I try to think about freedom, shifting my mind to ideas about rights and liberties. But freedom won’t stay framed that way in my mind today, no matter how I try. Freedom keeps telling me it is separation and solitude. Independence tells me it is isolation.

I want a celebration of the kind of bondage, the tight and complex network of ties, that I want so profoundly to make real. I want to celebrate connections instead of independence, needs instead of freedom.

I want to be tied, firmly, to my lovers, together, indivisible, one household, with liberty and justice for all.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

~~~

I smile at him and move my finger, gently pressing up inside him to give him a tiny sense of how good he is going to feel.

There we are, the three of us, intently focused on one another. For a moment it had felt like we were all holding our breath. Then Jay spoke his words, I moved my hand, and there was a collective exhalation. We are ready, together. The music is deeper, slower, more intense: a cover of “SOS,” so beautifully rendered as to be another song altogether. I drizzle lube on my finger, my eyes alternating between Jay, who looks at me with intense desire mixed with curiosity and trepidation, and David, who looks simply with awe. I can’t help but smile at David with a kind of tenderness one usually reserves for a lover. He is sharing an incredible experience, unthinkable in most of straight-guy life and I’m not sure if he is processing that or not. He seems so fully present that I would guess he is not processing at all. Just experiencing.

I hold one gloved hand where Jay can see how slippery it has become. I take his cock with the other, holding it, slowly pulsing my fingers against it as I slide a long, slender finger inside him again. With my thumb I rub the sensitive skin between his balls and his asshole, spreading lube all around the small, tight opening. Inside his body I press upward with a slow pulsing rhythm in time with the pulsing of my hand that grips his cock. He groans and for a second his eyes flutter closed. David’s eyes are glued to my hands.

I feel Jay beginning to relax and I slide a second finger into his ass. I love the sensation of pushing through the tightness to find the soft, warm space inside. I let go of his cock for a moment to slather more lube on my hand. He gasps and moans and grinds against my hand, pushing himself further onto my fingers. I add more lube.

I let go of his cock and, keeping him impaled on my hand, I move to the side of the bench. I run my free hand through his hair. “You are so beautiful,” I murmur. “And you are doing so well.” I lean over his chest and wrap my tongue around his nipple, flicking it against my teeth and then sucking it up into my mouth. I lift my face to his and kiss him. Two fingers inside him pulse a steady rhythm, opening him, relaxing him, enticing him.

There is nothing in the world like introducing a man to having his ass fucked. Looking up at David I can see that he is just as transported as his friend. I beckon him with my eyes and he leans over and I kiss him, too: a soft, lingering, enveloping kiss with which I hope to tell him that I want him, that he is fully a part of this, that his witnessing this is part of what makes it possible.

Jay responds to the rhythm of my fingers by starting to grind against them, and I know he is ready for more. I slip a third finger past the tight sphincter. There is that miraculous moment of entry, of barely slipping through, and then the incredible stretchiness of the body. I move back toward end of the table. I slowly pull my fingers out, and Jay whimpers at their retreat. I add more lube and slide them back in, together, and he gasps. I withdraw them again, slowly, and then press them back in, now slowly fucking him with my fingers in and out until he can ride the sensation and I feel him matching it with his hips. He is almost ready.

I reach for my favorite butt plug, stainless steel, roughly the shape of a large strawberry, and I place it on Jay’s belly. He looks at it and his eyes widen. I hold it out and he takes it in his hand, surprised by the weight of it. “I have three fingers moving inside you right now,” I begin, and his eyes widen, perhaps he had lost count. “And this is going to keep you good and open while I get my cock.”

Slowly, I let my fingers slip all the way out of his body. I drizzle lube over the plug and place the narrowest point against his throbbing asshole. It is wet, and relaxed and open, and the plug begins to slide in easily, but it is a bit wider than my slender fingers, and reaches a point of resistance. “Breathe,” I tell Jay, whose eyes are locked on mine. I massage more lube around the place where the plug meets his body and I feel the muscle there give way to the steel as I press against it with my hand. “Push back and breathe,” I tell him, and he does, and the widest part of the plug slips through. “Good boy,” I murmur. “You’re doing so well.” I give a light tug at the handle of the plug to let him feel the weight and the resistance and then I move up toward his head again. I look deeply into his eyes, truly enthralled by this gift of his opening to me, of his letting himself be transported. I lean over and brush my lips across his, and find I cannot stop at that. I kiss him deeply, searchingly, letting him feel my hunger, my own need for what he is offering. When I break our kiss his eyes are sparkling and I know he knows that he has a certain power in this scene, even though he is the one restrained and penetrated.

From my bag I withdraw my harness and my cock. I step into the black webbing of the harness and tighten the straps around my thighs and waist. I love my harness. I love the way it frames my cunt. I love the feeling of the straps against my skin. I slide my cock through the ring in the front of the harness and I show it proudly to Jay and David. It is a green, medium sized silicone cock, and not exactly representational in that it has no balls, and in that it is green, but it is clearly recognizable as a cock. And it has a lovely upward curve. When I wear my cock I can’t help but stroke it. I find I am doing this now, and these two young men are watching me, entranced.

I walk differently with my cock on, and I saunter over to the side of the bench. I take Jay’s cock in one hand and my own in the other. It is then that David takes me by surprise. “Molly,” he says, as he moves toward me, “Molly, I…” He slowly kneels before me. Looking up at me, with a mixture of reverence and bewilderment, he says, “I want to suck your cock.”

My impulse is to laugh and tell him to be my guest, but his seriousness causes me to treat his request more reverently. “David, have you ever sucked a cock before?”

“No, Molly, I haven’t.”

“Then I would be honored to be your first.” And I look down, watching his tongue as it circles the head, watching his lips as they close around the shaft, and then his mouth as it slides down toward the base. Watching a man suck my cock like this does something to me that is difficult to describe. It at once brings out the gay-boyishness that I feel and it electrifies my clit and my cunt.

Slowly I begin to fuck David’s eager if inexperienced mouth. I run my fingers through his hair with one hand while stroking Jay with my other. David struggles for a moment with the impulse to gag as I fuck deeper into his mouth, but I talk him through it. “Relax your throat,” and “Oh, that’s so good…” and “You should see how hungry you look…” and less articulate grunts of encouragement, the “yeahs,” and “that’s rights” tell him he’s got it now. Suddenly he puts his hands on my hips, taking control of the movement, his fingernails digging sharply into my flesh, and I nearly come. But I don’t want that to happen yet. I pull away, gently, remembering the rest of my mission. I lower myself to sit on my heels and gaze a moment into the eyes of this newborn cocksucker. I gently run my fingers across his mouth, wiping away the spit that has collected there, and I kiss him so softly, so deeply, that for a moment we are both just lost there in depths of lips and tongues and spirits. Breaking the kiss I look into his eyes with wonder at the incredible openness I see there, and whisper, “Come with me. We’re going to fuck your friend.”

I turn back to Jay whose hands, still cuffed together but no longer attached to anything else, have found his own cock. “Who, exactly, gave you permission to touch yourself,” I demand. He smiles coyly. “But Molly, you were rather occupied. I didn’t think you’d mind,” he responds. He has quickly learned to blend his newfound openness with his old confidence. I move back to my spot between his legs. David comes to stand behind me.

“Does that feel good, jerking yourself off while your ass is filled with a heavy steel plug?” Jay blushes. I tug gently on the handle of the plug and he moans. I rock it forward and back. I turn my head to David and kiss him lightly on the shoulder. “Would you please uncuff your friend? He might want better use of his hands.”

David fumbles a moment with the clip on the cuffs and then frees Jay’s hands, which waste no time in returning to his cock. I continue rocking the plug forward and back in his ass. I slather more lube on my gloved fingers and start to massage around the tightly filled hole. He groans and his fingers massage the head of his cock through his foreskin.

I start to withdraw the plug. As the widest part stretches his asshole he gasps. “Don’t you dare come yet,” I warn him and he drops his hands to his sides as I slide the steel out slowly.

I motion for David to come back to me. He stands behind me again. I tear open a condom wrapper and hand it to him. “Put this on for me,” I instruct. He rolls the condom down my cock. I ask for his hand. He holds it out and I squirt lube onto his palm. “Get me good and wet,” I tell him, and he begins to rub the lube over my cock. I lean back against him enjoying the sight of his hand on my cock, and the pressure of its base being pushed against my body. I let my eyes close a moment and breath in his scent: something clean, like shampoo, layered now with the richness of his arousal.

While David gets me ready I am keeping Jay ready. I’ve slid two fingers back into his ass and he is much more open and relaxed than he was before. I draw them back out and slide the head of my cock up against his ass. I run the slick tip of it from the base of his balls down to his tight little hole and circle it around there. My cock is about as wide as the plug and a good bit longer and I want to see his face as he receives the sensation of being penetrated so deeply. “Look at me,” I tell him. His eyes meet mine and I use one hand to guide my cock while the other grabs his hip. I feel the resistance, he puts his hand on mine, and then I feel the pop of moving past the tight ring of muscle, and then the slow easy slide as he takes the entire length into his body. We hold eye contact as I draw my hips back, pulling nearly all the way out of him, and then sliding slowly forward again. He figures out that long, slow deep breaths feel good and I match my movement to the rhythm of his breathing.

Our eyes locked, I watch the intensity of the new sensations register on his face. Slowly I slide in and then slowly I slide out. With long, smooth, even strokes I fuck him, watching his eyes the entire time. His hands have loosened their grip on the sides of the bench and he is relaxing into the opening and expanding of his body.

David reaches around me and holds our bodies close together. He buries his head in my neck and laps at my collar bone. I have both hands on Jay’s hips now and I pull him tight onto my cock. I rock there for a moment, the curve of my cock pressing up against his prostate. Then: drawing back out as he inhales, sliding deep inside as he exhales, my fingernails digging into Jay’s hips, David’s mouth on my neck, we find a groove that all three of us fall into for a spell.

Then I feel David’s hand sliding down my body and I feel fingers stroking my cunt, which is dripping wet. His thumb makes tight circles around my clit. My pace quickens, my grip on Jay’s hips tightens, and David begins to fuck me, relentlessly, with his fingers. Now I am not sliding into Jay, I am thrusting. Faster. Harder. Not bothering to pull out so far on each stroke, my energy directed in and up and deep and hard. Jay is pushing back against me, feet braced on the bench, hips raised to meet my thrusts, his entire body as taut as piano wire. One hand has returned to his cock and he is jerking himself off. His eyes have fluttered closed and his breathing isn’t long and slow but rather a series of ragged moans and gasps. His moans become inarticulate calls and I can tell he’s close to coming and David’s fingers don’t let up let up and Jay comes in a burst of obscenities and a creamy white plume and I come with nails digging into his flesh and cunt pulsating against David’s fingers and then for a moment we are all still.

But only for a moment.

Part 1 - Part 2

