Manhattan Bound

by John Roper

Email Feedback | Forum Feedback

© Copyright 2004 - John Roper - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; bond; cons; X

Chapter One
Tyra’s Ten-Tight Fix

What insomniac muse shook me from a sound sleep to record this well-worn recollection? Could the importance of the task be that timely that it had to rudely end a dream wherein I was delaying sensual gratification to a certain, very well built, young woman? What possible urgency could the imposition serve before the morning boot-up? Was it a sign unto the highly unlikely reappearance of some cutting edge damsel into my then, poor excuse for a life called homework? Or had something I didn’t know yet happen, and this was just my autonomic radar insisting I tune into an incoming blip before it, she, whatever beat me to the punch? Or was it flow-like, or something simultaneous? I hoped for both. 

It goes without saying, my terminally inquisitive nature opted for a peek into the ‘unknown,’ rather than be caught completely by surprise, and unprepared for what fate held in the way of a possibly forthcoming rendezvous.

So here I am, telling you my future, which is really my past making waves in the now, not because I have to, but because I need to, for your sake, that the rest of us may be inspired by the knowledge that nirvana really does exist, and that I found it, simply because I had the balls to whisper into Tyra’s ear, “Been tying you up all night.”

We were seated next to each other at a very exclusive dinner party, for reasons that seemed to have more to do with using physical furniture to interior decorate than bringing two strangers together for a night of risk taking, and serious fantasy indulgence. It didn’t take an intelligent kink long to realize the party was designed to put up a smoke screen between what was really going on and those without the desire nor the wisdom to be aware of it.

Her placid, easygoing demeanor and perfect posture made Tyra’s eye-of-the-hurricane aura grow more and more appealing as the evening mellowed. We scarcely spoke to each other, which, in itself, was a major tip-off. Even our body language refused to indicate there was a powerful lava dome of esoteric imagery erupting within the hallowed confines of our concurrently preoccupied libidos. It took all of our willpower to keep from making small talk before an invited moment presented itself to our severely suppressed curiosities. It came just after dessert and coffee in the form of a walk to the terrace overlooking midtown Manhattan, in all its electrified splendor.

When Tyra heard the door open behind her, she slowly turned and planted both elbows on the four-foot wall over which she’d been savoring the inevitability of my any-second arrival. I wasted no time responding to the unmistakable, facial come-on she wore during the silent exchange of aura discharge that ensued. Instinct told me to snail crawl the ten feet between us, with eyes locked onto hers, and both hands in my pockets.

I waited until we were within a few inches of touching. “Hi.” My hands left their pockets and settles on the wall, to the left and right of Tyra’s elbows. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she said softly before I took hold of her upper arms and pushed them close together behind her back. Her jaw and eyelids dropped a bit, but she didn’t make a sound, or show signs of disapproval.

“What I’m having can’t be had out here.”

She glanced over my shoulder to ensure our privacy. “What can we have out here?”

My first kiss was a long, dry airbrushing of her neck and shoulders. She let go to me completely, abandoning her composure without reservation, throwing her head back as if to guide my teasing lips to the perfect place and moment. My grip lowered to her elbows and tightened a bit. Her facial expression suggested a swoon, but no sound betrayed her rising passion.

The second kiss came after I pulled her off the wall, grabbed her right elbow with my right hand, and left with my left, and waited for Tyra to reciprocate. Her effort to escape my grip, and the body language it triggered told me all I needed to know about where our evening was headed.

Her expression waxed wanton. “What are you having?”

I smiled “Not what, who.”

She smiled and kissed me full on the lips. I pulled her elbows apart, which, of course, brought her upper arms closer together. The kinky kiss went on and on, without apparent concern for who might have been eyeballing the heated exchange of delayed familiarity.

“I have to powder my nose” broke the spell somewhat. “See you in a bit?”

I released and carefully watched Tyra collect herself, walk to the terrace door, and disappear into the party. While waiting, a kinky scenario came together in my lightheaded eye. “Yessss!”

Several slow minutes passed, after which an austere gentleman of about sixty-five or seventy presented himself with note in hand. He gave it to me, and stepped back to wait for either a reply or dismissal. 

The note read: ‘I’m in the room with the big red bow on its door. Tyra.’

