Loading...Mark’s the sort of man you can’t help but want to tie down and gag. He’s clean shaven, nicely dressed and well mannered with slight build and quick eyes—ah, but that Mr. Brady routine is just a front. The man is actually a tightly wound ball of futile energy and repressed urges. I think he only shaves his head to keep from tearing his hair out in frustration. After a while, his manic approach to life in general makes you want to push him down, sit on his legs and scream, “BE STILL!”
It makes it worse that he is a manager in a busy restaurant—a busy restaurant in a chain of busy restaurants geared towards cheap, picky people (Americans). A million things can go wrong in such a restaurant, and Mark seems to feel that it is his personal responsibility to address every one of those things, every day… whether they actually go wrong or not. “When you get a chance,” in Mark-speak translates to: “Now! Now now now, right this very second or something terrible will happen!”
Yet, despite (or rather because of) his hyperactive quirkiness and frantic over-management, I want him. I want him the way certain straight women want gay men. A gay man, to some women, is a challenge: a chance to prove the phenomenal power of their own femininity. They want to convert him. And I want to convert Mark. I want to absorb his heartbreaking urgency, to quell his restlessness and soothe his anguish. I wanted to sate his need, once and for all. All right, I simply want to fuck the spastic twitches right out of his pale, tense little body… but that’s essentially the same thing.
I would start by knocking him out. I haven’t yet decided how; I don’t want to hurt him or leave him with uncomfortable side effects from a drug—oh, if only he would sit still long enough to hypnotize! In any case, once he was unconscious I would take him somewhere—I don’t know where, or how I’ll get him there without anybody knowing. I do know, however, that in my mind’s lusty eye, I see him coming slowly awake to find himself lying propped up more or less comfortably on a semi-soft surface, with limbs bound and eyes covered, unaware of where he was or how he got there.
He would yell at first, I think. Anyone would be fearful in such a position, let alone an obsessive compulsive tight-laced manager in his mid thirties. Gradually he would notice the music playing in the background; piano, soothing and unfamiliar. The temperature, he would find, is just high enough that struggling makes him sweat, but low enough to be pleasant when lying still. Perhaps he would even pick up the faint scent of lavender and eucalyptus in the warm air (my body lotion). In any case, after a while, his yells would cease and he would lie quietly, tugging experimentally at his restraints. And this is where my fantasy begins in earnest…
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“Hi there,” I whispered, perching on a stool beside my helpless manager. I placed a finger delicately on his pale throat and lightly teased his Adam’s apple, making him swallow involuntarily. He pursed his lips thoughtfully as his fear drained away. I knew what he was thinking: “Is it my ex? Or the ex before that– It must be her. But I thought she moved to Delaware. Maybe she got somebody else to do this. Maybe it’s co-manager Beth. Oh God, what if it is her? We can’t socialize out of work! I was only flirting! But she wouldn’t do this. Would she?” At any rate, he was beginning to sense that there is something special in store for him, though he still had no idea just how special it will be.
It was difficult for me to stay calm—finally having him under my control was even more of a thrill than I had expected. I hoped his body, strained with anxiety and achingly sensitive due to his inability to see, would react of its own accord to the hungry pheromones streaming from my pores. The bare beginnings of an erection lifted the crotch of his gray work pants just slightly, and the finger I was trailing against his gulping throat paused, sorely tempted by this tentative bulge. I drew a steadying breath and moved upwards instead.
“Oh, Mark,” I whispered, my voice breathy and, to him, unidentifiable. He strained to hear, trying to know who had him held captive. “I just want you to relax.”
I rested a hand lightly on his close-shaven head for a moment, willing him to surrender, then walked silently away. I nudged the heat and the music up a notch, glancing over to see him shift nervously against his restraints. I returned to my seat at his head and took from my pocket a small bottle of almond oil.
Mark stirred, craning his neck towards the sound of my movement. “Who are you?”
“Someone you know,” I murmured, pouring some of the oil between my palms to warm it. “Don’t be afraid.”
Mark snorted but didn’t speak further, resigning himself with a grin. Oh, he was tempting, that “Family Restaurant Fresh” front he always kept up crumbling right before my eyes—the man who ducks out of supermarkets and drug stores if he happens to see one of his workers (“Company policy, we can’t socialize out of work!”), the man who flinches at words like “crap”, the only man with a To Do List that actually gets done. He was metamorphosing effortlessly into a hungry wolf, and the transformation was utterly delicious to watch.
I took his head between my oiled palms, resting the fingertips just lightly on his stubbly scalp. A smile played on his lips, parted slightly below the blindfold. I had wanted to hold him like this for months, and I smiled contentedly as I began to massage. The pressure points at the back of the skull, right above the neck, the temples, the high curved dome, the sinus cavity in the forehead—all the millions of tingling nerves that rarely receive attention in the typical human, I teased them to distraction and left him luxuriously relaxed but sizzling with desire. I worshiped his head with my hands and slow, sure fingers, then bent close and pressed a sighing kiss against his crown.
