* * * * * * * * * *
Unwrapped
Sir ceased teasing my ass and ran the flat of his palm up my spine. The touch both soothed and aroused me and I quivered under his control. We both knew I would do anything… be everything… he required. I had no choice in the matter. The Club took every possible precaution, and Master Stewart expected to find me unharmed when he returned, but there was no guarantee. I was cuffed and blind, completely at Sir’s mercy.
“You’re not wearing a collar,” Sir observed. His
hand now rested lightly on my nape, caressing my hair. The only collar around
my neck was the red ribbon. “Why not?”
He was testing me. Everyone at the Club knew Master
Stewart already had a submissive—and partner—he loved. Stewart had trained me, and
I was submissive to him and called him Master, but he was not my Master and he had laid down two firm restrictions:
I would not wear his collar and he would not have anal sex with me. No wonder I
was so damn ready to be fucked.
“Respect, Sir,” I answered. “A collar isn’t a
fashion accessory. It’s a badge of honor. A master’s gesture, not a slave’s
ambition.”
“That sounds like Stewart. Now tell me what you
think.”
I tried to keep disappointment out of my voice. “I
haven’t earned one yet.”
“Better.”
Master Stewart had worked to correct flaws that made me desperate in the past. Fear of rejection. A deep belief in my own
unworthiness. Part of why I so longed to take part in the Club's Holiday Auction was that
gifts were wanted.
Sir took hold of the knob between my cheeks again
and this time he meant business, gently working the plug out of my ass. I
couldn’t help a grunt of discomfort as the bulge passed my opening, my anus releasing
it while the rest of me wanted to hold it in. Master Stewart had been generous
with the lube when inserting it and some of that leaked out now. Uncomfortable
as the plug had been, I missed feeling filled, occupied. Though Sir had said he
would not fuck me right away, I desperately hoped he would still do so.
“Stand up.” Sir put a hand under my right elbow and
helped me stand once I had lifted my torso. I was facing the tree and flashes
of multi-colored lights wrapped me in a hazy cocoon.
Sir stood at my back. He wrapped his left arm around
my waist and pulled my body firmly against his. The backs of my legs rubbed
leather and Sir’s erection pressed into my buttocks. My bound hands crushed
against a body just a tiny bit soft, but with muscle underneath. I gasped and tilted
my head to one side when I felt Sir’s mouth hot upon the junction of my neck
and shoulder. God, that felt good! He sucked on my skin, tasting it. Pleasure
rippled straight to my cock.
His erection pushed deeper into the crack of my ass,
so damn near my hole I pushed back. He gave a soft chuckle and his right hand
dropped down to grip my hard cock. The cock restraint had helped keep me erect
at the party, but the fiberglass candy cane ring was no longer needed. I was so
excited by the prospect of serving as a master’s toy I would have been hard
just standing in Sir’s presence. What was he going to make me do to earn a
fuck?
“Now this
is a pretty present.” His fingers swept the wet, dripping head of my cock while
his tongue massaged the one perfect spot on my neck that made me whimper. My
legs went so weak they nearly buckled, and I welcomed his arm tightening just
under my ribs.
He was tall, taller than I was, and solid. There was
nothing tentative or delicate about the way he took control. He stroked my
aching cock as leisurely as a man might pet his cat, coaxing more drops and
spreading them over the already slick glans. My cock was cut and thick and he
noted this by running his fingers with deliberate exploration around the
flaring ridge where the head met the shaft. He did this until I was ready to
explode—even though I couldn’t. Feeling his erection pressing thick and hot
against my empty, begging ass was pure torture. And it was just starting.
It was only after I heard my own moans and whispered
“Oh, God,” that Sir released my cock and pulled me by my cuffed hands away from
the tree.
“You’re mine for the night, and I have some very
special plans for you.”
He yanked me around and into his arms, then, against
his chest. God, how I wished I could see him. But all my open eyes showed me was a
shadow framed against the lights of the tree. His hand wound in my hair and
pulled my head back even more.
“What is your safe word, toy?”
“Mississippi.”