I nodded, and James left the terrace, with me in tow. Our walk through the party was uneventful, in that not one guest showed any interest in our forthcoming destination or intent. I soon found myself alone, with but one direction in which to go. The end of a dark, twenty or so foot hallway glowed bright red. The closer I got to its inviting deliberateness, the more hypnotically the electrically illuminated, scarlet bow affected me. I knocked four times, quickly. Five seconds of suspended time passed. The bow door opened. Tyra was hiding behind it, waiting for me to step into her fantasy. The bed was a four-poster brass. I turned just as the door closed and latched. Her back was to it, with hands at her sides, her left hip cocked, one knee slightly bent, one locked. 

“On a scale of one-to-ten,” she said with bank expression, “ten is how tight I like it,” standing there in fire engine red, strapless bra and panties, and shiny-white skyscraper pumps.

I decided to lighten things up a bit. “Can I have that in writing?”

Tyra tried not to crack a grin. The grin won. “Look in the top drawer of the dresser.”

It was a few steps away, loaded with clearly labeled skeins of rope, to inform users of their thickness and length. Various other goodies were mixed in. Tyra moved to the bed and grabbed its lower left post.

I thought, ‘She doesn’t want to leave the room. The bedpost is her immovable friend. If it must stay here, so must she, but only if the fix harmonizes with one of my terrace scenarios.’ All this raced through my mind while my hands undid a seven-foot skein of half inch soft. ‘If I don’t give her what she wants, I may never get what I want again. We can’t have that, now can we.’

She pouted, “Do you find me attractive?” and leaned back against the bedpost, her hands at her sides, knees locked, legs together.

“Extremely.” My fingers busied themselves with the rope, preparing an end for the task at hand. “But we go no further without first agreeing I’m in absolute control.”

Tyra smiled. “No such thing.” The tone in her voice had changed from passively indecisive to blatantly provocative. “But if you think you can control me, you’re welcome to try.” She unlocked her left knee, crossed her wrists in back of the post, and brought her elbows as close together as possible. The essence of the moment went from toe-in-the-water to cannon balling the deep end of the pool. “I’m always up for a challenge... Will that be enough rope?” Tyra was getting very horny.

So was yours truly. “You tell me.” I casually removed my tuxedo jacket, tossed it on the bed, and slowly walked the four feet between us. “Turn around.”

“No.” Her right knee brazenly teased its way up between my thighs.

The unexpected sensation it inspired, and the ‘no’ triggered an immediate response. “How about some music?” I glanced at the audiovisual center opposite the bed. “Mozart, perhaps?” Before she could say no again, I placed the lasso between my teeth and took a step in the indicated direction. 

Tyra lowered her knee and chin in a gesture of spoiled dissatisfaction. I used the momentary mood swing to my advantage, catching her off guard and grabbing both arms behind the four-inch-thick bedpost. While my left arm pinned them close together, my right worked the lasso over Tyra’s forearms and up to the elbows. They were quickly and tightly bound together.

She raised her chin, closed her eyes, and stretched her expressive fingers wide apart, sensually struggling against the feel of a level ten cinch. It was obvious the poll tie met with her approval. She took a deep breath and gently bit down on her lower lip before asking, “What about Mozart?”

I ignored the witticism and headed back to the rope drawer, where she watched me select and toss on the floor in front of her several skeins of line. My attitude was all business, an attitude she’d rarely encountered in a man when bound for both their satisfactions.

While undoing a ten-footer, I placed the remote into Tyra’s left hand. (She’s a righty.)


“Don’t mention it.” 

While she fiddled and strained, I bound her long, well toned legs together, just above the knees, after which I crossed and bound her ankles, securing the skyscrapers on as well. The room suddenly vibrated to the sounds of “Hotel California,” playing off a mix Tyra had been putting together for years.

“Sit on the corner of the bed,” I said while standing and leveling my eyes to hers.

She tossed the remote onto the mattress. “No.”

I grabbed the knee bind and lifted her off her feet. “Like that word, do you?” Her torso slid down the bedpost as I swung Tyra around and waited for her gorgeous little ass to settle into the corner of the mattress. “Are you always this cooperative?” I said when kneeling to bind her wrists together, palm to palm, with a five footer.

A distasteful thought crossed her mind. “Are you gay?”

I ignored the question, for now, and secured the end of a four footer to the wrist cinches, whereupon I grabbed Tyra’s bound-on heels and threaded the other end of the line between the two turns that held them onto her feet. After pulling out all the slack, I knotted things off, leaving my damsel in a fairly precarious position. The knee cinches tightened a good bit. If she didn’t keep her butt on the mattress, she’d find herself hanging from the post in a most untenable posture.