Mark shifted against his restraints, murmuring something I didn’t quite catch. The timid bulge in his pants became a powerful pressure, and a flush had crept up his neck. I drifted lower, kissing his ear and nudging against it teasingly; first with my nose and then with my soft, wet tongue. I could hear his breath catch, every sensation heightened by his lack of sight, and an electric thrill slid down my spine. My hands continued their sensuous dance over his pale skin, releasing the tension knots at the base of his neck and conjuring a surprised groan of relief from my captive manager.
“Who are you?” he whispered again, his tongue thick and throat dry.
“Shhh…” I hissed insidiously, tongue flicking snakelike against the throbbing pulse at his neck. With hands still caressing his scalp lightly, I bent down to kiss his thin lips—so often bent in disapproval, now they were smooth and soft beneath mine, and the all but silent gasp he left in my mouth tasted like sugared sin. I pressed closer, my left hand on his cheek and my right hand grasping his shoulder, and deepened the kiss. A low moan escaped him as he strained to meet me, and I could feel him shaking slightly. I suspected that it had been a long time since someone touched him like this. His strong reaction made me go weak at the knees, and I sighed softly with pleasure as I took the edge off my hunger for his mouth. When I sat up to take a steadying breath, he tossed his head from side to side, trying to remove the blindfold.
“Mark, Mark,” I said soothingly, still holding his shoulder and disguising my voice. “Just relax, enjoy!”
He groaned with frustration, and a petulant frown darkened his face. He was used to being in control, the giver of such attentions, not the recipient—and he knew such firm hands and moist lips would not come from his skinny shrew of a co-manager, Beth. I suppressed a giggle of immoral delight (if any sound would give me away, that would), then stood up and stepped back. He turned his head to follow my movement, tensely flexing his hands beneath the binding. In the little kitchenette, I filled a glass with ice water and selected a straw from a drawer.
“Open your mouth.” I commanded gently, returning to his side. He hesitated, but complied, and I used the straw to carefully drip some of the water onto his tongue. He relaxed with understanding, gratefully accepting several more straws full of the cooling drops to quench his thirst. His erection had relaxed somewhat, and I decided that couldn’t be allowed. I set the glass down and without warning, slid a hand firmly onto his softening bulge; it springs instantly to life against my fingers. Mark gasped, his flesh springing instantly back to life against my fingers as he arched his back with surprise and pleasure. I allowed myself to linger there a while, painstakingly identifying the outline of his hardened cock, and, deeper, the turgid round softness of his sac.
“Oh…” he blurted suddenly, his face going beet red. “Oh my God!” He clenched his teeth, his muscles twitching in protest of the restraints and a bead of sweat collecting at the top of his scalp. He hadn’t expected such a strong physical reaction, with the blindfold heightening anticipation and the inability to move forcing him to concentrate only on the sensations given to him. He had also not experienced physical release in some time and, as I continued to stroke him, his urgency built.
“You all right there, sexy?” I cooed innocently, gripping his now painfully hard cock tightly over his pants. He moaned in response, and continued to do so as my caresses quickened. His hips lifted despite himself, grinding against my touch in a trembling fever of lust. He was rushing towards an orgasm, but I wasn’t aware of how close he was getting. I rubbed him firmly, my thumbnail gliding in torturous circles over his sensitive tip—he held his breath and tried to hold back a whimper as his balls began to tighten. Licking my lips, I bent and pressed them against the apex of his pants where I feel the head of his cock. My tongue prodded unmercifully against it, seeking the musty tang of desire leaking through his stifling garment—and Mark gave a small squeak of dismay a second before a throaty grunt.
I felt the first violent spurt surge beneath my questing tongue, and with a gasp of delight and surprise I wrapped my lips as tightly as I could around the distended, dampened cloth. The man took a shaky breath, twitching as I continued to mouth his sticky member, and when I looked up at his face it was red with exertion and shame.
“Oh Mark, it’s just been too long. Don’t worry—we have all the time in the world.” I said softly, leaning forward to kiss his flushed neck. He didn’t reply, so I shrugged to myself and began slowly to pull open his clothing before it got sullied further. He tensed in slight protest, but the room was warm and my hands were sure, and soon he was lying with shirt unbuttoned, pants and cute navy blue underpants slid down to his restrained ankles. I went to the small kitchen again, and returned with a basin of warm water and witch hazel.
He shivered as I dipped my hand briefly into the cleansing solution and held it, dripping, over his chest. I continued methodically spattering him with water with one hand, and with the other slowly rubbed the wetness over his skin. I could feel his heart beating rapidly beneath my ministrations, and the tremors of ticklishness in his pale flesh.