“You’re blushing. I take it there’s a story behind that
word?” Amusement warmed his voice. His cock pushed against mine, its tip
touching my belly with a smear of wetness. Had he not held me upright, my knees
would have given way.
“I had a bad experience while driving through the
state once, and I don’t want to go there again.”
His laugh surprised me, a deep baritone rumble—but
it wasn’t mocking. I thought he liked my answer. He released my hair. “That
being the case, if you say Mississippi neither of us will go there.”
Reaching around my body, he unsnapped the cuffs and
pulled my arms from behind my back. Then he removed the cuffs. My heart
dropped. I had liked bondage enough to star it. I had even checked off all the
sub-categories. But if Sir was not into that…
“I want to you listen carefully. I chose you for
some very specific reasons. You don’t need to know them all. But one is that I
have a specialty—a fetish, if you will—and I am going to do some things to you
that you may not fully appreciate until I have completed my preparations. It
will involve strong red rope, secure knots, and suspension.” So what Sir wanted
would include bondage after all. Extreme bondage. I breathed faster and nodded.
His voice softened. “None of this will harm you. I am expert at what I do.”
Again I nodded, indicating consent. Sir had not
asked me a question or said I should speak. And I had agreed to this beforehand,
when I had checked off suspension as Nice. My only experience was having seen a
few demonstrations at the Club. All of those had involved leather harnesses and
big metal frames. Of course, I couldn’t bring even the Christmas tree into
focus. For all I knew, there was a metal frame right behind me.
Sir’s expertise became clear as soon as he began
tying his rope. By the pressure on my skin, I could tell the rope was thick and
had a nice flat weave and smooth finish. Sir had said it was red and I could
envision the scarlet strands against my fair skin. He wrapped the rope
securely—neither too loosely nor too tightly—three or four times around my hip
bones, and then another three or four times right below my buttocks to create a
kind of sling. He also worked it around my chest, creating wide bands which he
knotted into a harness that would support my upper back and torso. After that,
he wound rope around my upper thighs one by one, then my ankles and, lastly, my
wrists.
It took him a few minutes. Not that I counted. As a
matter of fact, I lost myself within a swirl of new sensations, of rope pulling
snug and fingers sliding under, against my skin, to create knots. What helped
me relax were Sir’s movements. Every pass of the rope and tug on a knot felt
crisp, experienced, telling me he was in command of his craft.
The shivers traveling up my spine were not of fear
at all, but of pleasure. I loved how the rope informed my body of Sir’s
intentions. It was Sir’s will that I be rendered helpless, become a
plaything of pretty red rope and hard, aroused male flesh. His Christmas toy.
“Very nice,” he said. I hadn’t realized he had
stopped working with the rope and stepped away. “Now lie on the floor, on your back.”
He helped me, and I gingerly lowered my upper body. He
took a moment to fashion something like stirrups for my feet. His shadow fell
across me again and that’s when I heard a mechanical hum. I must have
stiffened, because Sir placed his palm on my belly and pressed down slightly.
The touch calmed me. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him. Sir knew what he
was doing. I trusted him, and in emotional terms I was nowhere near Mississippi.
Just thinking that made me smile.
“I’m attaching the harness and lines to a hoist.
It’s safer than trusting me to haul you up. I had this room constructed to my
specifications. The overhead beams could hold a semi-truck, and this equipment
could lift a football team with ease.” He was done within another minute and
again he stepped away. I saw his shadow rise.
The mechanical sound returned. Sir stood at my side,
somehow controlling the rate of my ascension, checking the ropes, making
adjustments—I couldn’t exactly tell and my mind was too swamped to sort out
anything except the sensations of the ropes lifting my ass and torso from the
ground, gravity pulling my head backward as my arms and legs dangled. Only rope
supported my weight. If I resembled anything, it was some kind of puppet. My body hung upon strings, completely at Sir’s
mercy. My safety depended on the ropes he had tied and the accuracy of his
calculations. If he had tied them poorly, or
miscalculated, I could fall.
I hoped Sir would be careful with me. I didn’t say
it, wouldn’t dare. But I thought this was what it must feel like to be caught
in a predator’s well-laid trap. Even if I tried to escape, it was too late.
