May, 2007
San Francisco,
I do love Robert, my long-term boyfriend. I want to make that crystal clear from the very
start, because I feel that I have to. Because, I suppose that deep down I know that it may
not sound like it at times in this naughty fantasy of mine. If the truth be known, I don`t
know how much off this stuff I could do in real life, even if I were to get the
opportunity, but fantasizing about it makes me more excited than anything I`ve ever known.
And well, it just gets me so friggen hot.
He`s honestly a good man, my thirty-eight year old boyfriend. That`s the only way you can
really describe him: good. He`s considerate, honest and careful too. When he`s not
working, he runs after me in the house, doing all the washing-up, sharing the laundry and
even the ironing. He always asks before we make love if he can. He never just takes me,
and if I agree his big brown, Spaniel eyes twinkling with gratitude really, really make me
want to puke.
Hell, and that`s the trouble. He`s just too nice. It`s boring. I`m a twenty-one year old,
blonde, blue eyed male in my sexual prime. I`m too friggen young to be bored, I learned
that the hard way a little over six months ago when I became an unwilling victim in a
perverts basement.
Since then, I have lots of fantasies which I run through when Robert is away at work,
most of which resolve around being dirty and not being nice. Most of what resolve around
me being a prisoner, at another man`s mercy, another man`s sex toy just like back then.
Back then, when I was hornier and harder than I`d ever been before in my young life. Back
then, when I was fearing for my life, unsure if I`d be dead before the sun showed its
pretty golden face above San Francisco`s Golden Gate Bridge, but sure of one thing, one
important thing, and that was that I was about to get the best fuck of my life. Sometimes
in these fantasies which have grown inside me like a cancer consuming my every waking hour
since then, since that fated day, it`s Robert who loses his temper and finally lashes out.
He slaps me around, rips off my clothes and throws himself upon me, spearing his fat cock
inside my dry ass before I can protest and fucking me hard. But mostly those fantasies
never work: you see, I just can`t imagine Robert ever really having the nerve to do that,
and I always end up dissolving into a fit of hysterical giggles. And so in my fantasies my
abuser always becomes someone different and my reliable, but tedious boyfriend takes the
passive role of observer to my ultimate degradation.
The turning point in my life which led to my lusty fantasies actually happened like this.
Hours after I`d set out for home from my neighbourhood sauna after one last drink with
some male friends around my own age, unable to remember just how I had gotten there, aware
only that my head was aching. I found myself lying on an old, musty mattress in the centre
of a densely shadowed room. Close your eyes and imagine it please, if you can. I`m tied
up. My movements are restricted by the baling iron chains tied roughly around my wrists
and ankles and secured to some kind of make-shift hooks protruding from the four, stone
walls. I am completely naked apart from my expensive and incredibly tight, white, silky
boxer shorts, my twenty-first birthday gift only that morning from Robert. Will Robert be
wondering why I haven`t made it home after my dip in our well-known notoriously gay sauna
for my birthday party? Or was he too busy decorating my birthday cake in his comfortable
kitchen to realize the late evening shadows, which were no doubt slowly creeping along our
sidewalk?
I frantically twist my head, but it`s just no good. I can`t see anything through the torn
piece of rag smelling of diesel that has been used as a make-shift blindfold. Testing the
bonds which hold me, only to find them secure, I wonder how long I`ve been here in this
dank, dark room and if I`m ever going to get out. How could anybody ever hope to find me
here? Still, in spite of my anxiety, I found myself getting excited and yes although I`m
embarrassed to admit it hard with the sheer thrilling anticipation of just what could
happen next.
Suddenly, the slow but purposeful "tip tap" of heavy footsteps approaching
where I lay drowned out the drone of even my thumping heart. The whole time, I`d been
lying there flexing and grunting against my captive bonds, someone had been standing
quietly in the shadowy corner watching my pathetic struggles. And although I was petrified
by just who and what that nameless someone was capable of doing to me, I couldn`t help but
be turned-on at the very notion.
That was when it hit me that I liked being watched. I liked it a lot.
The confident footsteps approached the left side of the foul mattress and I strained my
neck to hear more.
"My you`re a bad, bad little boy aren`t you?" A deep male voice which was
somehow familiar hissed in my face startling me. "Look at you. I haven`t even stroked
you and your dick is all hard and standing to attention begging for my touch. It sickens
me that you want me so much." He reached out and grabbed a handful of my abundant
pale curls. "You have no idea how much it sickens me, Golden Boy."
"I`m sorry," I gushed and recoiled.
"Huh!" He snapped back. "I don`t believe that you are sorry enough,
boy."
"I am, honestly, I am." I whined not quite sure exactly what I should be sorry
for. My cock which moments ago had been engorged somewhat with expectancy had never been
smaller. Beneath the gauzy shimmer of my white boxer shorts, my manhood continued to
shrink pitifully to its adolescent size. I really feared that I was about to piss in my
pants.
I heard a mocking laugh, and then there was the distinctive sound of a key being placed
in a lock, and I heard the sharp whish of a well oiled door opening. In the next second, I
felt a welcome rush of fresh, cold air from the rooms outside the confines of my dark
prison mingling with the stifling air inside and hundreds of minute goose-pimples in
response broke out all over my arms and naked thighs.
My balls throbbed, and I fought down another hard-on. I was at another man`s mercy. A man
who was no doubt some psychotic manic, the whole situation shouldn`t be turning me on.
Damn it, I thought gashing my teeth together until my jaw actually ached. The situation
wasn`t turning me on, it wasn`t.
Yeah right, my inner voice such a smartarse, but usually right on screamed, and I`m
you`re fucking Fairy Godmother, Chad.
"Oh, please, I insist don`t get up." the deep masculine voice spoke almost
friendly as I pushed myself up onto my elbows.
"Let me go." I begged over the tinkling of the chains, hating myself for it,
yet unable to do anything else. "Please, just let me go."
"No," my captive barked. "You`re not going anywhere, Golden Boy that is
not until I`ve finished with you. That is not until I`ve had my fun with that tight,
little ass of yours."
"But..." I protested, wanting, no needing suddenly to reason with the maniac
who despite the fact that I couldn`t see him gave off the impression that he was larger
than life.
"Buts, I will hear no buts. Do you understand?" he hissed, and just as before,
petrified like a little frightened mouse, I recoiled.
"Good boy, you`re learning." the voice said approvingly. "Still, I think
you`ve got the look about you of one who might try to escape at the first opportunity. I`d
better make sure that you stay nice and quiet. After all we don`t want any uninvited
guests bursting in and ruining our little private party, now do we?"
Swallowing over the dry lump in my throat, I choked. "That`s right, w ... we don`t
want that."
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