~~~

“I think you need more preparation, Jay. But that’s okay,” my voice is soothing with a touch of sternness. “I know this is new to you. I can be patient with you.” I lead him by the chain back over to the bench. “Stand here,” I direct him. I press his hips against the narrow end of the leather padded bench and push his back down so that his body is prone and his feet are on the floor. I stand behind him and indulge myself a moment, running my hands over his back and his ass and his thighs. I kick his feet a bit further apart and kneel down to fasten each one to a foot of the bench. While down there, I reach up between his legs and feel for his cock. It has lost some of its stiffness, which pleases me, actually, as I draw it downward so that it is pressed, down, between his body and the bench. As he gets hard again there should be some very interesting pressure building there as his cock will want to rise but will find itself trapped.

To foreshadow this effect, I let my fingers play around the head of his cock, massaging it a bit through the slippery foreskin. He moans involuntarily and I feel the pressure building. I stop, abruptly, and rake my fingernails roughly along his inner thighs before standing again.

I move around the bench to the front, where I am able to look him in the eyes again. He has to look up sharply in order to meet my eyes, and he does this, and he seems in awe at his position, and at the sensations that are washing over him at my direction. I take a leather strap from my end of the bench and I attach it to the center clip on the chain of his cuffs. I draw it toward me, fastening it tightly to a ring at my end of the bench. I pull it tight enough that he has absolutely no play in the chain or the strap. He is now pinned at three points, unable to move.

