1.
She binds me gently.
“Almost classic C.F.M. pose.”
Face pressed to the pillow. Thighs, belly, and cock flat on the soft bed. My knees bent—feet in the air. Legs spread wide. I grip my own ankles and curve like a triangle while she ties the spiderweb ropes in tiny, beautiful knots to my wrists.
Isn’t her voice too deep to be a woman’s? Or does it just seem that way because I want her to be a man?
“Jude, what’s classic C.F.M.?”
She lifts my hips off the bed, jerking me in one motion to my knees and forcing my ass high. I tighten my grip on my ankles as my chest takes more of my weight. I fight the urge to put my half-bound hands by my face to catch myself.
“Spread your legs.”
I do.
“More,” Jude commands.
I obey.
So exposed. My cock hangs down, dangling like fruit ripe for the plucking. The position makes my heart beat faster. Anticipation twitches through me.
“Can you rest like that?” Her fingers stroke the ropes. She wants to tie me like this.
Rest? Absolutely not. I slide back onto my belly, returning to my relaxed triangle. “I was unclear. I meant what does the acronym stand for.”
“Oh.” She leans near my ear. So intimate. “Come Fuck Me Pose.”
I shiver.
She finishes the knots. When I release my ankles, my wrists are trapped. I writhe briefly, testing her work. It’s real. There’s no escape.
Jude pushes my hip and drops me to my side. “You don’t trust my knots?”
“No… No, I do.” I didn’t, but I can’t deny them now. You can tell a decorative knot from a real one instantly.
The pose, Not-C.F.M., is more comfortable on my side. I could close my legs and breathe better, but whatever wrist I land on is going to suffer after a while.
Jude continues rolling me until I situate myself on my back. Sluttier than ever. Legs wide and wanting. Hands relaxed. Cock confused.
She turns me onto my front again and reaches under me with a professional’s unlusty hands to glide my cock back under me. So strong. I wonder again if she’s actually a man.
Her weight leaves the bed, and I have a vision of her returning, newly-made male, taking the body she’d so painstakingly bound.
“Is this what you hoped for, boss?”
I nod. There’s no reason to feel this dry-throated and weird. Or at least no weirder than anyone else in this conference.
Jude had been undeniably female in her bar but more seductive than anyone woman I’ve ever met. Well, more seductive for me. I imagine she’d be invisible to… normal men. With her jeans stretched across muscular thighs, with her black tank top that teased cleavage and displayed ripped arms, with her jaw hard as a super-hero only slightly softened by full lips, Jude carried that odd blend of male power and curvy femininity that was either persecuted or ignored. On the small cabaret stage, she wore an army jacket and smoked e-cigarettes without any hipster illusions, but as brutishly as if she were in the army. Or air force. There were rumors, but I didn’t have the courage to ask about reality. It might shatter the illusion.
And the appeal of an S&M retreat was the illusion, wasn’t it? Everything that could interrupt it was done in advance. S.T.D. testing. The contract-only rooms. She’d laid out the rules so clearly when she’d pitched the retreat. Down to the layout of the convention hall and where sex was forbidden.
“And not in a cutesy way, either.” She’d taken the e-cigarette between her thumb and forefinger to smirk at her audience. “You fuck outside the proper rooms, and you will be escorted out. No refunds.”
Something taps over my head. When I strain my eyes, I can see the sign she’s taping over the bed. “Free for the taking. Please leave as found: clean, bound, and gagged. Do not remove blindfold.”
I don’t have to strain to see the nightstand. She’s laid out all the necessities to abide by her rules. Package of baby-wipes. Tube of lube. Sack of condoms.
Jude crouches by the bed in my line of vision to look into my face. She has the gauze and duct-tape in her hand. “You’re sure about this?”
“Yeah.”
“You have no safety.”
What’s she doing? Trying to tease me?
After watching her pitch, I approached her. Nervous. Shy. Wishing for someone else to tell the world what I wanted. I sat across from her in her office, which was cramped with napkins and legal binders. Crates of booze and limes were stacked neatly on a steel-shelf beside an open filing cabinet. She closed it when she sat down to protect her employee records. Not a place designed for soul barring conservations.
But you can’t be particular about the details when you meet the person who can grant all your deepest desires.
