tagNonConsent/ReluctanceA Binding Instinct

A Binding Instinct

byBrandii©

Randall looked out of his sixth-story office window to the street below and yawned. He glanced down at his watch. It was four-thirty pm: thirty more minutes and it would be time to knock off.

It had been a long day and being Friday, he was looking forward to a weekend of fishing and camping at Pine Lake.

His knapsack and camping gear were already packed and stored in the back of his RV.

Once five o'clock came, you would not see him for dust.

He went back to his desk and picked up his Shaffer pen to sign off the last of the documents, which had remained piled high on his desk all week.

God he hated paperwork.

His secretary, Cheryl, came into the room to tell him his 4:30 appointment had just rung to cancel his appointment stating some insipid excuse.

He sighed and impatiently threw his pen across his desk.

"Damn!" he thought irritably," If the inconsiderate mongrel had rung earlier he could have been already on his way to the lake instead of sitting around there waiting for him."

He glanced up at his assistant and smiled at her disarmingly.

This was not her fault.

His assistant was a pretty, little thing with long, black hair and big blue eyes. She painted her lashes up with thick, black mascara making her eyes appear wider and brighter. Her application stated that she was nineteen years old. Her analytical and deciphering abilities had shown him that she was as smart as a whip and an asset for any firm to have on staff. He was glad that she had chosen his firm. He had mentally taken note on more than one occasion that she had a body to die for with a trim waist and large molded breasts, which she always covered modestly and her legs, he surmised were long and rather shapely.

Today she had worn a light grey, three-quarter length tweed skirt and a white blouse buttoned up to the collar. A golden talisman on a long chain hung from her neck.

She behaved in such a prim and proper way around him, that it only made his desire for her more acute.

He wanted to bury his cock balls-deep inside of her. He was curious to know how easily she would come apart if he fucked her a dozen different ways using all of his bodily resources at once. Fantasy enveloped him for a minute as he envisaged her lying prone on his large, teak desk: her large tits exposed to his view and his eager, groping hands... her long legs wrapped around his waist as he fucked her hard and deep, amid a rainstorm of paper.

"Will that be all Mister Austin?"

Randall was unceremoniously jolted back to reality by the timid voice of his assistant.

He raised his head and looked up at her.

"Yes, thank you Cheryl," he replied, wishing like hell he could translate the words in his head into an oral vocabulary he could use and not get into serious trouble over.

"Damn that sexual harassment act!" he thought gruffly.

"You can finish early today... I'm leaving now," he stated matter-of-factly.

Cheryl watched as he employer exited the office and smiled an almost unnoticeable secret smile.

Randall did not bother to wait for his assistant to answer him.

He grabbed the keys to the RV and headed out the door.

The traffic was flowing well for a Friday afternoon.

Most people were heading home in the opposite direction, meaning Randall could now drive at a constant speed without having to constantly slow down to accommodate annoying female motorists who drove their vehicle with one foot on the break or motorists, who drove slower, unsure of the correct placement of their departure ramp.

He switched the land cruiser's mode to cruise control and relaxed back into his seat.

Randall inserted his favorite CD into his CD player and began to re-fantasize about his secretary. He imagines her sexily sauntering into his office in a different outfit: A low cut, extremely short black dress and wearing black lace-up stiletto heels on those suspected long shapely legs. He imagines her coming over to his side of the desk raising one long leg and placing it over his legs to straddle him, and then pushing her self up backwards, she raises herself onto his desk with her arms and bodyweight and sits facing him with her legs wide open. He imagines seeing her raise the hem of her dress until he views the naked junction of her thighs and her hot wet pussy, which begs, for his fingers and his cock. He imagines her slowly pulling the dress over her head and...

B-E-E-P!

"Fuck!"

He snaps out of his fantasy at the high-pitched sound.

A driver of an approaching automobile has just told him rather rudely that he is now driving on the wrong side of the road.

He swerves quickly back onto his side of the freeway in time to avoid an accident. The male driver of the other vehicle slows down, gives Randall 'the finger', and mouths something as they pass each other.

Randall, at this stage decides to stop his mental misuse of his delectable assistant and to concentrate on driving the car.

He drives for a further 175 minutes listening to the upbeat rock tunes of the early nineties. He finally arrives at the camping ground at Pine Lake about 7:45 that evening.

The atmosphere of his new surrounding environment is lively and abuzz with activity.

There are about three dozen RV's of varying shapes and sizes parked in the oversized gravel car park and their occupants are scurrying around carrying large bundles of different sized objects to and from their vehicles.

The sun is now setting behind the darkening green, grassy escarpment situated just to the west of him and through his slightly ajar door; he feels the cool breeze blow against him liberating him from some of the summer heat.

Randall, as a rule jealously guarded his privacy and solitude with a passion and not being a particularly social type of personality, he did not care to mix with the other campers at all.

He opened up the driver's side door fully and jumped down, his feet landing on hard, dry, grey gravel.

He went around to the back of the land rover and tugged opened up the back and got out his gear. Randall put the rope over his left shoulder first then grabbed his large, slightly heavy, duffle bag, and his dark green, one man tent and slung them over his other shoulder, then grabbed his fishing rod. He closed the RV's back doors with his spare hand and then locked everything up with his remote controlled key lock.

He trudged his way through the popular tourist campsite and into the surrounding scrubland walking adjacent to the lake as he ventured further afar seeking the serenity of complete isolation.

He had a particular spot he liked to stay at and the walk, although about twenty minutes by foot away from any sign of civilization was pleasant enough and at thirty-two years of age, he was still a relatively fit person.

He could hear the nocturnal animals awakening around him as he walked further into the serenity of the bush land.