After completing my cleansing ritual on his upper body, I slid my wet hands down his thighs. Mark arched his back with a gasp. I smiled, then scooped up a palmful of the cooled water. I cradled his semi-soft cock in the tiny pool my hand made, rubbing it slowly with the other. Up and down, dip and drip, soothing his sensitive skin and rinsing away all traces of his seed and sweat. The man moaned quietly, his cock gradually swelling beneath my touch—and when I reached down to wash his saturated scrotum, a groan betrayed his pleasure. I was surprised at his response to being touched in that particular area, but spent a languorously happy time exploring it. I had always loved the way a man’s genitals are assembled; so many different textures, features, triggers and secrets!
Mark breathed deeply and let a heavy sigh smooth the frown from his face as I played gently with his testes. “That’s so good,” he murmured, wiggling his toes. “I wish I could show you how good.”
I kissed the tip of his member, now proudly erect and staring bluntly with its one wet eye at me. “I’m glad it’s good, Mark, but I want to make it even better.”
He flexed his groin in reply, making his hard flesh bob enthusiastically at me while his sac twitched against my fingers. “How?” The impish wolfman had returned, by the tone of his voice, and I licked my lips with anticipation.
“Oh, you know how.” Quickly, I stood and slid my clothes off. The proximity of his naked flesh had turned my own sex into a slippery, treacherous muddle, and without bothering to explain further, I straddled my timid manager’s narrow hips and slid his cock inside me.
“Ahh!” Mark gasped, chest heaving up and down. The base of his cock pulsed against my tender, aching clit as I steadied myself with both hands on his waist. My knees braced on either side of him and my legs quivering with eagerness, I raised up until his tip hovered slickly at the entrance to my pussy and bobbed there for a few heartbeats. Mark groaned again, feeling the wetness from me coating his shaft and dripping tantalizingly down his sac. I stayed as I was, teasing us both with shallow jabs of my ravenous hips, until Mark was puffing with frustration and arousal.
“Say it,” I breathed urgently, rotating my hips counterclockwise so that he could feel the velvety wet walls of my cunt swirling around his throbbing head. “What do you want me to do?” He opened his mouth, then closed it again, face flushing once more. The man who never cursed, alas! I slid a hand between our bodies and gripped the base of his shaft. “What… do you want… me to do?” I said again.
“F-fuhh—” Mark broke off with a moan, trying to thrust his hips up to me.
“Say it! Oh God, please say it, I need this so badly—say it, you uptight fucking bastard!” I sobbed, sinking a bit deeper to grip his hard tip firmly within me.
“Fuck me–” he burst out, the vein standing out on his forehead as he strained to push himself deeper. “Oh, shit– fuck me now!”
I obliged, sliding fully down on him with a cry of relief and pain as his wide head bumped against my sensitive cervix. He was bigger than I had realized, and the frantic contracting of my pussy had tightened its slick walls; I felt almost virginal, for all my filthy whorish seduction of the gentle man beneath me—but suddenly he was gentle no more. His face contorted with fierce need, he growled deep in his throat and with one sharp, violent tug he managed to free one hand from his restraints. I yelped in surprise and fear as he first tore the blindfold from his face, then grabbed my trembling shoulder and held me still.
“You!”
His blue eyes bore into mine, and guilt darkened my face as my naked breasts shook with my frightened panting. I bit my lip, excruciatingly aware of his solid cock between my burning thighs. Even with the shock, my hips could not help but continue their tempestuous twitching—my body protested the pause of passion and quivered, bare in his accusing gaze.
Then, my repressed, obsessive manager did something unexpected: he pulled me by my arm down until I was horizontal atop him, and tilted his face onto mine for a deep, sinful kiss. I wept with relief as our tongues met and became acquainted, my arms winding around his neck. His turgid member was still locked tight inside my pussy, and he broke the kiss to whisper again, “Fuck me.”
And I did—I buried my face in his neck, unable to bear the acceptance and recognition in his eyes, and rode his cock for what seemed like an eternity. Over and over, his hardness cleaved through my raw folds to prod the center of my being. When the “Faster!” command came, I came with it, helplessly convulsing around him while a long cry split my lips and my heart in two. Mark fought the restraining ties—I knew how his muscles must be aching, but he drove himself up and into me with agility born of desperation several times before finally ejecting his pent-up heat with an immense groan of relief.
We lay still for a while, hearts flurrying and minds churning with exhaustion, confusion, excitement, and fear. At last, I picked my head up from Mark’s chest and looked at his face. His eyes were still closed, but his brow was smooth, and his breathing was deep and even. It took me a moment to realize—the man was asleep!
I blinked a few times in disbelief and amused annoyance, then quietly swung myself off him. I donned my clothes, untied his remaining restraints and turned off the music. I grabbed my keys from the counter, leaving behind cab money and Mapquest directions back to the restaurant… and nothing else. I drove home in silence, wondering what the hell was going to happen when he finally awoke.
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As the door clicked shut, Mark opened one eye and looked around. She was gone. The man smiled to himself as he sat up, rubbing the indentations on his limbs where she had tied him down. Maybe he’d ask his manager if he could do her annual review next week.