“Jay, Jay,” I murmur, “Do you know how beautiful you are right now”” I admire his strong back, his tight, exposed ass, his lean thigh muscles, his taut calves. I admire the strength in his arms, as he tests the restraint. “David,” I call to his friend softly. “Have you ever seen Jay in such a position? So strong and yet so helpless?”

“Molly, I have never seen anything remotely like this, and I certainly never imagined Jay in such a position,” he says. And then, almost as an afterthought that he can’t help, he adds, “Though I can imagine some people at the office who would be immensely gratified to see him like this!” Jay groans and David laughs. “Don’t worry, my friend, there’ll be no photos. Trust me!”

“David,” I interrupt, “Will you please hand me that flogger?” David brings me my green suede flogger. It is small and easy to handle. It has a dozen foot-long thin suede strips that can be used to tickle or to sting. It is one of my favorite toys. I show it to Jay, holding it across my two open hands. I lean over and kiss him again, lightly, lips just brushing his. He strains forward for more but I don’t give him any more. “Not just yet, darling, not just yet.”

I lightly trail the suede strips along his back, brushing his sides, sweeping over his ass and tickling his thighs. “I’m going to start lightly,” I tell him, “but I’m going to build up to painful. Remember, ‘stop’ is not a safe word.”

I begin with a volley of light slaps so that he can get a feel for the flogger. Then I toss in a harder crack every fourth blow. The music in the background provides exactly the right the rhythm. An additional irony: the song, “Wave that takes me under,” begins with the line “It’s strange to sit and watch myself do the things I never thought I’d do … ” and I wonder if Jay caught the words.

His ass and his thighs are taking on a gorgeous redness now and I alter my pattern somewhat. Now I give him four hard blows, two to each thigh, then a break as I reach between his legs and stroke the tip of his cock, pressed so tightly between the bench and his body. Then four hard cracks against his ass, alternating sides, and another stroke between his legs. With every flinch he presses himself harder against the bench. Soon I am flogging him, hard, with each beat of the “The wave” and I know his cock is straining to be erect though I haven’t touched it now for many, many beats. His gasps and moans blend into the music and I imagine that a listener would think it was all just one glorious soundtrack.

A change of songs slows my blows and brings me, finally, to a stop. I draw the strips of the flogger over Jay’s back and shoulders as his body relaxes and his gasps turn into moans and then into sighs, and he rests a moment.

I caress his ass lightly with my fingertips and then trail them along his balls and around the head of his cock. It is dripping wet and swollen. I walk to the head of the bench and loosen the strap attaching his wrist cuffs to the bench. I do not free him, but I give him a bit of room to move. I look into his eyes. They are wet but he is grinning the blissed out grin of a person who has sunken deep into bottom space and is happy to stay there a while. I’ll keep him there, but not without continuing to challenge him. There is still space for him to drop down into. He just doesn’t know it yet.

“You are doing beautifully, Jay. I’m sure, now, that you’re really ready to continue. Are you ready to continue?”

This time he offers no qualifier in his response. “Yes, Molly. Yes.”

“I think you deserve a small reward, first,” I say, as I run my fingers through his hair and then disappear from his view again, moving to the foot of the bench. I don’t take my hands off of him as I move around him. I run them over his arms, his back, gently over his tender ass, slowly down the backs of his thighs.

Standing behind him I grab his hips and pull him back toward me. His ankles are still secured to the feet of the bench, but the strap securing his arms is looser and he can pull back against it without losing his balance. I wrap one arm around his waist and begin to stroke his cock. It now has the freedom it has been straining for and it is hard as steel covered in silk. He moans as I stroke him slowly. Long, light, pulling strokes with one hand, my other hand tracing patterns along his balls.

A moan from behind me catches my attention. David has been so quiet, and I have been so focused, that I’d momentarily forgotten he was there. Continuing to stroke Jay’s cock, I turn my head to find David with his pants unbuttoned, cock in his hand. “David, David, I’m so sorry you were neglected, but I’m glad to see you enjoying yourself.” David blushes. “Come closer David, and please bring that little kit there with you.” He begins to button up but I stop him. “No no, you needn’t stop … just bring yourself and that kit a bit closer, please.” This he does.

I wave him over to a spot near the bench where he can lean against the wall and watch from a closer vantage point. More to the point, I can watch him, and he is a delightful sight. Taller than his friend, and fairer, not as slick, attractive in a less “worked at” sort of way. Watching him slowly stroking his own cock adds a new flavor to my excitement.

“David, I need your help for a moment if you’re willing to give it.” He raises an eyebrow in response. “Please bring a few pillows from that lounge over there and stand at Jay’s head.” He agrees. Jay is still, quiet, waiting.

David returns with the pillows and I instruct him to unclip the cuffs from the strap at the head of the bench. I tell Jay to stand, and slowly he does. He is, for a moment, naked, bruised, sweating and facing his friend, yet appears unfazed. In fact, they both seem so into the scene that nothing is striking them as unusual at the moment. I bend down to unbind his feet and allow myself a quick taste of his cock before standing. “Jay, turn around,” I instruct as I stand. And he does. I pull his face to mine and kiss him deeply. There is a hunger and an offering in the way he kisses now that is entirely different from our first kiss. His tongue is searching but not challenging. His yielding is without reservation, and wholly present. It is difficult to pull myself away, but I do.

“Jay, you are going to sit on bench, which is going to hurt a bit. Then you’re going to lie back and I’m going keep pushing you into spaces you haven’t been before.” His eyes don’t leave mine as he sits himself on the bench. He winces as his bruised ass takes the weight of his body. I motion for David to place the pillows behind Jay’s head and shoulders and I push him back to lie against them. Jay relaxes into the pillows and into the pain. I guide his legs, one at a time, onto the lower tiers that run along each side of the bench, and I bind them in place. His legs are spread, his ass is exposed and his friend is standing at his head, looking on with a sort of aroused wonder. His hand has found his cock again and is stroking lightly, waiting.