Earlier in the day, he had heard forecast of a hot but clear moonlit night over this region and just to the east he could see the curvy, bright shape of the full moon appearing over the lake.

He had known Mother Nature to be a malevolent and extirpative bitch at times but just like any woman, she could turn on a dime and present you with an array of visual beauty and serenity, which astounded you.

Randall finally reached the spot he had been walking towards and offloaded all of his burdens onto the ground.

With his hands on his hips, he slowly turned 360 degrees carefully surveying the area. Sensing no apparent danger, he discharged a long breathy sigh.

He was here...at last.

In no time at all Randall had unpacked his bags, erected his tent, and changed out of his working clothes into an old pair of jeans and polo shirt. He knew the lake would be teeming with edible fish and not having eaten since midday he was now quite hungry.

He grabbed his rod and headed for the lake's shoreline.

He only made it to the waters edge, not even having time to cast out his line before unconsciousness overtook him.

The first thing Randall noticed as he slowly drifted back into consciousness was an uncomfortable ache in his arms, especially his upper arms. Still semi-conscious, in a state of confusion and with a splitting headache his instincts took over and subconsciously he tried to lower his arms. They remained stationary.

He began to realize that something was keeping him restrained and he was lying horizontal on something long, narrow, and flat.

He shivered.

The cold night air attached itself to his flesh causing his top layer of skin to goose-pimple.

He quickly came to the added conclusion that someone has tied him to this apparatus...completely naked.

The blindfold covering his eyes only served to heighten all of his other senses.

He heard the sound of what could only be shoes walking towards him on very dry, dead leaves. The sound stopped somewhere in his vicinity...somewhere very close.

Randall felt his entire body react instantaneously: first to the auditory sensation of the footsteps approaching him and then the unmistakable absence of them.

He began to suffer high-level anxiety amid intense confusion and he was overtaken by both fear for his well-being and anger at being made to feel so helpless.

Helplessness was not a commodity that sat well with Randall. He considered it a weakness and it was something of which he was not particularly tolerant.

He turned his anger towards the source of his distress.

Who are you...and... What the fuck do you...? He began to demand.

He felt soft material slowly stuffed into his mouth stopping all further comment.

A very warm, soft, tingling sensation started to work its way up over his upper thigh, over his balls and the entire length of his cock.

His muscular frame arched in immediate response to the stimuli.

He felt a wet, rough, warm, flexible object encircle his right nipple.

His next thought was, 'fuck, I hope you're female..."

He tried vainly once more to get free, pulling hard on the binds holding his arms in place.

He felt a hand gently hold his fist fleetingly and then he felt a set of fingers slide slowly down the sinews of his arm.

He felt those same fingers slide their way further down his body touching the hair of his armpits then over his rapidly laboring chest, over each nipple purposely teasing to exact a response.

He could feel that the intimate exploration of his body by hands unknown and it was really getting to him. God! He was a red-blooded male... something like this would get to any man.

Suddenly he felt water pour onto his body: first on his toes, his calves, and up further to his knees. He felt the warm water re-splash down on him targeting his hardest areas and he groaned. It trailed up over his chest to stop at his neck. Then he felt a hand literally slide its way up and all over his body. He recognized the sensation. Someone was actually washing him with his or her bare hand. He smelt the soap waft up into his nostrils and he felt the slide of fingers on his skin, the pressure of a palm against his most sensitive areas.

A hand with what he assumed were long nails scraped the entire length of his erection from base to tip.

He felt a slight weight upon his lower abdomen and the feel of cold metal drag across his lower body.

Randall sucked in his breath and cursed loudly when he felt two quick consecutive movements: his cock firmly manhandled in a tight grip and a pair of lips close over its tip.

He felt the rubbery pressure of what he could only assume was a tongue sweep in tiny, short strokes across the top and into the slit.

He was sure he was about to come.

He wanted so badly to get loose so he could either kick the living hell out of some male or alternatively, fuck the hell out of who over the chick was.

Either was deemed a definite possibility at this period in time.

His sense of smell had kicked in and he began to take note of the aromas around him. He could smell perfume... expensive... French and he could also smell a faint musty odor waft by every now and then. The perfume smell was familiar; however, he could not place where he had smelt it before.

The hand with the nails settled on his leg once more and as the mouth at his cock continued to suck hard, the nailed hand began a rhythmic stroke of its own along the inside of his leg and up to his balls.

It was driving him over the edge and he felt himself involuntarily buck several times and cum in the tight, vacuum-suctioning mouth, which held his dick.

Randall was aware of the moment when the mouth, which held him, withdrew.

His dick was left flaccid and wet.

Randall waited for the next installment, however he felt and heard nothing more, save the nocturnal mammals, which were out in force.

He lay quietly for a few moments, and then decided to tug his arms again.

The binds loosened.

He aggressively ripped the blindfold off and took the material out of his mouth.

He untied his feet and immediately jumped up going in search of whoever had been there a few moments previously, but found no one.

He returned to look at the binds, which had held him in place. They had been cut through enough to give him an equal chance of escaping.

He was angry. He was bewildered. He was also completely sated.

He decided to give the weekend a miss, packed up his stuff and returned to his RV. It was a long, thoughtful, drive home.

Monday morning arrived and he found himself back in his office.

His personal assistant came in to tell him his next appointment had arrived.

"So, how was your weekend," she asked.

"Don't ask!" he replied, his tone telling her to drop the conversation.

Cheryl played silently with her long neck chain and turned the golden talisman with her fingers. She exited, but not before looking back and smiling her secret smile.

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byBrandii© 5 comments/ 50910 views/ 2 favorites

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