Another lasso soon found its way around Tyra’s tiny waistline, and was tightened and centered just below her bellybutton. It continued down between her legs, under her rump, and around the left side of the post.

“Wouldn’t want you to slip off the bed, now would we.”

The line continued around the wrist/feet tether and back up to my right hand. I stood to face my now very hot and bothered heroine.

“So you like it tight, do you,” I reminded before pulling more slack out of the line. “Is that tight enough?”

The crotch rope was centered perfectly. Tyra’s jaw dropped somewhat, as did her eyelids. “Yes”

“But it’s only a nine on the tension meter,” I specified as I pulled another two inches off the slack and knotted things at the tether junction with a pop knot. “Much better, wouldn’t you say?”


She watched me walk to the gear drawer and extract a fifty-foot skein of three-eighths nylon. Tyra breathed deeply into the moment and tested every turn of rope in a state of pure bondage bliss. ‘Why hasn’t he taken off the bra?’

I sat in front of her on the bed to undo the skein. “Where do you live?”

Her tone was decidedly more cooperative. “California.”

That surprised me. “And how did you end up at this shindig?”

“Its host is my agent. I’m a model.”

“Where are you staying in New York?”


“What did he tell you about me?”

“...That you’re single and have a thing for younger women.”

I stood, walked to the elbow cinch, and tied the end of the fifty-footer to it. For the next two and a half minutes I used it to thoroughly secure Tyra’s torso to the bedpost, for which she had so seductively campaigned, and resumed the interrogation.

“Why me?”

“He said it was high time we met.”

I made a mental note to send Bob a case of whatever he was having that night. “There we go. That should keep you in touch with the post for a while,” I said while reaching for my tux jacket. “I’ll just leave you two to get better acquainted.”


“The bedpost. You did indicate a fondness for its immovable hardness.” I walked to the door and grabbed its knob. The opening strains of “Don’t leave Me This Way” came up on the mix, and I thought, ‘Magic time.’

“Did you know this room is soundproofed? That’s why it’s so far away from everything and everyone else in the apartment.” I opened the door and smiled at my frantically writhing new playmate. “Have fun” was my exit line, punctuated by a medium-to-hard door slam.

The room was not soundproofed. And contrary to what Tyra might have thought, this was my first visit to Bob’s new penthouse apartment. Both he and his gray haired best man were doing cigars on the terrace. The four remaining guests were playing video golf in the study.

“What did you think,” asked Bob after I closed the terrace door.

I lit my stogie... “She’s got spunk.” (Puff, puff) “How old is she?”

Bob blew some smoke rings into the chilly night air and smiled. “Too young for my taste.”

A knowing look passed between us. “What can she handle?”

“A good deal less than she thinks.”

“How long is she going to be in town?”

“New Years day. Did she tell you any lies?”


James stepped to the terrace wall, whereupon a dark-wood case waited for opening. He removed two sets of headphones and gave them to Bob and me. As we put them on, and their power switches were engaged, a smile came to my face when the strains of “Don’t Leave Me This Way” surprised me with the knowledge that we’d be listening to whatever Tyra had to say about her bow room fix while we puffed away on our cigars and sipped some brandy.

I looked over at Bob and said, “Nice touch.”

He nodded and turned up his volume a bit. “So what have you been up to lately?”

James turned and left us to our small talk and erotic, audio input. His exit line suggested a wit rarely found in his profession. “Will that be all, sir?” 

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have been so smart with him,’ thought Tyra into the seventh minute of her ten-tight, pole tie. ‘Then again, if I hadn’t, he might not have been so strict.’

She’d been writhing pleasurably, working herself into an ever-escalating appreciation of the long-awaited event, fearfully speculating on what might happen next, while laboring feverishly to work the rope between her legs as best as the fix would allow. 

”Oh... yes. Oh-my, yes!”

With every attempt to gain satisfaction, the wrist ropes tightened, which led to more pressure on the ones above and below her heaving breasts. Her pussy dripped with need. Every muscle in her contained countenance strained to deliberately increase the tension at each point of rope contact.

‘I can’t believe how good this feels. Please don’t come back too soon. Take your time. I’m in no hurry. We have until New Years.’

