Bound

NOTE: This story does not reflect the author's views. The author does not claim to endorse, encourage, or practice the actions or attitudes depicted in this story. Look, it's totally fine to masturbate to fantasies. It is VERY MUCH NOT OK to actually do anything in real life. In real life, people have personalities, pasts and futures, mothers and fathers and families who love them. Actually doing anything you fantasize about is likely to get you jail time, castration, or worse. Much worse. Keep fantasy fantastical and always, ALWAYS get consent. Now you know. And of course everyone in this story is at least 18. That should go without saying. If you the reader are NOT well over 18, stop reading this! You might instead raid your parents' porn stash. I guarantee it exists. Anyway. Enjoy.

I didn't want this. Who would want this? But it was happening.

The room is dimly lit. My head is on a slight incline - like a pillow but harder - so I can look down at my body and consider myself. I can see my breasts jutting up under my shirt and over my flat stomach. My hands are bound by soft cloth ties and stretched out. My legs are similarly bound and stretched out. I have a good amount of give in the bonds holding my legs but not enough to roll over or bring my legs back together fully. I am wearing my favorite skirt/blouse combo, the one that shows my figure but is otherwise quite conservative. It goes down to my ankles but now it's spread out on the bed I'm lying on. My favorite strappy sandals are gone. Under my clothes I am wearing my standard a thong and an everyday bra. Coincidentally, I shaved yesterday. I had a date with Frank tonight and I had decided this would be the night I'd lose my virginity. I'd even shaved my "area" to make it sexy for him.

I don't remember everything that happened but I do remember leaving my house for for my crappy job as a "research assistant" (ha, glorified printer jockey) for a small law firm. (It was the best first job I could get with my "fun" cross-disciplinary major (mythology and bioethics) but I had high hopes for my "next" job, whatever that would be.) I turned right as I left my house and walked past the small copse of trees in the vacant lot towards the subway station a few blocks away -- a normal Friday. Next thing I remembered I was in this bed, with my hands and feet pulled and stretched to the four corners. I felt a stinging pain in my mid-thigh and I was able to focus on the area, drowsily lifting my head to see. I saw a syringe leaving my leg, held by a blurry figure. The sting faded quickly but before I was fully roused, the figure left and I was alone for some time.

I drowsed for a while but eventually my consciousness returned fully. I realize that my leg hurts. Not because of the straps. It hurts like I was in the middle of getting a blood test. Why did it still hurt so much? Did they take my blood? Why would do that? No, it makes no sense. Something must have been injected into me. I'd never taken hard drugs, was I high?

I take stock of my senses. I don't feel high. I feel...EVERYTHING. I feel the exact location of the shot. I feel my bra strap. I feel the straps on my wrists and ankles and I can feel that they are made of a stretchy fabric. I feel the snaps down the side of my skirt. I feel the way my glasses sit on my face. I feel every hair on my head. It's wild. But it's also terrifying - what will I feel when they do whatever they are going to do to me? Is this a kidnapping? But then why the drug? Is it some kind of torture? Should I be scared for my life or my money or... maybe I should be scared for my virginity.

And now that's the only thing on my mind. Who'll be fucking me and when will it start? I am pretty sure at this point that I won't be a virgin by the end of the night, if I even survive it at all.

I love my trim midriff. But I'm ovulating - that's why I was horny enough to finally take the plunge with my friend Frank. That's why I had selected my one friend whom I was sure would use a condom. I don't want to have a baby. But can I stop it?

I lose my mind. I start screaming, begging to be released. I scream and yell and holler and all the versions of yelling. My rational thoughts watch me, telling me to relax, that there's nothing to do, but it takes a long time to convince myself that the room must be soundproof or I must be somewhere where there is nobody to hear me. I don't know how long this goes on, maybe 20 minutes? I trail off because I can't do it anymore, I have screamed myself hoarse. Now I can only whisper.

The room is quiet. I am tense and scared. My stomach hurts. I don't know if I'm going to die or I'm going to be fucked and then killed or what. I don't feel like I'm in one of the rape scenes from the stories I've read.