I reach into the little kit and extract a condom, some gloves, some lube and a bottle of warming gel. I don the gloves, not breaking eye contact, daring him to look away and knowing he wont. I tear open a condom wrapper and squirt some warming gel into it. I begin to roll it down over Jay’s cock and his eyes flutter closed as the gel turns liquidy and runs down his shaft. I follow the condom with my mouth, my tongue warming the latex and his cock. Jay moans at the pleasure for a moment unmitigated by pain or tension. His cock is hot and wet under the condom and my my tongue is swirling around it from shaft to tip and back again. I wrap my lips around his cock and slide it slowly into my mouth, watching his eyes as my mouth envelopes him. I hold the tip of it at the back of my mouth for a moment, before taking it the rest of the way into my throat. Jay lifts his hips off the table in response. I draw my mouth up his shaft again and when his hips fall back to the bench I feel him wince with pain. I am as hungry for this as he is, and I moan against him as he fucks my mouth, hard, despite the pain he must feel on the backstroke of every thrust.

His cock is slippery with my spit and as it drips down his balls and onto my fingers I start to massage around his asshole. Holding his cock deep in my throat I press against the tight opening, not entering it yet, but just pressing firmly. Then my finger, slippery with spit and latex, slides inside. We both stop moving. I hold his cock in my throat as I move my finger slowly, gently, further inside him. He moans. I slowly raise my mouth from his steel-hard cock, taking it in my free hand, stroking insistently. I lick my lips and look into Jay’s eyes.

“I’m going to fuck you,” I tell him as I massage his cock with my hand. “I’m going to do it slowly, and get you good and open first, but I am going to fuck you.” His eyes are wide, but not with fear. Instead there hesitation, sure, but there is also an openness, a desire to know, and a trust. “But before I fuck you, you have to ask me to do it. You have to want it enough to ask me for it.”

He looks stricken. Is it possible that actually saying the words will be to difficult for him? David, still stroking himself, murmurs something in encouragement but I don’t hear it.

Jay swallows hard and says the words I need to hear: “Molly, I’ve never been fucked before. I want you to fuck me. Please.”

Coming soon ~ Part 4, the last part for now.