Her cellular signaled. A glance at the digital clock on the night table told Tyra an expected call from a close friend was right on time, but totally out of sync with the way things were at the time.

“Ohohohohohohoh!  Uhhhuhuhuh!”

Tyra tore into the bind, struggling wildly to make sure there was no escape from the severe rope hug in which I’d left her to ponder my thoughts on the post symbolism. She poured every stitch of energy into the attempt. The bed rocked and squeaked, holding the power and intensity of her self-stimulating violence in check, allowing less than a quarter of an inch of movement in any direction. Only her head and hands could manage that, while the ankle tether loosened and tightened in concert with every delicious pull, tug and wriggle inspired by Tyra’s first, ten-tight fix.

‘I’m cumming. Geeze, I’m cumming, and all by myself. This is...This is...’

She was obviously getting what she came for, and the realization of the moment all but erased every experience she’d ever had with bondage up until that night.



Bob had placed a limo at Tyra’s disposal. After discussing possible next moves, he called and told the driver to stand by out in front until further notice. “And make sure you have a full tank.”

He closed the cellular, and I asked, “What’s his name?”


After getting a high sign from James, who’d been listening in on Tyra’s audio feedback from his guard station in front of the bow door, I returned to the situation and went straight to the closet. It appeared she’d had enough of her ten-tight, pole fix. I selected a full-length, mink coat, which I dropped on the mattress in front of her.

“We’ve been invited to a very kinky party.”

She said nothing while I undid the fifty-footer around her torso, and the crotch rope/foot-to-wrist/tether configuration. The chest at the foot of the bed served perfectly to help get Tyra off the brass post without having to undo her elbows and wrists. Again, I lifted her by the knees, swung her around, grabbed an armful of legs, and stepped onto the chest, which now sustained the weight of both our bodies. It seemed the perfect time to reopen the conversation.

“Would you like a safe word?”

“...What about when I’m gagged?”

I grabbed her shoulders and planted a major wet one on the new, gorgeous model in my life... “Cry.”

Tyra’s response grew increasingly passionate, but I disconnected before things got too premature. She smiled at the cry quip, and chose “Popcorn.”
I nodded in approval. “What will happen if I say popcorn?”

I crouched down and took her by the legs again, lifted her up until the elbow bind cleared the top of the post, and threw her onto the fur coat. No one had ever thrown Tyra in bondage before. The experience was, to say the least, mildly humiliating. “We’ll stop whatever it is we are doing and wait until you either say ‘untie me’ or ‘stop.’ Now sit on the edge of the bed.” I was standing over her, on the chest, with the fifty-footer.

“You’re kidding.”

“...Just say ‘popcorn’ when you want to stop or talk.”

“You’re not seriously thinking of taking me to a party in bondage...are you? I have a reputation to protect.”

“I’m in control. What I say goes until further notice. Now sit up, shut up, and kiss me before I kiss you again; not necessarily in that order.”

She did none of the above. 

“No.” Instead, Tyra squirmed and wiggled to the head of the bed, posing her bound beauty and renewed arousal shamelessly with every helpless gesture of contained passion she could think of. “Don’t you want me?”

“Actually, no. That’s why we’re going to this party. I’m trading you in for a less top-heavy model. Now get that disobedient little ass over here before I do something impatient.” She wouldn’t. It was obviously time to get rough with Tyra. I went for the drawer for a short line. “Have it your way.”

“My way? I thought you were the one in absolute control.”

The taunt brought me back to the bed in a huff. “I was going to free your elbows for the trip to Westchester, but you obviously need more discipline than I was led to believe.” I grabbed Tyra by the arm and dragged her across the mattress on her stomach until her waistline was parallel to its right edge. If I’d let go, she’d have to support the weight of her upper body with abdominal muscles, or the top of her head would lower to within a foot of the floor. I decided to let go, and her head did just that.

“What are you doing?”

I ignored the question, straddled her bound legs, and a knotted the short line to her wrists. The other end was threaded under and over the lower thigh cinch. 