The door opens. A man walks in. He is about my age - early twenties. I don't recognize him from school...but he does look familiar, like I've seen him somewhere before. His shirt has no sleeves. He must have been wearing a long-sleeved shirt when I saw him because I might would have remembered those basic arm tattoos. His body and head are shaved bald. He's vaguely handsome, in a classical kind of way. I notice his nice nose. His eyes are lined with something...a mix of amusement and arousal? He says nothing.

"Let me go!" I try to yell. It comes out as a croak.

Maybe the croak is good news. It's more than I'd been able to manage just a few minutes ago. If I can scream, then maybe they won't hurt me. If I scream, then maybe I'll live. Maybe I'll get away. I scream. Nothing emerges from my pained throat. I try again and again. I realize if I talk low I can make noise, but I can not yell or scream.

The man removes his pants. He was wearing no underwear. Now I know exactly what's coming. He's the kind of man who definitely means to fuck me without protection. I am terrified but still hopeful. Surely there is a way to stop this. Surely there is a way to prevent pregnancy. I writhe on the bed, trying again to dislodge my bindings, again without success. The ties don't hurt at all but I feel the persistent tugging from them. The fabric they're made from has some give to it but I can't pull hard enough with any limb to move more than a few inches.

He steps closer to the bed, removing his shirt as well. Now he is naked, his chiseled body a few feet from my eyes. I see the hair on his unshaven testicles, the only part of him that is unshaved. But most of all I cannot stop looking at his penis. It's long - longer than I think is normal. It droops. He isn't aroused. But my gaze brings it to life, and it lifts up, up, up, at least 7 inches. Maybe more, my perspective is not great. I've never seen a penis in the light before -- my previous fumblings had been in the dark - and I never thought I'd actually see one this size. My mouth is dry and I hold back a sob. But I'm also having feelings that I usually only get when I fantasize. I want to rub my thighs together but can't. I want to touch myself but I am bound. How can I be having these feelings from someone I just met, someone who has ultimate power over me? Sometimes I hate my hormones.

He touches my face. I feel every ridge in his fingerprint. What is this drug?? I feel a callous on his thumb. It's so much information, flooding into me. I almost cry. It's so overwhelming.

He opens the drawer of the nearby bedside table and pulls out a knife. It looks sharp. He doesn't look angry; perhaps he will release me! I plead with him with my eyes. Instead he slowly moves the knife to my chest. Does he plan to kill me after all? No, uses it to cut my blouse, putting it into the neck hole and cutting straight down, through the material, between my breasts, the sharp edge pointing away from my chest. I feel the vibration of the knife as it cuts. When he gets to the bottom of the blouse he slowly pulls it away from my body. I feel every crinkle in the fabric.

I shake my head violently, disturbing his slow movements. I feel my long hair whip from side to side. He looks up into my eyes and shakes his head, putting his finger to his mouth to quiet me. "I won't hurt you," he says softly. "I only want what you need."

My eyes widen. Could he know I am aroused? Is the smell that obvious? "I don't need anything from you," I whisper/wheeze. Talking still hurts. My hormones tell me that I'm totally lying. I do need something from him.

His knife isn't idle. He moves it to my skirt and then notices the snaps. He grins and puts the knife down on a bedside table before slowly, so slowly, pulling the snaps apart. As he does, he caresses my stomach, my side, then my leg. The undressing is so slow. My heart pounds loudly in my ears. I can hear it vibrate in my throat. I can almost see my chest move as it beats. This feels extra real, as if everything were in some heretofore unknown super massive high definition. The feel of the snaps coming undone explodes through my body, targeting my clitoris.

When he gets to the bottom, he carefully folds back my skirt, then effortlessly lifts me with one strong arm to slide the back of the skirt out from under me. I feel the hairs on his arm as he holds me. I feel his fingertips as they press into my abdomen. His bicep presses into my side and I can feel how hard it is. When he gently returns me to the bed, it is cool under my legs and underwear-clad butt. The exact location of each spring in the mattress makes an imprint on my brain.

He picks up to the knife and moves it to my bra. Goosebumps rise all over my torso as he lightly cuts the straps and then unhooks the bra in the back, removing it slowly from my body. My breasts are a bit more than a B cup, and they sit proudly on my chest, pointing straight at the sky. My areolae immediately pucker and my nipples harden in the cool air. He gently strokes my left breast once and his thumb circles my nipple for just a moment. I gasp. I felt that through my whole torso. He isn't done; he moves down to my thong, considers the knife, and shakes his head. Hope rises again - maybe he will stop before he goes too far?

