple. A criminal gang was to kidnap the daughter of a multi-millionaire and hold her for ransom. The police were to make little progress in finding her at first. The girl’s young man, impatient with this, would get involved. He was to find the place where she was being held and after a lot of fistic action she would be rescued and restored to her father. Possibly he would even get to marry her in the last reel.

The two sat side by side, drinking their coffee and in spite of themselves, became interested.

The earlier film they had seen was the work of an internationally known, foreign director famous for his subtleties. Often they could not be fully comprehended by English speaking audiences. Neither had liked it.

The dialogue of this by contrast was starkly simple and clear. A ten year old could have understood it. They continued to watch.

The scene was a disused warehouse. The abducted heroine was to be kept here, bound and gagged, while ransom demands were made. Emmeline found fault with the entire presentation.

“Look at those ropes. Anyone could get out of them, they’re not even properly knotted,” she held forth, “And that gag, it’s just just a big handkerchief loosely tied across the bottom of her face. It wouldn’t stop her from screaming or even speaking normally.”

Joel smiled, “They do seem to have been very easy on her.” He turned and looked at Emmeline, “You sound like something of an authority on bondage yourself.”

“I know enough to see she could escape any time she wanted to.”

Her partner was now turned and looking straight at her, “Have you ever been tied up yourself?”

She faced him. “As you know, I went to a very exclusive and expensive girls’ boarding school. It cost my father a fortune.” She smiled. “And I can tell you that adolescent girls, away from home and living closely together frequently indulge in abduction and rape fantasies, amongst others.”

She now had his full attention. The old film was forgotten.

Emmeline went on. “They did some extensive renovating work on the school gym. A lot of builders' litter and discarded material was piled temporarily in the quad. Amongst it were several coils of old soft rope. We purloined some of these and took them into the dormitory. And cut them into short lengths.”

She smiled, “The fun we had with them. Enacting our white slave fantasies. Quite a few of us found out what it was like to be bound hand and foot.”

“Were you ever tied up?”


He asked, “Did you ever tie anyone up up yourself?”

“Again, sometimes,” She looked at him and continued smiling, “Why? You sound interested. Do you want me to tie you up? I can if you wish.”

Joel stood up. He had taken off his waterproof jacket and was wearing an open necked long sleeved soft shirt. He stood up and walked slowly around. Finally he asked, “Could you? Would you?”

Emmeline was privately thinking this might well liven up what was becoming a languishing relationship. “Why not?” She stood up, still smiling. “I’ll just go and get some things,” and turned and left the room. Joel himself was wondering if this was a turning point in their association.

She went to a sewing nook in the corner of her bedroom, found a cardboard box and a pair of dressmaking shears and took them back to the lounge dining room. “I think this will have just what we need.”

She opened it on the dining table and took out a roll of soft thick webbing tape about an inch wide. “I bought this years ago. Never used any of it.” She laughed, “I always thought I’d find a use for it.” And began to cut it into varying lengths of several feet long.

This done, she turned to her partner to be in bondage. “And now Sir, we commence with your deprivation of liberty.” She led him to an item of furniture in the lounge area; a heavy wooden armchair about eighty years old. It had a high back with a narrow but solid timber centre, the arm rests were wide and at least an inch thick and it was supported by four massive square legs. Thin but comfortable cushions were on the seat and leaning against the back. “It belonged to my mother,” she explained, “And probably her mother before that. And it’s exactly right for our purposes. Please be seated.”

Joel sat down carefully and looked at her. “And remember,” she admonished, “While this is on, I am in charge. Understood?” He nodded.

Swiftly she set to work. She lashed his torso to the back centre support with one of the longest of the webbing pieces. Next she tied his forearms to the flat armrests and then bound his ankles tightly to the front legs. Lastly she tied his legs above the knees to armrest supports. This had the effect spreading his legs widely. All was done firmly and neatly.

“I must say you’re made me very secure, and your knots look very professional.” He had no qualms, he knew her to be a very sensible person. She smiled impishly, “One thing more,” she said and left the room.