“Up you go,” I said while pulling Tyra’s torso back by the elbow cinch, and parallel to the mattress again, drawing out the slack in the short line and tying it off, making it impossible for her to lower herself back down the side of the bed. The fifty-footer lay close at hand. I used it again to bind Tyra’s upper body to the max, and addressed her groin with five tight passes of crotch rope. The center cut was strictly connected to the wrist-to-lower thigh tether. “No friction for you, my naughty little wench,” I pointed out while moving off the bed and onto the cushy chair opposite Tyra’s now tamed expression. I’d taken the cellular out of my jacket, which James now kept handy on a front hallway hanger. “Enjoy that for a bit while I make a few calls.” I punched in a number. “And don’t you dare interrupt, or there will be hell to pay later.”

Tyra vacillated frantically between a severe case of stimulating distress and unexpected periods of psychosexual meltdown, knowing, full well, her predicament, and the sexy way she was dealing with it, were turning us both on, big time. The pole fix had done much to convince her that she was in the hands of a man who knew well what he was doing, and who was not about to allow the agenda to be diametrically influenced by a 25-year-old newcomer. 

The first phone call was catalytic, converting the kinky energy in the room into all sorts of uncontrollable outcome. Tyra’s deliberating fireworks were a sight to behold. 

“Hey, Bob, it’s me... As ready as she’ll ever be... Oh, I don’t know, maybe forty-five minutes, if she cooperates... Then we’ll just have to gag and stuff her into the chest and ship her over by van... Right. I’ll keep you posted.”

The second call was also a phony.

“Hi, it’s me... No, I’m on a house call... That depends on how well it goes... I’m bartering a damsel for another who wants out of a contract... Yeah, same old same old... OK, see you.”

Tyra locked her gaze on mine and started shimmying backwards to relieve the super tight pressure on her lower thigh cinches and pussy. Whenever lower torso muscles could no longer sustain the painful flexing it took to ease up the tension, she was compelled to rely on the only given alternative, other than shimmying back.

I grabbed a few lines off the floor, pulled Tyra back to where I’d left her, and said, “Where do you think you’re going?” before tethering the waist circles to the bed frame below, and Tyra’s ankle cinches to the frame on the other side of the mattress. While I did, I explained the reasons. “Your abs need work, and, according to well informed sources, you were due for a serious dose of bondage and discipline. You did say ‘ten tight,’ didn’t you?”

Tyra was sweating now. “Why?”

I started to remove my clothing. “You said ‘no’ one time too many. And you know what that means.”


“Was I not to have absolute control?” I moved to the ankle tether side of the bed.

“...Yes.” She felt the weight of my body settle on top of her perfect little ass.

“The next time you have the urge to say no the wrong way, think on what this bind has done, and will do to your arrogance, not to mention that soft skin of yours.”

That’s when Tyra heard herself say, “There’s no such thing as absolute control,” for the second time that night.

I grabbed her forehead with my left hand and stuffed a ball gag into her mouth with the other. “Maybe, but, at the moment, you will agree, I’m exerting all the control you can handle.” I lowered her chin and tightened the gag buckle as far as it would go. 

Tyra watched while I dragged the bed chest out to the middle of the floor, stood it up on one end, and opened it towards her.

“See all those little, black-leather pyramids stuck to the inside? No matter how you’re placed in there, they will insist themselves into your skin, using the weight of your body to make their points.” I took off my shirt and shoes. “Think on that while I take a shower.”

Tyra’s fiery protestations, accompanied by the audio complaints ball gags are designed to stifle, prompted sterner measures, whereupon my instincts drove me back to the gear drawer for something to occupy her now, very hard and erect nipples.

“Might as well put that unspent energy to good use,” was my out-loud thought as I selected two, 5-ounce-weighted clips from the toy collection and walked back to Tyra’s glaring, protesting curiosity.

It took only a few seconds to set the clips. “There, that should do the trick. By the time I get out of the shower, you should be more than just ready to cooperate.”

I flipped a hidden switch in the bathroom to activate a speaker system that would pipe all of Tyra’s audio output into my immediate earshot.

Tyra instinctively tested the new, erotic wrinkle by spending a sizable dose of energetic writhing on its intended purpose. To say that she was astounded at the result would have been an unqualified understatement, especially since no one had ever done anything involving clips or weights to her nipples before.

‘OH – MY – GOD!!!’

I stood, staring at myself and my full blown erection, in all its inspired, rock hardness, and said, “It don’t get any better than this,” before closing the lights in the bath and looking through the one-way mirror at my new playmate’s amazing antics.

Her next thought made Tyra tingle with superheated trepidation. ‘The only way I will fit into that chest is if he...’ She made two fists and came to her next conclusion, abandoning herself to the bondage of having to cooperate against her will, work on her abs, and climax, whether she wanted to or not. 