She sat silently, saying nothing while I detailed the full fantasy. It was agony. Even after I finished, she remained stoic and cold.
Just because someone can grant all your deepest desires doesn’t mean they will.
“You want something to drink? Water or cranberry juice or—”
“I don’t drink.” It was weird to tell a bar owner, and I only realize after I’ve started that she hasn’t offered alcohol. “I come to see the dancers and the S&M show. You’re very good, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” She lit a cigarette, a real one.
She deliberated as she smoked then mused. “I limit myself to three of the real ones a day. Morning. Dinner. And one just in case, I get something like that.”
I blushed to my ears, humiliated— and not in the right way. The wrongness twisted up in my gut. I regretted coming here, trying to ask, because now I’d ruined this bar for myself. I’d be ashamed to return after suffering rejection like that.
I stood, putting on a peacoat probably worth more than anything else in her office. “Thank you for—”
“Sit down.”
I froze at her command. Totally different voice. Deeper. No trace of that little smile in her eyes. That was the voice that she used when she had a whip in her hand, and no one could disobey.
Certainly not me.
“Lift your head.”
I crane my neck to lift my head high, and she combs my hair with her fingers. I keep it short and professional, but for this occasion, I’ve let it grow enough for her to grip it. She tugs it now, and I see the sign again. “Free for the taking. Please leave as found…”
“Close your eyes, boss.”
She wraps the gauze around my head, covering my eyes in the thin cotton. Once, twice, three times. Tucks the ends in a tiny knot at the side of my head.
The duct-tape cracks as she pulls a length of it free. She wraps the duct-tape only once, carefully applying it to conceal the gauze. The sticky tape touches the bridge of my nose, a bit of my forehead, too much of my cheek. She rustles my hair as much as she can to cover the duct-tape.
A moment later, she touches my mouth.
“Last chance.”
“Thank you, Jude.”
A bag rustles, and something soft and plastic touches my lips.
“Wait!”
She snaps the gag back. She thinks I’m reconsidering the safe word. That I’m second-guessing my desires.
But… I don’t think I could handle it if this anticipation was let down. “What if they don’t come? I mean… to the room?”
Jude outright laughs. She has no right to laugh at my fears. Not when she can turn on that voice and demand obedience. She runs her hand over my ass. The possessive strength of her fingers thrills me. “Trust me. They’ll come.”
She puts the gag in my mouth. A ball gags with a little dildo. I appreciate these little details as she tightens it around my mouth.
Jude snaps open the bottle of lube… I think. I wait for her to be the first to violate me. I’ve seen her briefcase. I know she has the tools.
She walks away.
I don’t hear a door close, and it makes me shiver again. Anyone walking by can see me.
I trust her. They will come. Take what was free. Leave it clean, bound, and gagged.
2.
When the first comes, I’m not sure he’s actually here. I thought I heard the creak of the door, but Jude left it open. Maybe someone is looking in, leaning on the door frame. Hesitantly studying the room, the bed, the man posed there for his pleasure. It must feel like a trap.
In my self-imposed darkness, I’ve hallucinated footsteps before. I’m determined not to believe them until—
The door shuts.
That little clop and click shakes me to my core. I wait. Bound, gagged, and blindfolded, I can’t do much else besides wait. Wait for him to take advantage of a man bound and abandoned. Wait for him to fuck me raw. Wait for him to take and leave.
Instead, he savors the gift. His gloved hands set fire to my skin when he touches my bare ass, leather-bound fingers grate around my exposed hole. He strokes the knots, noting the care that has gone into the wrapping. Runs his fingers over the duct tape as if admiring the bow and checking for the recipient’s name. Finding no gift tag, he presses his hands over my bowed back and massages. I moan into the gag at the strength of his touch, the power of a firm groping hand.
A kiss on my cheek below the gag surprises me. The tongue on my neck makes me whimper. He’s so smooth and soft against my back as if he’d just shaved. His hungry mouth explores my sides as if he needs his teeth and lips to understand my body’s position. Sweet tickling torture when he nibbles my ass, licks between my spread thighs.
The lube is cold when he pours it onto my back. Warm by the time it drips into my ass. He massages me wide, so generous, so careful, so damned hot. He’s brought toys, but I only realize it when the “finger” in my ass begins to vibrate.