She went into the bathroom and returned with a small hand towel and something else. This was a damp face washer which she folded into a compact wad. “Is that a gag?” he asked, “We didn’t say anything about that.”

“Hush. Remember, I’m calling the shots.” And with that she thrust the pad into his still open mouth and made sure it stayed there by tying the folded hand towel across the lower part of his face and around the back of his head. The gag, though not uncomfortable, completely prevented him from saying anything. He could only mew. Joel was now tightly gagged and securely bound to her antique chair.

She stood back and with hands on her slim hips and her legs slightly apart, studied him critically. “An interesting situation you’ve gotten yourself into sir. There’s just one more thing.”

Reaching into her sewing box she took out a three inch wide black sash which she wound several times around his eyes and then secured it behind his head. He was not only speechless, he was blindfolded as well.

“And now to business.” Firstly she pulled the coffee table with its used cups and napkins over to where she would work and then knelt in front of him.

With one firm jerk she completely undid the zip of his jeans and then unfastened the brass button holding them. She flung the two flaps wide apart. Next she pulled down his underpants as far as she could get them. His genitals were fully exposed.

“Mmm. Interesting set you’ve got here,” she murmured. She began to caress his member, softly, gently at first. Then drawing it out to its full extent. He began to mew and twitch. The webbing held him firmly.

It started to stiffen, slowly at first and then expanded to its fullest extent. He began to writhe. “Ah, but how eager it is,” she said softly, “you’d love to plunge this into me, wouldn’t you? Or any other helpless girl if you could? And pump them full of your nasty sperm, wouldn’t you? Well you won’t be doing it with this lot. You’re going to be relieved of it.”

She began to gently but surely caress the dark vein just behind the glans. By now Joel’s whole body was struggling and writhing against the webbing. Which held him securely. His mewing reached a crescendo and his whole body moved uncontrollably towards orgasm. Where on earth had she learned how to do this?

As he neared eruption she reached sideways to the coffee table and picked up one of the empty cups. Then she lowered her head and took the throbbing tip of his penis between her lips and began to titillate it expertly with her tongue. He lost control completely. The whole ejaculation began to surge unstoppably forward.

Just before it arrived she withdrew her head and held the empty cup in front of the throbbing tip. The semen poured into it. She held it until the flow ceased.

A minute or two passed. Joel slowly sank back to earth. She checked his bonds and then took off his blindfold. His eyes, until then tightly closed, slowly opened. He blinked and looked at her.

“Darling, oh Darling,” he said huskily, “Where’d you learn to do that?”

She smiled. “Womens’ secrets.” She held the contents of the coffee cup a couple of inches from his nose. “Quite a copious outpouring isn’t it? And you’d have loved to have squirted it into me, wouldn’t you?” Another smile, “Well, perhaps you’ll get to do your squirting later.”

“Mmm later.” His eyes closed and he relaxed in the wooden chair. After a pause she started to untie him. She carefully folded the webbing tapes and put them on top of the sewing box which she had brought in and put on the coffee table.

He lay motionless in the chair for about five minutes before he was finally back to earth. At last he opened his eyes. “Thank you Darling, thank you. I’ve never enjoyed myself more.”

“Pleased to be of service, Sir.” She stood up, “Well, what shall we do from here? I suppose that old potboiler is still going. Do you want to see if that girl gets returned to her father. Or...” she smiled archly, “Perhaps you’d like to tie me up?”

He stood up and looked at her. “Could we? Not to that chair,” He shook his head at his own recent seat of joy, “And no gag either. Just your arms, not your legs.”

She laughed, “Not my legs eh. So you can do something between them I suppose.” She had started pacing, “Well you’ve had your fun. I’m still unsatisfied after doing all the work. Let’s get on with it.” She looked at him seriously, “You know, I think there really is something in this bondage after all.”

He looked serious too. “I only hope I can please you as well as you have pleased me.”

They were standing beside the coffee table holding her sewing box and the webbing tapes. She was still wearing her cardigan and thick woollen winter skirt which she had worn outside because of the worsening weather. She slipped the upper garment off revealing a long sleeved white blouse. “It’s warm enough in here,” she said.