He doesn't. Instead he puts down the knife again and carefully grabs the sides of my thong with each hand. With minimal effort, he pulls. The fabric in the front presses harder and harder against my labia and clitoris. It's excruciating - I feel every stitch in the material. The string between my butt cheeks rubs against my anus and sends another chill through me. It presses harder, it almost hurts. It gets worse, it hurts. I cry out, hoarsely, and suddenly the pressure releases as the material tears.

"Oh god." I cry softly. I can't believe this is happening. I am naked. Completely naked.

He runs his hand over my smooth vagina and then looks up at me, holding his fingers out for me to see. They are slick with my excitement, as I knew they would be. "You need this. Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you."

Then, he kneels on the floor next to the bed and leans in, licking me just once. The experience is so intense that I can't hold back. The pleasure is overwhelming. More than I've ever felt while masturbating.

"Stop, please stop, please..." I beg quickly, but it is too late. I'm already writhing as an orgasm overtakes my body. By no means my first orgasm, nor my first with another person, nor my first from a man, or even my first from a tongue. But it's the most intense, and I feel the effects of the drug. Every part of my body seems to cum - my head, my heart, my toes, and, of course, my vagina. I can't hold back. I cry out, soundlessly, screaming my release. My eyes roll back into my head and I see nothing but whiteness for a minute. It goes on so long that my lungs force me to stop and take a breath. It's not over, I'm more aroused than I have ever been.

When I look back down, the man is smiling at me. He hasn't moved from his position over my slit. He bends down and I feel his tongue again, dancing around my clit, touching it and then delving into me and then back to the sides and up and around and it's so much, so much, so good, I can't believe this is happening, I am shaking and my toes curl and I nearly come again and then he stops.

As I breath hard, he stands up and is slowly stroking his hard dick. His hand barely fits around the girth. The head is wet with pre-cum.

"No. Stop," I whisper, but it's useless. My body needs him and he knows it.

He climbs on the bed, straddling me. I feel his leg hairs on my hips, his thighs around them, his scrotum on my slit, dipping into my moisture. He leans down and kisses me. His tongue fills my mouth. His cock rubs against my stomach. I feel the hardness and simultaneous softness of his giant member. It pushes into my abdomen, and I feel my stomach deform around it. He smells like beer and a hint of vanilla ice cream.

He leans back, sitting on his heels. He looks down at me and smiles. His hands go to his cock and he slowly strokes it, making it more erect and, at the same time, rubbing his hairy scrotum over my clit. I feel every hair, every bump. I feel each of his testicles. The rubbing is driving me wild. I know another orgasm is coming. I have never been multi-orgasmic. Maybe it's the drug. The feeling is overwhelming. My breathing gets fast, then faster, and my head falls back.

"That's it. Cum for me."

I do, helpless against the sensation. I cum with his balls on my clit and his hand around his shaft pushing the head of his cock into my stomach.

I am exhausted. I've cum twice in three minutes. I know he's not done and I don't know if I am going to survive this.

"It's not over," he says, and then he leans forward and then back. He leans to the right and tightens the bonds on that leg, then to the left and does the same with my left one, forcing them open until it's almost uncomfortable and making my labia separate just a little. I feel the stretch and glop as my hole opens for him. He sits on his knees with his feet under his butt. His penis is hovering over my slit. He leans over a little, bends his cock down, and plugs it into me. For now, just the tip.

It feels huge. He stretches me. Not in the way the toys in my nightstand do, nor the way the finger of my freshman and sophomore boyfriends had. Those toys were designed for small pleasure. This man's cock is designed to make me explode. And it is doing a good job. My mouth opens wide in shock as the pleasure washes over me again.

He stops. He doesn't move an inch, not a millimeter. His thigh muscles look like steel bars. A minute passes.

"What are you waiting for?" I ask, surprising myself with how husky my voice is. Must be the vocal cord damage.

"I told you, I'm only giving you what you need. Now you need to be in control, so you are. You tell me what to do next."

"So if I told you to stop and let me leave you would?"

"Yes."

"OK, stop."

He pulled out of me with an audible "pop." His cock bobbed over my sex. The head looks like a small plum. I think it's pretty sexy-looking, with my moisture smeared all over it.