Part 1

~~~

“Good. I’m counting on your assistance and your reliability as a witness.” I raise myself on tiptoes and kiss him very lightly on the lips. I am struck for a moment by how soft his lips are. I might need to come back for more of that. But later. Right now we have work to do. I look up at him and smile conspiratorially. “Now, be a dear and flip that switch over there. I think we need some music.”

He does this, and the first strains of Nekked’s “A Boy Can Dream” fill the room.

Now you might like to know that typically in BDSM scenes I much more often bottom than top, but there is nothing that brings out the top in me more than a cocky young man who is beautiful and knows it. I issue my first real commend to Jay. “Undress me. Slowly.”

He stands before me and looks into my eyes and then he leans to kiss me, and while this does not quite follow my instruction, I allow it because his lips are so soft and warm and his kiss is so firm, and because it is only a small kiss. But it reminds me that he is a man who knows what he wants and who is used to getting it. I will need to be careful with him.

His hands pull my shirt from my jeans and glide up my sides. Had I been planning this meeting I would have worn something with buttons and zippers, and I am impressed as he carefully, gracefully, pulls my turtleneck over my head exposing the black leather corset. I love this corset, and the matte leather shows that it has been well worn but well cared for. Jay steps back a moment to look, and I imagine what he sees: long dark auburn hair spilling over pale shoulders, small, pert breasts pushed up by framing of the corset, which disappears into the waistline of my jeans.

I try to size him up a bit. He is being very methodical, and not at all hesitant. If he is waging some internal struggle between his desire to pull me in to him and take control on the one hand, and his desire to find out exactly what I can give him if he cooperates, he is not showing it yet. His fingers slide along the inside of the waistband of my jeans until the reach the button which he grasps and opens without breaking eye contact. For a brief moment I am the one who struggles. I struggle with a sudden urge to give myself over to the force of his masterful, self-composed strength. A deep breath and that moment passes and I watch as his eyes drop and he lowers himself to his knees and slides my jeans off my hips.

He pulls the wide legs over my knee-high leather boots as gracefully as he removed my turtleneck, and I step easily out of them. I can see has some skill at undressing women. His face is just inches from my exposed cunt, framed by corset and garters and stockings, and now, for the first time, he begins to give in to his own lust. He lets himself lean forward and takes a deep breath and comes dangerously close to brushing his lips against my body when I grab his hair and pull his head back so that he is suddenly looking up at me.

“No.”

Fingers still grasping his hair, which is almost too short and gelled to get a good grip on, I lower myself to his level, sitting on my heels. “No, Jay. I told you only to undress me. It is very important that you follow instructions exactly.” I am talking to him almost as if he is a child, a soft-yet-scolding tone. “If you don’t, we will have to stop. Do you understand?”

His eyes drop a moment. Now he is struggling. He seems to be embarrassed at being told no, and feeling the first strains of real discomfort with not being in charge. A blush creeps up his neck and darkens his face and it takes him a moment to answer.

But he does answer, meeting my eyes again and with a clear, strong voice he says, “Yes, Molly. I understand.”

“All right then,” I say quietly as I stand. A tug on his hair signals him to stand as well. I begin to unbutton his dress shirt. “David, please hand me those cuffs there, will you?” I point to a set of leather cuffs draped over the bench. He does this with a look of solemnity that would have made me laugh if it weren’t so sweet. He is clearly taking his friend’s experience very seriously.

“Jay,” I begin as I continue slowly unbuttoning his shirt, “I’m going to cuff you to that bar there so I can start warming you up. Have you ever been restrained before?” I say these words in the tone one might use to speak to a patient in a doctor’s office, soothing, encouraging, informing. But I also want to hear him explicitly offer his consent before proceeding, partly because I can tell this will difficult for him to do. “Jay, I will only move forward if you tell me you want me to. Do you want me to cuff you to that bar there?”

He knows his friend is listening, watching, just off to the side, and so looking straight at me, as if with blinders, he swallows and says in a still-firm voice, “Yes, Molly, please.” I slide his shirt from his shoulders, take a moment to admire the taut muscles under the t-shirt that I will leave him in, for now, and bind his wrists in front of him. I lead him a few steps away and clip the chain that links the cuffs together to a ring on a bar about a foot above his head.

He can turn and he can flex, but he cannot move from the spot. I step back to admire his lean body, his arrogantly attractive face, and to make some choices. This gives him the opportunity to take a long look at me, as well. There is an electricity in the air between us, and it fairly crackles when I make my decision, reach into my bag, and pull out a blindfold and my butterfly knife: beautiful black handles inlaid with silver infinity symbols. I flick the catch and with three swift movements I open it. I lay the knife across my open hands and step forward so he can look at it closely. There is fear in his eyes, uncertainty really, but also a certain kind of admiration, and wry humor in his voice as he reads out loud the words engraved on the blade:

“Pity the timid”

“Trust, discipline and concentration: those are the things we will work on first,” I tell him, as I tie the blindfold behind his head. I have tucked the knife in his front pants pocket, blade open, pointed up, and told him not to move. He is very still as I remove his sight.

I reach into his pocket and let my hand linger against his thigh for a moment before withdrawing the knife. I let the flat edge of the blade slide against the thin fabric of his pocket and I hear his breath get shallower the first time the tip catches on the cotton.

Knife in hand I step away from him for a moment. “Listen carefully Jay. The knife is open. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” he says in a voice that is slow and serious all of a sudden. I close it with a single motion. Snap.

“And now it’s closed. Did you hear that?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Good. It’s very important that you are always aware of whether the knife is open or closed.” I open it. A swooshing sound as the handle and then the blade swing through their arcs, and a snapping sound as the handles click together. “Now?” I ask. “Open,” he says. I close it again and move around him. I open the knife and close it, moving closer and farther, from one side to the other, letting him hear the differences, letting his hearing become the center of his perception for a few minutes. Jay catches on quickly and his concentration is as sharp as the knife. I step close behind him. “Open or closed?” He straightens and tenses. “Open,” he says, with intense and quiet certainty as I lay the flat edge of the blade across the back of his neck. I trace a line, lightly, down his spine. His t-shirt is a tight-fitting muscle shirt and it won’t take much pressure for the sharp knife to cut the thin fabric.

I make my first cut in an arc that starts to the left of his spine and moves along the edge of his shoulder blade, down and around to his side. He breathes in sharply. “Trust is very important in this project, Jay. It is important that you trust me to cut the shirt and not your skin. I will not do anything that will mark your body without your consent. Will you trust me?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitating.

“Discipline is very important as well,” I tell him. “You mustn’t move. Stay perfectly still.” I step around beside him, tracing the knife under his arm. The second cut begins just below his collarbone and traces the arc of his pectoral. I see his nipples harden under the cotton. I use the knife to lift the flap of fabric I’ve created and I let my tongue flick at the hard bit of flesh. I sense the effort he is using to avoid movement. I enjoy myself immensely as I cut his t-shirt until it hangs in shreds. I make one last cut at the neckline and it falls away.

I use the blade of the knife to unbuckle his belt and then to pull it free of the loops. It falls to the floor by his feet. I slide my free hand up and down his chest a moment, letting it rest over his heart. I can feel it the rhythm of his pulse and the heat of his body. I smell the salty rich scent of his sweat and excitement. I unbutton his dress pants and let them fall, then instruct him to step out of them. He seems relieved that they are not destined for the same fate as his t-shirt.

But his relief lasts only a moment before I slide the knife inside the slit front of his boxers and lay the flat of it against his straining cock. I turn the blade so that the tip pierces the fabric and slice toward myself, cutting a second slit in his shorts. He tries very hard to swallow a gasp. I place the blade flat between his waistband and his flesh and draw it around his body to the back. He does not move as I cut again, slicing his shorts along a path that traces the crack of his ass. His breathing is shallow, but he does not move. I kneel behind him and praise him with a kiss on the small of his back, gathering the saltiness onto my tongue. “You are delicious,” I tell him.

I slide the elastic band over his hips, and he steps out of what is now nothing more than a rag on the floor. He stands there naked, hands bound above his head, rags at his feet, and I take a moment to circle him, admiring his body. He is tanned, with smooth skin stretched over taut lean muscle. His nipples are small and hard, like little metal studs. His cock is hard, as long as my hand, and thick. And, I note, it is intact. An extra delight!

As I walk around him I open and close the knife, mostly because I like the motion, but I note that he is still concentrating on the sound. “Open or closed?” I quiz him when I come to a stop right in front of him. I step close and inhale his scent and then let my lips brush his very slowly and very softly. “Open,” he says. And he is correct. And I reach around to slide the blade under the blindfold just behind his ear and slowly pull the cloth free.

There is something new in his eyes when I remove the blindfold. Where before there was a kind of cocky, smirking confidence underlined by a trace of the fear of the unknown, now there is a humbler, curious and open look. I am pleased by the transition.

I lean in to kiss him, and when I do, it is a deep, demanding sort of kiss and his yielding is more fluid than it was before. There is now a sort of pleading or seeking to it. I wonder if David is noting any of the same changes I am seeing in his friend.

I break our kiss and look into these new-seeing eyes, and note the gold flecks in their green depths for the first time. He is a more complex person than my initial assessment of him indicated. “Jay,” I begin slowly, “I’m going to take you down from there now.” I unfasten the clip from the bar but do not unbind his hands. I hold the chain of the cuffs in my hand. He rolls his shoulders to stretch his stiffened muscles and I allow him a moment to do this before tugging the chain to remind him that he is still under my control. He looks at me quietly, questioning.

“You’ve done very well so far,” I praise him and he smiles. “You’ve shown me that you can trust me, that you have the discipline to do what I tell you, and that you can retain your concentration and not slip away on me.” I stop a moment for him to take in the praise, and so that I can enjoy the small smile that finds its way across his lips. “That is very important because of what comes next. I need you to be fully present, and fully trusting. I think you are ready for that. Do you agree?”

“Yes, I think so,” he tells me.

I give a sharp yank on the cuff chain to throw him off balance while I slap his ass with the flat of my hand. “There is no room for uncertainty, Jay. Either you are ready or you are not.” He stumbles forward.

“Yes, yes, I am ready,” he says quickly. He looks like he is trying not to appear wounded. He had clearly enjoyed the praise I gave him and now seems upset that he’s lost it. So be it. He will have to earn it back. He will be glad for it when he does.

~(coming soon: Part 3 - Part 4)~

Note: This is a revised version of the story originally posted as “The Broker”. It is much the same, only better: some of the extraneous bits removed, a few typos cleaned up, and in general a better pacing. I hope you enjoy it.