He crossed her wrists behind her back and bound them securely. Next he tied her arms to her torso, both above and below her breasts. Though he used several windings of tape he did it with some care, making sure the tape was flat and not twisted and that his knots were secure but not uncomfortably tight. This done he stepped back and looked at what he had done. She also stared down at his work. “That’s all the rope work I want to do.”

She looked at him and then walked back and forth in front of him, flexing her bound arms. “Do you ever fantasise about tying a girl up?”


“And you fantasised when you tied me up then. Didn’t you?”

A long pause and then “Yes, I did.” 

She stopped in front of him and looked searchingly at him. “And what pray sir, was your fantasy?” She hesitated, “The reason I ask is that I think our lovemaking to date has not been very satisfactory, has it? Quick, silent furtive couplings which haven’t really pleased either of us.” She stared straight into his face and went on. “And I’ve sometimes thought a little shared creative imagination might make all the difference.”

She laughed outright. “Tonight, we’ve seen examples of so-called creative work in those two films and in each case we both thought we could've done better ourselves."

“And so, just what was your little creative fantasy when you so carefully bound my arms just then? Hmm?” She waited for a truthful answer with interest. She knew him to be widely read and had a very good imagination.

He was silent for some seconds. And then, “You're probably right. I’ve sometimes thought myself a few shared imaginative scenarios might help us.” Another pause, “Well then, here it is.” She awaited this with interest, knowing him to be of a literary turn of mind.”

“I was a cotton planter in the old pre Civil War American South. Very wealthy, a large plantation with many slaves but myself single and never married. A man who satisfied his needs freely with the comeliest of the female slaves in his ownership. Whenever he got one of them pregnant he immediately sold her off to a remote area. This got rid of a plantation embarrassment and they were worth more in that condition anyway. And to make up for this gradual loss he bought new women from time to time.”

He paused. “And I might add that's just what some of those Southern Gentlemen did in those pre-bellum days.”

“Mongrels,” she muttered. A real feminist, was our Emmeline.

“And today I needed to top my quota of suitable female slaves. I’d gone to the regional town and seen you on the auction block and decided you were just what I wanted. And, at some cost, I’d bought you. With the paperwork settled, I was ready to transport my latest acquisition back to the plantation in my horse and buggy."

"I’d bound your arms, much as you are now, wrapped you in a cape. Couldn’t drive through the settlement with a bound woman in full view. Lifted you into the buggy seat, got in beside you and drove off to my porticoed mansion as fast as the horse could pull us.”

“An interesting and imaginative concept, I can see,” she observed. “I’ve met men who fantasised about their own little captive harems. One reason why slavery is so totally unacceptable today, I might add.”

“Alright then,” she went on, “You’re on your way back to your pillared mansion with your latest property purchase. Neatly secured and wrapped for shipment. And what, pray, are your plans for this new acquisition? Who has no say whatsoever in what's going to happen to her.”

This caught him somewhat by surprise. He seemed to have thought no more beyond purchasing, tying up and driving off with his captive. “Well, I, hadn’t worked that out entirely. I could sample her charms the moment I got there or perhaps have her washed, bathed and made ready to grace my bed for the evening.”

“Typical male,” she snorted. “Dithering. And in the meantime she’s fearful of what’s going to happen to her at the hands of her new lord and master.” She pranced a little then sidled up to him, rolled her eyes and said in a heavily accented voice, “Oh Massa, is yo’ go-an tah fok me?”

He laughed self consciously, “Well that’s a thought, my dear.”

She stopped, stood firmly in front of him and looked him straight in the eye, “In that case the bedroom’s over there.” A quick toss of her head in that direction. “Remember, your needs have been catered for. Mine haven’t.”

He was at last back down to earth - and remembered his obligations. “Of course, Darling, of course. I was forgetful.” He embraced her wordlessly, then steered her towards the bedroom door. And snatched up the hand towel she had used in his gagging from the coffee table.

