Frost and Compton

by Max Roper

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© Copyright 2010 - Max Roper - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m; M/m; drug; bond; rope; gag; naked; tease; mast; hum; cons/nc; X

As the room slowly swam into focus I found myself looking directly at a naked man tied to a chair. Looking down, I realized it was a mirror and that I was the naked man tied to a chair.

I shook my head vigorously to clear the cobwebs and tried to remember how I got here. I was at a loss for a few minutes, and then it hit me like the hot kiss at the end of a wet fist. It was the frail. The dame with the gimlet eyes and the Grable gams.

Our paths had crossed a couple months earlier when we were both investigating a jewel theft. She's a junior operative for one of the big outfits and they were working for the insurance company. I'm private and was working a side angle for a client. We got along okay and were able to help each other out. The case had a happy ending for us, although not for the guy who heisted the ice. I didn't see her again until she waltzed into my office the night before.

“Hey Frost,” she said in greeting. She eased into my client chair, fired up a butt, and crossed her amazing legs. I watched the show for a while.

“Hey Compton,” I eventually responded. “What's up?”

What was up was that she'd gotten a bee in her bonnet about going private and wanted some free advice.

“Nix, baby.” I said. “Gumshoeing's no job for a dame. No offense.”

“Why not?” Her eyes blazed. “Why can't a woman do it? Give me one good reason.”

I had several good reasons but settled for the main one.

“Sex,” I said. I like the word. Like the act, too.

“Sex?!” She was incredulous. “My sex has nothing to do with it. What kinda answer is that? I asked for one good reason.”

“Not your sex, baby,” I replied. “Sex in general.”

“I still don't get it,” she said.

“Let me put it this way,” I said. “I've been doing this work a long time and I've been in some pretty tight spots with some pretty nasty men. In fact, it seems I get into a tight spot at some point during every case. And while I'm sure you can take a punch in the kisser as well as any man...” Actually I wasn't sure of this at all, but I went on. “...with a doll like you, it wouldn't be your face they wanted to punch, if you get my drift. And if I had to worry about being groped or raped every time I went in some dive or tailed some mug down a dark alley, I'd never crack another case.”

“So it's chivalry, then, huh?” she asked. “You're worried my virtue might be compromised? Well I appreciate the thought, but you're full of baloney just the same.”

“Sorry baby. That's just the way I feel. But if you really wanna tag along with me for a couple days I don't suppose it'd hurt to show you the ropes.”

“I don't believe I care to see any of your ropes after all, Mr. Frost,” she said indignantly. “If you don't believe I could do the job, I'll just find someone who does.”

“Hey, sorry baby. I didn't mean anything personal. It's just the way I feel.”

“Oh sure, I know,” she said, softening a bit. “You're just an old fashioned kinda guy. And speaking of old fashioned, I could use a drink.”

My office bottle had gone dry and I hadn't had a chance to go out for supplies, so I suggested we stroll down to the Neptune Room for a belt. She countered with an offer to come up to her place instead. Maybe my luck's changing, I thought as I grabbed my hat and locked up.

She had a powder blue Cadillac convertible parked at the curb. I climbed in and watched her maneuver the big machine through the rain slicked streets. We pulled up outside one of those pasteboard bungalows that seem to have taken over the outer city.

“I know it's not much,” she said as she fumbled with the lock. “But it was Dad's. It was all he owned, and now it's mine.”

“It's nice,” I lied.

“It's a dump,” she explained. “Why don't you make yourself comfortable while I mix those drinks. Bourbon and water okay?”

“Perfect,” I said, leaning back on the chintzy couch.

She brought the drinks, we chitchatted for a while, then she stifled a yawn and snuck a peek at her watch.

“Hey, you're a working girl with office hours and all that. I'll let you get your beauty sleep. Not that you need it,” I couldn't help adding.

She smiled. “Why don't you sleep in the guest room tonight? I could run you back downtown on my way to work in the morning.”

“Oh that's okay,” I said standing up a little unsteadily. “I'll find a cab.” I took one step and was out like a light.

When I awoke I was nude and lashed to a chair in what, judging from the godawful décor, was Miss Compton's guest room. I checked my bonds. My ankles were tied to the outside of the front chair legs. My wrists were bound behind to the chair back. A fourth rope went round my waist holding me to the chair and, as a bonus, held my arms snugly against the chair back. I was gagged as well and my captor – presumably Miss Compton – had kept to the high standards here as well. My mouth was packed with cloth and the cloth was held in place by a necktie wrapped several times round my neck. I was pondering my predicament in the mirror when I noticed the doorknob turning. I had enough time to consider feigning unconsciousness and decided to brazen it out with her before the door fully opened. It wasn't her. Instead of the delectable Miss Compton, my visitor was Hank Hanson, alias Hank Handsome. Tall and slim, broad shoulders, narrow hips, twinkling grey eyes. In short, every dame's dream. But all those dreams were in vain because Hank Handsome was as queer as a three dollar bill. I had a bad feeling about this.

Handsome ran a book out of the back of his tobacco shop on the east side and we'd had a few mutually beneficial dealings over the years. I actually liked the guy in spite of him being a pervert. But I didn't like the way he was checking out my particulars.

“Hey Frosty,” he said, knowing I hate to be called that. “Looks like you got yourself in a bind here.”

He laughed. I didn't like the sound of his laugh. I wasn't liking a lot of things about the situation. He came around to face me and squatted down with his hands resting gently on my bare knees.

“Looks like you could use some help here.”

I nodded,

“If I help you, I wonder if you'd help me.”

I shrugged.

“Cuz, see, I'd want you to help me first.”

That's what I'd been worrying about. I shook my head. Vigorously.