"Now what?" He smiles at me.

Now what indeed? Am I really in control here? My body is SCREAMING for him in ways I didn't even know it could scream. I want nothing more than that cock in my pussy right now. But my rational brain is still in control, for now.

"You'll let me go?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"When you tell me to let you go."

"I can just walk out of here?"

"More or less, yes." His cock has drooped a little and now it's touching me. I tremble as the sensation roars through me. "We'd have to make some arrangements but we would get you home, intact, with compensation for your clothes and your time."

"What if I told you to fuck me?" My words surprise me. Surely I'm not considering this. Am I?

"Then I would fuck you." His cock returns to its former glory, stretching towards my navel. He strokes it slightly with his right hand, moving it back and forth over my clitoris. The slight air movement makes me tingle. At the same time, his left hands reaches up and caresses my right tit. The nipple puckers almost painfully as he lightly brushes it and when he gently squeezes my nipple I gasp.

I consider the alternatives. I'm more horny than I've ever been in my life. I'm also closer to losing my virginity than I ever have been before. I'm still worried about getting pregnant but I know there are good medical alternatives to either giving birth or an abortion, so I'll have choices. I should worry about disease. Right?

"Are you clean?"

He grins widely. "My certificate of cleanliness is in that drawer over there. Got the results from the lab this morning. I'm happy to share it with you, once we're done."

I am breathing hard now, the feelings overwhelming me again. My brain is blank - I can't think of any other things we need to talk about. Even my lawyerly side is saying, "Just do it already!"

"Fine," I whisper, I growl, I demand. "Fuck me!"

He grins and, rearing back a little, moves his cock to my small opening. He takes his hand off my breast and puts it next to me on the bed, controlling his entry. It feels just a huge as it did a minute ago. But this time he doesn't stop. He slides deeper into me, stretching me further. I feel every bit of it, every vein of his cock, every displacement of my vagina, every drop of my excitement that leaks out as he goes in. "Yes," he says, he pants. "Good. Very good. You feel amazing." He continues, very, very slowly, pushing a bit more of his cock into me with every moment.

I want to to resist. I twist my hips as much as I'm able. I don't want him inside me. I have to have him inside me. The pleasure is overwhelming. I can't help it. I cum. Again.

"Fuck," I groan. My whole body feels like a lightning bolt has struck it.

He smiles. I see that he has nearly half his length in me now. "Very good," he says again.

"Please. You're going to hurt me," I whisper. "I've never done this before."

He shakes his head. "No. You can do this. You'll adjust, I promise." He is still moving, still pressing more of himself into me.

I squirm, loving him inside me, needing to get him out of me, but my squirming just makes me feel more of him. His right hand goes to my chest and he massages my tit. Each time his thumb goes over my nipple, I feel like I could draw the thumbprint. The jolt of his touch travels down to my clit.

He finally stops moving forward. His cock is deep inside me. My body feels completely full, as if the tip of his cock is pressing against the back of my throat. He is leaning over me, his face inches from mine. He is staring into my eyes. I feel his balls resting on my taint and asshole.

Then he pulls out and I sigh in relief. But as my vagina collapses around the space he left, I submit. I want...I need...I must have his cock back into me.

Fortunately its absence is short-lived. He pushes back in, slowly, so slowly, so slowly that I am again filled with arousal.

He pulls out again, and again he plunges into me, faster now.

This time, he doesn't pull out. He thrusts his cock in and out of me. His hips smack into mine. He is not gentle, but I do not care. The drug makes everything so intense that even this pain is so pleasurable.

I can't stop it. I can't help it. I cum again. I have lost count of how many times I've come but it's at least a half-dozen.

I feel his hairy balls on my ass and his cock filling me. It's so much, but it feels so good.

I hear a noise. A door. Opening.

I can't fully turn my head. I can't stop my rapist, my lover. I can only moan.

I see a new man. He is older, maybe 45 or 50. He has a beard. His eyes are as amused as the younger man's were. He is muscular and, like the other, completely bald, though his body is unshaved. I know because he is also completely naked. His cock is erect and I guess about 6 inches, but thinner than the young man's. It is shiny with something and I smell... Vaseline? I know what he is going to do.