Needless to say, by the time I’d finished showering, Tyra had succeeded in bringing herself to unprecedented levels of uninhibited completion. 


Tyra had combed her long, straight hair back severely, and into a bun at the crown of her head. I chose a pair of tight fitting ski pants to cover up the rope marks on her legs. She stood before the dresser mirror, enjoying the kisses I’d been planting on her neck and shoulders from behind, and groping with her lightly, but inescapably handcuffed hands to reach the new bulge in my pants.

“This woman I’m being traded for, is she pretty?”

I smiled and paused for effect. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“What will be expected of me?”

I stopped the kisses and reached for the mink. “First, you will be carefully examined by her contractor.”

She felt the weight of the coat on her topless torso. “And if I am found... worthy?”

“Later,” I quashed, then steered Tyra to the door. “Now behave yourself.”

“Must I be handcuffed?”

“Must I explain everything?”

Our walk to the penthouse elevator effervesced with primal kinkiness. The remaining party couples playing video golf paid us no mind whatsoever.

Bob said “Goodnight” when we passed him in the kitchen, and the butler waited at the lift with my tux jacket and coat in hand.

He smiled a “Trust you had a pleasant evening” as I took my things.

“Good evening, James. Yes, the evening goes well.”

Tyra moved to a back corner of the lift and watched me press the ‘door close’ button. I dropped my coat and case on the floor and moved slowly to my new charge. Her face glowed with sexy expectation. I grabbed the mink collar with both hands, pulled Tyra’s lips to mine, and continued to kiss and toy with her passion. “How about we do this for a while? Besides, it’s chic to be late, and I find you extremely desirable.”

The elevator broke the spell somewhat when someone on the first floor pressed a button.

“How rude of them.”

Tyra observed, “I guess we both lost absolute control,” and smiled nervously.

I pressed the red emergency button and said, while the bell it activated filled the shaft with its irritating, sustained ring, and the elevator stopped in its tracks, 

“Absolute is a relative term.”

We did our best to collect ourselves into a more pedestrian posture, but when the door next opened, we’d only half succeeded. Another couple waited on our egress. It appeared the woman was a bit uneasy herself. She also wore a knee-length mink, with arms out of its sleeves, and a very horny expression on her handsome features. I nodded at her date and guided mine out into the lobby. We didn’t look back. 

Twenty feet from the front door, Tyra said, “Popcorn.”

We stopped. I turned to face the reason. “Too hot for you, babe?”

She glanced through the glass doors ahead and saw her stretch parked out front. A plan formed in her head, which nixed the bailout Tyra was about to request after ‘popcorn.’ “No. I just wanted to see what would happen if I said the magic word.” With that, she turned and headed for the limo. “We can continue now.”


Lilliana was all over us with professional attention, opening the door, smiling, and doing her best to impress us with her sexy, but formal approach. “Good evening.”

“Good evening, Lilliana” greeted Tyra. “Do the park until I tell you to stop.”

“Yes, Madame.” Lil’s gray suit was a very tight fit. The hat cocked slightly right. Our eye contact, while veiled, radiated with invisible intensity. “Good evening, Sir.”

“So it is, so it is.” said I before stepping in after Tyra and hearing the door slam behind. As we settled in, I complimented her quick thinking tenacity. “Nice move.”

“Like I said, there is no such thing as absolute control,” she reminded while carefully occupying the far corner of the spacious vehicle. “Now what?” she dared, her face electric with kinky excitement.

I reached for and opened the attaché case, from which I selected a few, very necessary items, and tossed them on the seat next to my daring damsel. She watched as I drew the curtains on the already closed window between the driver compartment and us. “Open your mouth,” I demanded while returning to her side and grabbing one of the attaché’s items.

Tyra scoped the swatch of soft-white material my fingers were fashioning into a ball. “What if I want to say popcorn?”

“Didn’t you just tell the chauffeur...”

“Then we just keep touring the park until the gag comes out.”

“Sounds like a plan.” 

A very important minute of chess move deliberation came and went.


“You’re in control.”

After filling Tyra’s gorgeous mouth with white stuff, I pressed a strapless ball gag into both, followed by several tight turns of 4-inch-wide, Ace bandage, to keep things extra quiet. My now, very horny damsel looked down at the contents of my case and gave her gag permission a second thought or three. I removed her coat, tossed it next to mine on the floor, peeled off my jacket, and reached for a ten-footer. Tyra’s knees were soon cinched together, ten-tightly.