~~~

A crowded Friday morning train. I am alone. He is with a friend and co-worker. I first noticed him on the platform, on his cell phone. I hear his voice before I look at him but I have a feeling I know what to expect. I’m right. He is young, lean, slick and exuding a confidence and control that is evident in his voice as well as his posture. Self-important and not used to being in anything but privileged and commanding positions.

When we get on the train he stands in the same crowded vestibule as I. When his eyes catch mine, a strange look comes over his face, just for a second, before he looks away. Fear. Recognition. Shock. Desire. Combined in that one short moment they make him look like he might be sick, but he recovers quickly. He resumes his conversation with his friend. And I enjoy watching because it is evident that his mind is not entirely on it, that he is trying to disguise that fact, and that his friend can tell, too, but doesn’t seem to know what has happened. I stare at a fixed point on the window beside his head, gazing out at the passing buildings. Occasionally his eyes flicker toward me and I smile. He looks quickly away.

I have imagined this happening in many different ways, but this is the first time it has occurred: recognition by a regular reader of my erotic blog. And what chance! This one appears to offer a rare opportunity: the chance to bring submission to a man who is working so hard to be on top. But I know he needs it. He craves giving up control for a little while, though I bet he’d never admit that to his friend. Even better! I think I might arrange for his friend to witness it. Why depend on him to tell his friend, words alone, after the fact, over a beer or something. No. We will want an audience, so his friend will have a role to play!

He is gaining his composure again, this incredibly confident young thing, and now, during a lull in his conversation, he meets my eyes directly and smiles. I smile back and look quickly away, as if he has caught me staring. I lower my eyes and look up again. It is all so calculated, and it is working. He seems to think he’s now back in control.

His friend has now caught on to our flirtation. He seems amused. I drop lean-and-slick’s gaze and look at his friend a moment. I tilt my head toward lean-and-slick as if to say to his friend, “Can you believe this guy”? He grins. I smile back.

We are nearing the station and there is some jostling in the vestibule. I allow myself to be pushed over toward these two intriguing young men. We are now all touching shoulders. I turn to lean-and-slick and say, under my breath, “I know you know who I am.” He looks down at me and grins. “Yes, Molly, I know who you are. I’ve been reading you since you began.”

“I hope you’re not in a rush,” I tell him, and now I include his friend in the conversation. “I have plans for you two.” I place one hand on the small of each back and as the doors open I give them each a nudge and then instruct them to follow me as I brush past them, striding ahead of the crowd and up the stairs.

I lead them to a diner across the street. I have decided my own schedule can be rearranged and I want to make sure that I have them on the same page before I lead them anywhere else. I find a table in the back and they join me. We order coffee. Lean-and-slick looks intrigued, excited. His friend looks puzzled. I decide introductions are necessary.

“You’re friend doesn’t know who I am,” I say to Lean-and-slick. I turn to the friend. “I’m Molly and your friend here has been reading my blog. It is an erotic blog. Stories about sex. Naked pictures. I’m a bit of an exhibitionist. He seems intrigued to have met me in the flesh, don’t you think?” I smile coyly.

“Ah, well that explains a lot,” laughs the friend.

I take his hand a moment. Soft skin, strong fingers, manicured hands. “Tell me your name.” He thinks for a minute. “David” he says, and I’m sure he’s lying but that’s okay. I’ll find out his name later. I just need something to call him for now.

“David,” I continue, “I want to show your friend here a few things. It’ll take a few hours, at least. Do you think he has the time?”

We both look at Lean-and-slick now. He’s blushing, but clearly excited. He looks embarrassed, intrigued, and nervous all at once. “And I don’t even know your name yet,” I say, arching an eyebrow at him. “Jay,” he says, without missing a beat, and I suspect he is lying too. But I’ll take care of that later.

I put David’s hand down and take Jay’s. It’s rougher than I expected, given his professional appearance. “Jay, then,” I say. “I want you to call your office and tell them that you’re going to be tied up for the morning. A sudden meeting, or whatever makes sense in your line of work. Tell them you’ll call in around lunch time but won’t be in the office until later.”

He thumbs his phone, barely taking his eyes off of me to scroll through the numbers. I wait until he hits “call” and then add, “And tell them you’ll have David with you.” The two men look at each other quickly. But neither objects. Jay makes the call. It turns out he wasn’t lying about his name, and neither was David. Those appear to be the names they are known by at the office, anyway. I’ll check their ID shortly.

When he is finished the call I take a hand of each and let my “stern look” take over. “You will be mine for the better part of today. There are some things I think Jay needs to experience, some things he wants to learn about himself, and they need to be witnessed. Jay, I will need to know if you have any health conditions I should be aware of, and you will need a safe word. I suggest we use “safe word” as you’re unlikely to call that out accidentally. This is all I’m going to tell you in advance. Are you willing to go forward?”

For a moment, nervousness overtakes intrigue as the dominant emotion on Jay’s face, and I know he must be more afraid than he is letting on, but clearly he’s been wanting something like this for a long time. He tells that he has no illnesses or health conditions. He agrees that “safe word” is the word we’ll use. I nod my agreement and then look to David.

“David, are you interested and willing to be a witness to this event? I will not ask you to participate in any way you don’t want to. What we need most is a witness. However,” I drop my eyes a moment and then look at him again, “there may be moments when you do want to be more directly involved. We can deal with those as they come up. Are you in?”

He laughs and declares his willingness to participate with a grin, looking at his friend as if to say “I have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, but I sure as hell wouldn’t give up a chance to watch you figure your way out of it!”

“Good then.” I smile, sweetly. “Now, let me see your drivers licenses please.” They appear surprised but dig their wallets out of their pockets and produce their ID. I note their names and addresses on a card in my own wallet. I make a quick phone call, leaving a message with a friend, “I’ll be at the gallery and will be home by 4. Call me.” She’ll know that if she doesn’t hear from me by 4 that she needs to investigate. More importantly, these two know that someone is expecting me.