Inside, he noted that though single and living alone she had a double bed. He pushed her down on it and then sat beside her. Bending down, he removed her shoes and socks and then his own. He placed both neatly side by side underneath the bed. She smiled approvingly.

Next, he stood and gently raised her to her feet. A brief kiss and then he unfastened the catch of her skirt, dropped it to the floor and immediately removed her knickers as well. He made her step out of her fallen clothing, picked it up and neatly laid it out on top of her chest of drawers. Lastly, he turned to the knots of her bindings.

“If you please, leave that as it is,” she requested. He looked questioningly at her. “I have an urge to be taken while I’m completely helpless. Just as you, mister plantation owner, might have taken your latest lady acquisition. Just remove your clothing from the waist down.” He noted that even in the mode of a slave girl she still gave the orders. He liked that, a woman who knew what she wanted and didn’t hesitate to say so.

They stood beside the bed. “Leave that coverlet where it is. Just put a pillow in the middle for my bottom and spread that hand towel you’ve so thoughtfully brought with you over it. And then,” she instructed, “Ease me down onto it. Gently.” He did all of this.

He settled beside her and softly began to caress her orifice. “Easy, oh easy,” she murmured, her eyes closed, and then, lapsing into her role, “Oh Massa, yo’ll find dis wench go’s ver easily.”

The next twenty five minutes were utter ecstasy.

An hour later they were back in the lounge room. Emmeline was unbound and they were dressed, though he was without the rain jacket he had worn into the place. They were sipping two further cups of coffee she had made.

“Would you agree,” he began, “That was one of our best times? Far better than those other hurried couplings we’ve had in the past.”

“Clearly the best,” she confirmed, “And helped along to no small extent by your little fantasy of a newly acquired slave. ” She took another sip, “And, by the way, what will happen in the rest of the story? Will she stay on the plantation?”

“Oh yes. She’d be on the books as a housemaid but in reality she’d be in an elevated position as one of the master’s favoured bed companions,” he smiled, “If she really pleased me I’d probably give her a new name. Jezebel or Delilah, something exotic like that.”

“How lucky for her. She might hate the sight of you but that doesn’t matter."

“You men,” she went on and snorted. “I studied gender psychology at university. And I know it’s a common fantasy with you boys. To be a warlord, king, emperor or whatever. Or a bachelor planter in the Old South. Anyway, somebody big enough to have their own hand picked harem of desirable ladies. What I personally object to is the rotten one sidedness of it all. A successful woman anywhere in history, no matter how talented, in reality wouldn’t dare have the equivalent. That’s absolutely unfair and unjust.”

“Not entirely one sided,” he protested “There have been a few instances of women of statue, noblewomen, queens, empresses who were in a position to have males available to satisfy their needs discreetly when required." 

“Not very many of them. And they all had to keep it under wraps. And you’re right when you say discreetly. In past times Eastern warrior kings, warlords were expected to have and even flaunt a large harem. An empress couldn’t do anything like that. She couldn’t possibly. I say again, it's all so bloody unjust.”

He smiled. “That’s all very much in the past now. Like what you said earlier about slavery being unacceptable today. No magnate anywhere, no matter how big, would dare flaunt a private seraglio.”

“And to return to our earlier subject,” he concluded, “Tonight was a very successful lovemaking that we both enjoyed. And we found that bondage with fantasies are very useful complements.”

“Useful indeed. That slave girl story, though highly effective was not something an ardent feminist would have approved of. In future imaginative fantasies it’s going to be fifty-fifty. Male and female, equally dominant. Like, say a pampered male heir who’s had a sheltered life, kidnapped by predatory lady bandits who amuse themselves with him in their stronghold while they wait for the ransom to be collected.” She made herself clear, “Oh yes, we’re going to have an interesting love life from now on. And to hell with what the male chauvinists think.” She smiled, “Understand that, if you please - Massa.”

He smiled and looked at her with regard, “Perhaps you were an Empress or a lady warlord in an earlier life. I have a feeling we’re both going to enjoy our love encounters from now on.”


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