“Well, see, asking you was me being polite,” he said. “The way I see it, you're hardly in a position to refuse. Tell you what - I'll show you what I want you to do and we'll see what develops. Okay?”

As he talked, his fingers had been lightly brushing the inside of my thighs. In spite of direct orders from the top, my roscoe had been thinking of responding, so I was relieved when he withdrew his wandering fingers and stood up. My relief was short lived however, as he proceeded to remove his belt and take off his trousers. He wasn't wearing any undershorts and his soldier was standing at attention. He fastidiously folded his trousers at the crease and placed them on the bed before putting another chair directly behind me and sitting down. He was still holding his belt.

“You're a good looking man, Frost,” he said huskily, looping the belt around my upper arms. “And you look even better all tied up and naked.” He pulled on the belt, forcing my elbows towards each other.

“I want you, Frost,” he murmured.

I flinched hard as I felt his quivering tool come in contact with my hand.

“Now, now,” he cautioned. “Be nice. Or else...”

He pulled the belt another notch tighter. My shoulders were starting to ache. His unit came in for another go. and he gently wrapped my fingers around it.

“Be nice,” he whispered. “Just light strokes on the underside.” He smiled at me in the mirror. “You know how a man likes it, don't you?”

I wanted to be repulsed. I wasn't. But still I had to show some resistance, so I shook my head and made a grab for his wiener. He was too quick for me. That little show of manliness cost me two more notches on the belt. My elbows were now only inches apart and my shoulders were screaming.

“Is that a bit too snug, Frosty?” he asked tenderly.

I nodded.

“If you're nice, I could back it off a little. If you're not nice, well, I still have several more notches.”

He guided my fingers to his willy once again.

“Let's see how nice you can be.”

I nodded meekly and began stroking him. It wasn't so bad. After a while, he loosened the belt. His hands grabbed my biceps as we got a rhythm going . I figured he must be close to popping his load, but he kept going, moaning and fondling me. Suddenly he stopped. I opened my eyes and looked at him in the mirror. His eyes were on my groin. I Looked down and was aghast to discover I had an absolutely rigid erection.

“What ho, Mr. Frost,” exclaimed Hanson. “Looks like you're enjoying this too.”

He reached around and gave my johnson a few quick strokes before he stood up and stretched.

“You know what?” he asked. “I'll bet you could use a drink.”

I nodded gratefully.

He went out of my view. I heard some clinking, then he was back with a highball glass filled with amber fluid and ice. He removed the sodden gag and helped me drink it down.

“Thanks Hank,” I said. “My throat felt like the Mojave in August. I don't suppose you'd untie me now?”

“Sure thing Frost. In just a minute. But you know, maybe you shouldn't have had that drink.”

“Why?” I stupidly asked, and passed out.


This time I knew where I was. I also knew I was about to receive something I had always feared more than anything else. I knew what I was about to receive because the mirror showed that I was now bound in a very unambiguous pose. My legs were lashed to the rear legs of a bar stool with ropes around my ankles and above my knees. More ropes secured my waist to the seat, and my wrists were tied to the front crosspiece. My legs were spread and my naked ass was raised and ready.

“You know what, Frosty?” I heard him before I could see him. “I've been wanting to do this for a long time.”

He came into my view in the mirror, fully naked now, carrying a can of beer in one hand and a jar of vaseline in the other. My heart was doing a Tito Puente imitation in my chest and my breathing was fast and raspy around the gag. I struggled a bit but quickly realized all I'd be able to to do was topple over and maybe break a couple bones. And Hank would probably just stand me back up and fuck me anyway.

I wanted to see Compton, tell her okay, I get it. Do we really have to take this all the way? But Compton wasn't there. And I couldn't beg due to the wad of cloth tied in my mouth.

Hanson squatted in front of me and began stroking my arms and shoulders. Almost immediately his cock began to twitch and grow. He moved around back and began stroking my legs and thighs. I watched in horror as his manhood continued to grow. I didn't want to think about where he was planning to put that thing. And of course that was all I could think about. He stood behind me and met my eyes in the mirror.

“Compton's got a camera set up in the next room,” he said. “Taking pictures through there.” He gestured to a hole in the wall.

I nodded resignedly. We all knew I wouldn't go to the cops The pictures just meant they could keep me in line later on.

He started kneading my butt cheeks and I could feel and smell the vaseline as he began working his fingers into my ass and lubing me up.

The hell with broken bones, I thought and began squirming and bucking feverishly. He calmly grabbed my hips and put the head of his massive poindexter against my anus. I was quivering in fear, humiliation and anticipation.

He waited until I opened my eyes.

“Compton told me I could do whatever I wanted,” he said. “And I know I've wanted this for a long time.” He paused. “But I don't like to think of myself as a rapist. I'm not so sure what I should do...”


We'd all known I wouldn't go to the cops. I thought my career would be over if Bradshaw and the boys downtown found out I'd given Handsome Hank Hanson a hand job, let alone been his butt boy in a gay bondage love fest. As it turned out, none of that mattered.

I found Compton a few weeks later at a joint on Broadway. She'd had a few already and she looked blue.

“Why the long face, baby?” I asked. sliding onto the stool next to her. She started at the sound of my voice, but I assured her I wasn't looking for revenge.

Turns out her boss didn't think dames should be detectives either, so he'd canned her. I told her I'd just moved into a new office with lots of room. Maybe she's like to throw in with me for a while. A trial run to see if it would fly, us working together.

She had an amused smile.

“Where's the new office?”

“East side,” I said.

Her smile got bigger.

“Over a tobacco shop,” I added.

She stood up, grabbed her purse, and took my arm.

“Let's go look at our new digs, partner,” she said.