“On your stomach,” I said, then moved to another point of view, with case in hand, and pointed to the center of the back seat. While I carefully and gleefully watched her make the move, she listened to an overdue bulletin. “There’s something you should know. The gas tank in this car was topped off just before we were picked up.”

Next came the binding of her elbows and wrists, after the cuffs were removed. Two seven-footers soon found their way around Tyra’s ankles and lower thighs. Next came the peeling off of her pants, down to the upper leg bind. The hog-tie line ran from ankles to under the crotch ropes, which were never removed from the first bind, then up between her forearms, back to the ankles, and drawn to her specifically requested tightness level. The pressure would be extreme, making crotch rope friction out of the question.

I sat back and said, “On your side, facing me.” 

While she negotiated the difficult maneuver, I plucked a camcorder from out of my right coat pocket.

The shoot went on for a good ten minutes, turning Tyra into a seething, writhing bundle of protesting energy. 


As I shot, I spoke. “If you hadn’t thrown a monkey wrench into the evening’s works, we’d now be on our way to my place, where you could have soaked in the tub, taken a shower, whatever, while I (accent on the ‘I’) waited in bed. The Westchester exchange was just a ploy to get you into a more perilous state of mind. But, no, you had to take back the control we agreed to at the top of the night. Now, let’s see about doing something ten-tight to those incredible nipples of yours.”

They were soon tethered with thin line. I plucked the tension a few times and rolled tape again.

Tyra was beside herself with regret, redlining arousal, and short-circuiting kinkiness. “Mmmmuhuhuhmmm!”

“Now get that perfect little ass of yours on the floor, on your stomach, facing me.”

She looked down at the two coats, then back at me, incredulously.

“Do it.”

At the end of the shoot, I packed up everything, put on my jacket and coat, and dropped the next bomb of the night in the form of a business card, slipped under a fold in the Ace bandage, and a prophecy of things to come.

“When you’re ready to relinquish complete control, give me a ring, and sign the contract you came to New York to consummate with Bob.” I waited a few seconds for effect. “My, but you are a sight. Too bad you decided to play it safe tonight. Now you’re stuck in a loop around Central Park, with all kinds of things to think about en route.”

We were stopped at a red light. I looked out the window and calculated we wouldn’t hit the next for at least another three minutes. I said nothing the whole time, opting to give Tyra the opportunity to speculate on the current possibilities, while I took a few more mental snapshots, rolled more tape, and caressed her in all the right places. 

“I hate to leave you like this, but I have an absolute reason.”

The stretch came to a stop in 3:25. I opened its right door, got out, turned and said, “And no, I am not gay” to my captive audience, slammed the door, and knocked on Lilliana’s.

She pressed a button to roll down its window. “...Is something wrong?”

“Not at all,” I smiled. “It’s just time for me to get off.” She watched as I plucked another card from my tux vest. While extending it across the passenger seat, I said, “Hold onto this, just in case. Happy New Year.”

She reached for the card. “Thanks.” It read, ‘FOR WHEN YOU’RE FIT TO BE TIED,’ with my cell phone number below. The look on her face was precious.

The light turned green. “You can take ‘Madame’ home now,” was my back-out line.

Lil closed the window and took off, heading north with a mixed bag of options.

‘Bob said to take Ty wherever she wanted to go. ‘Do the park until I tell you to stop,’ she said. Now, this guy tells me to take her home.’

She decided to keep doing the park, pending further instructions.


‘Maybe she just wants time to think.’


‘Should I give her a call? Later, maybe, when we get back down to Columbus Circle.’

Depending on traffic, that was a good ten to twelve minutes away. Lilliana read the card again, wide-eyed, before stuffing it under her jacket.

So it was that, on the evening of December 28th, 2002, Tyra Templeton got stuck in the biggest loop of her life, tied up in a ten-tight fix she could not escape, no matter how loud she screamed, or how hard she struggled to get to the intercom. And all because she couldn’t let go to her agent’s wisdom, and my way of making kinky love to a woman I’d waited all my life to meet.


John Roper

To be continued in “Lil’s First Bind”


If you've enjoyed this story, please write to the author and let them know - they may write more!

story continues in