I snap my phone shut and take a long, appraising look at each of them in turn. “Well then, shall we?”

I lead them to a gallery space where a group of us holds sex parties sometimes. It is nondescript from the outside, large and industrial looking on the inside, and with the combination of grunge and high culture being all the rage these days, it is in danger of becoming a trendy place. More importantly, it is well equipped, and empty during the day. I have permission to use it as long as I’m out by five. I have rarely taken advantage of that, but today is turning out to be quite a different kind of day.

It is dark when we walk in and I take advantage of the moment to press Jay against the wall to kiss him. I press my body against his as I pull his head down to me. His lips brush mine tentatively, but I hold his head and open his mouth with mine. He is not much taller than I, perhaps 5’8”, but I can feel the strength in his body as I bend him to me. He yields, but in the same way that flexible steel might yield: slowly, and purposefully.

I switch on only a few of the overhead lights. The two rooms are dim but visible now. The front room is the gallery; the back, the playroom. My two young friends are still standing just inside the vestibule. “Make yourselves at home,” I tell them. “Explore the place. Bathrooms are through that little hallway there. The bar is not stocked until evening, but there is soda and water in the refrigerator. The back room is where we’ll spend most of our time, I’m sure, but feel free to browse the paintings here. I’ll be right back.” I disappear into the ladies’ room to give them a few moments to check in with each other, and to adjust my wardrobe a bit.

I keep a few items of costume and lingerie here for impromptu parties and I strip out of my jeans and turtleneck, my plain old bikinis, and don a black leather corset and sheer black stockings. I put my jeans and turtleneck back on, and pull on some tall leather boots instead of my walking shoes.

When I return to the front room I find them looking a bit more relaxed. They’ve had a moment to confer and they both look eager and ready for some excitement. Jay is leaning against the bar and David is browsing the artwork. I pin Jay’s eyes with mine and take his hand without dropping his gaze. “Come with me.” I lead him by the hand to the playroom. I call over my shoulder to David. “David, please, there’ll be time for paintings later.”

I give them a little tour of the playroom. Half is set aside for BDSM play and the other half is pillows and cushions and couches. I introduce them to some of the equipment.

“Have either of you been in a dungeon before” I ask, in much the same tone of voice I use when asking new students if they’ve ever studied the human body before. They admit to no dungeon experience.

“Ah, well then, you’ll find this interesting. Here we have a bench, perhaps one of the most all-around useful pieces of equipment. You’ll see its padded to make your discomfort as comfortable as possible. You’ll also see that it has many conveniently located D-rings for all manner of … attachment.” I push Jay down on the bench for a moment. The suddenness allows me to lay him flat before he thinks to resist, and lets him feel the possibilities. His legs are splayed, one on either side of the narrow center piece of the bench and I run my hand up his thigh, dragging fingernails as I go. David looks on, smiling at the sudden turn of events. I grab the front of Jay’s shirt and pull him up to sitting again. I kiss him deeply while holding him in place. I feel that same warm-steel yielding that I felt earlier. I am warm and wet with the electricity our connection, and its power makes me feel strong, commanding and very much on top.

I turn to David and point out a large, wooden, X-shaped structure. “And that is a St. Andrew’s cross, very useful for standing bondage, and for holding a target steady - of utmost importance when inflicting a single-tail whipping, but useful for flogging and caning as well.” I make sure to indicate all the chains and leather straps attached to each of the bondage pieces, and to the assorted canes and whips that stand against the wall. David grins as Jay tries to hide the nervousness which is seeping through him despite his best efforts at cockiness. I notice it has not diminished his hard-on though. I do believe his fear is turning him on!

“This kit has my personal toys. These I’m very skilled with.” I open my bag. From within I draw stainless steel dildos that look more like abstract art than like sex toys. I draw heavy solid glass butt plugs in a variety of sizes. I draw my flogger (green suede) and my nipple clamps (clothespin variety, linked with chain). I draw my harness and my personal cock: also green, and only medium sized, but slightly curved. All these things I lay out on a table beside the bench.

I take David’s hand. Together we look at Jay. I look up at David and gesture toward the array of instruments on the table. “David, do you think we’re ready to begin?” The grin on his face is the only answer I need, but he has begun to enjoy his role, and so he speaks. “Oh, Molly, I think we’re very ready to begin.”

(coming soon:~ Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4~)

Because he counted them, slowly, in the restaurant, while the others waited.

One by one, his finger traced a burning line down my body, dipping between my breasts, sliding over my belly, brushing the fabric over my clit before reaching the hem.

The electric connection between our eyes never broke. His gaze never dropped.

He did it all by touch.

Twice.

To be sure.

23 Buttons, self portrait, by Molly Montrevoir

The car rocks and rumbles over aging tracks and speeds past glimpses of river as tree branches slap against the window.

I imagine your hand making that sound against my ass as you take me roughly from behind.

Soon. We will be there soon.

Can we wait?

Houses flash by as your fingers brush my leg.

Is anybody watching as you toss your jacket over my bare legs and I lean back against the window and pull one foot up onto the seat?

Can anybody see you slide your hand along my thigh, my skirt falling back against my body, your fingers brushing the damp curly hair between my legs?

I bite my lips so as not to gasp as you push your way inside me.

Opening around you, drawing you in, my body responds as your fingers curl up inside me pulsing to the rhythm of the wheels, pulling as the train sways around the curves.

I close my eyes and try to keep my face calm but you can feel me squeezing hard against you as I come to the vibrations of the engine and the rocking and lurching of the car disguises the shudders of my release.

How much longer? That release is only a brief stop before our destination. My desire builds again with the momentum of the train. Yours, never interrupted, pushes forward. Inexorable. Unbending.

Later at our destination we consume one another without care for time or place. We are moved, together, by the force of needs built up now beyond our capacity to control them.

Your fingernails rake ragged pathways down my back as you come in spasms and cries and calls of my name.

My teeth, on your pale skin now flushed and salty, bite down hard in response, and leave tracks I will follow later.

Unyielding.

Relentless.

A tightness in my chest.