I was truly Sir’s toy now, an ornament upon his very special tree.
“You should see yourself, the way you look. Such a beautiful present.” Sir caressed me, his hand skimming my skin, admiring
either his handiwork or me. More likely it was the combination of the two. From
time to time his touch would linger on an expanse of skin, or test a knot. As I
lay on my back, supported by strands of rope and with only air beneath me, he
took position between my legs. I could not tell if it was because of the ropes,
or my innate submissiveness—or simply gravity—but my thighs had fallen open in
a kind of invitation.
I gasped when he took hold of my balls and cradled
them. He flicked open the catch on the fiberglass ring, freeing my
genitals from their candy-cane striped prison. My cock flooded with pain but remained
engorged and stiff as it filled his hand. I groaned as Sir tightened his grip and began to stroke.
No… oh, no… I was too hard! I was going to come.
“Sir!” I warned. Or begged. It was a little of both.
All I knew for certain was I could do nothing to stop my orgasm.
“It’s what I want, little toy. Give yourself to me.
Do it now.”
My pre-come welled so copiously, Sir’s hand was
slick with it. Blind and bound, I tried to buck and couldn’t even manage that
very well. All I succeeded at doing was cause my body to sway a little. The
one anchored thing in my world was this man with my cock in his hand,
celebrating his power over me. He fisted me with a powerful down stroke and I
was done. On the upstroke I howled like a rock star and my cock erupted in his
fist. I continued to come in spurts, and then dribbles, as Sir gently milked me
dry.
“Well, I would say you are officially my Christmas
gift… and I just popped the cork on a nice bottle of champagne.” He did
something with the ropes and my torso tilted so my pelvis and thighs were
higher than my head. Sir released my wrists and eased my arms down, then I felt
him loop my wrists to my ankles. My fingers and thumbs brushed my calves. Bent
over backward like that, suspended in mid-air, I had to look like a fallen angel.
My head dropped and my spine arched, presenting my chest. Sir removed the gumdrop
nipple jewelry.
“I’m going to be giving you some new ornaments,” Sir
said. “I believe you would welcome new decorations.”
“Yes, Sir. Please.”
My head was at the level of his groin now and Sir’s
erection was hot and rigid against my cheek. It was all I could do to resist
mouthing it. He had not given me permission. I yearned for him anyway. His cock
felt thick and long, and he smelled of male arousal and leather, the most
arousing scents in the world. I saw a lot of black silhouetted against the tree
light and figured the black to be leather. Leather with an open crotch, which
meant he would want attention to his cock.
My mouth watered at the thought of
sucking him.
Sir rolled my nipples between his fingers and I
wanted to push my chest toward him, but the ropes continued to thwart me. Moving
in any meaningful way was impossible. I could do nothing to achieve my own ends.
I really was his puppet.
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
(Continue to the next part...)
photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jessibot/354794417/">jessibot</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/">cc</a>
UNWRAPPED © 2012 by Tali Spencer. No reproduction
without permission.
Whew.. -wipes sweat off forehead- more more more more! haha. I can't wait!! lol
ReplyDeleteThanks. :) I couldn't wait, either, so I kept writing!
DeleteHot damn! Can't wait for the next installment!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Bailey. :)
DeleteI like Sir. He seems caring and careful.
ReplyDeleteOh, that's great to hear. :) I'm never sure how a character comes across to readers until someone says how they see him. I also think he's caring. Caring and competent.
DeleteOh sweet Jesus. He's Sir's puppet and we're yours!
ReplyDeletePart of me wishes Carson could see him, but the fact that he can't only adds to his delicious feeling of helplessness. I only hope the poor boy doesn't get a headache from his head hanging upside down! (I focus on the weirdest details, I know.)
Thanks for the early Christmas gift, Tali.
My pleasure. :D And I can promise Sir will make sure Carson doesn't suffer any serious side effects. I fret about details, too. :)
DeleteGreat story, I can't wait for tomorrow!
ReplyDeleteThanks! :)
DeleteWow. Just... waow.
ReplyDeleteAw, thanks, Thea. :)
Delete