The feeling of a hand, reaching into my throat, and tugging at my guts with the undeniability of a runaway tractor-trailer barreling down a long, straight grade or a jackhammer cutting through steaming pavement right outside my window

Is it possible to want so deeply, to need so much? Is it survivable, this degree of longing?

I catch myself holding my breath, wanting the world, needing to be filled, waiting to be pushed beyond limits I thought were impassible, to be opened wider than I imagined possible.

Dangerous for the person who would dare respond, fill, push, open. Once opened, I will not be denied. My desire will not be contained. My actions will not be disciplined.

I will take. I will consume. I will engulf.

Burning up, flooding out, an unavoidable and mutually assured annihilation.

And then, in the space between gasping breaths and silence, a moment of oblivion and rest.

But only a moment, and then desire starts to seep back in, consciousness awakening to the building tide of want and need.

Unyielding.

Relentless.

And then, finally, after taking me to the edge twice and promising more each time, he sent me this, and I could not contain myself any longer …

It’s I who has to shower this time but I don’t want to be away from you for long, your sweet young body with its hardness and softness and fine hairs and your eager innocence and your cockiness that I miss in myself. But I won’t be long, and you’ll wait as patiently as you can for the next part, won’t you?

And when I come out, towel around my waist, you have those Joe Boxers on again, and I’m not sure if you want to go until you explain that you want me to take them down for you, to make you feel like you’re surrendering, and I get the feeling you’d like this to be tender, and I couldn’t possibly refuse such a beautiful wish from such a beautiful boy, could I?

I miss the slow and sensual that most other men don’t have patience for and it makes me want you all the more for it. This time you want to be girlish and be touched and kissed and stroked and talked to softly, and told how much you’re wanted and how much I want you to surrender it to me, don’t you?

I walk up behind you and the towel falls and I kiss the back of your neck under your short hair and reach one hand for your chest and the other for your lower abs and thighs, holding you more firmly than I would a girl but not roughly and it makes me breathe heavily to have you in my arms like that, but I can still find the breath to whisper, “Tell that you want to be taken,” because I want you to really, really want it, and don’t you?

“I want you to…” and your voice falters… “strip me naked and lay me down and fuck me and cum in my ass and make me feel like a gorgeous slut.” And your words make me gasp and my hands start to caress you harder and I have to restrain myself and my lust, but I can and I will and I will make you feel like a beautiful slut one kiss, one touch, one drop at a time, won’t I?

“You are already beautiful, and I will make you feel like a slut with all my will and desire and I slip my hand inside the front of your boxers and caress you and the other hand in back and caress your soft virgin cheeks that your girlfriend didn’t take full advantage of, did she?

And your shorts slide slowly down and over your shoulder I see you hard again and I could kneel and suck it again but we have other places to go, don’t we?

So you kick them off and crawl onto the bed and I follow closely, lying beside you on the left and caressing your backbone and then the backs of your thighs and that firm ass and I could just shoot a load on that downy skin right now, couldn’t I?

But we both must be patient and show you how to relax and go a little farther than the girlfriend who just pushed at your opening but you say it made you shoot immediately and tell you not to worry you can come now or later or whenever you want to and I know you will, won’t you?

And you start to feel the cool lube between your cheeks and it smears everywhere and it almost tickles and you try not to giggle but it make you relax, and that’s what we want, isn’t it?

Until I slide a finger just an inch in and you gasp and I hold it still, show you how to relax, then take it out and more lube in and you want a little more, don’t you?

And I work it slowly, one beautiful, sticky inch at a time and tell you it’s a myth that only girls have cunts and only girls can feel that way, desired and hollow at the same time, wanting to be filled. And I whisper, “and now you want to be filled, don’t you?”

Your answer is what we both wanted to hear, and now you are the most beautiful slut I have ever known, aren’t you?

And he left it there, tantalizing me, letting me finish the story in my head. Shall I finish it for you? Do you want to know what I felt there in my boyishness on the bed? Should I describe what happened after I answered “yes” in my hoarse and needy voice?

Or shall I just float a while longer here enjoying the pleasure of his gift?

The beginning of Jimmy’s story is here, and the middle is here.

And so he sent me those words, which left me restless and edgy and needing to know the rest, and I hung on them for a few days until holidays ebbed and we were both at our keyboards again, and he offered some relief that left me worse off than I’d been before:

And you say you’d like to shower alone, just to be alone and think about it all, and I’ll be alone for a moment with my desires and more plans for you if you’re eager, and I know you’re eager, aren’t you?

I only get a moment to long for the taste of your still-damp skin from the shower, and you’re back and eager, barely toweled off so eager, and I ask if you’d rather suck me or fuck me and I don’t care which it’s all so delightful with you, isn’t it?

You’re feeling strong and confident and you want to flex your muscles and show me what you’re made of by fucking my ass. And you know how to do it because you’ve done a girlfriend and it’s pretty much the same, except it was her first time and it’s not my first time, is it?

And I say no but here’s the lube and use lots and I’d rather lie on my stomach on this pile of blankets and pillows and be comfortable and you’ll take your time, won’t you?

You remember, you tell me, how slow and tender it was with the girlfriend, and how magical, the sweet surrender of it, and how she played with yours a little afterwards and you so loved that and you’d like to try a little more of that later, wouldn’t you?

And your fingers are slender, your touch sweet and careful and sensual in there, and I have to tell you to push them deeper, deeper, make me open for you I want you to take me so much and you will, won’t you?

Your sweet young cock is slender too, and I want to take it whole, I want you to put it deep and hold it and hold my ass close to you and you push, softly, carefully like you did with her, and it’s good and sweet, isn’t it?

You tell me you love my ass, it’s strong, I must work out, and it’s nice of you to say, but you’re the pretty one here and that’s fine and you know it, don’t you?

And it takes a while for you to start to breathe heavily, I can feel a little sweat from your face as you lean to kiss my back, and then you moan once, and the pace quickens suddenly, and I feel it twitching so deep there and I know you’re headed over the cliff, aren’t you?

It’s always a thrill for me to have someone right there, and you feel so right, twitching, moaning, finishing yourself off, caressing my ass and hips to say thanks, just holding it there for a moment so we’ll both remember this all our lives, won’t we?

And you say we will and you say you want me to feel what you felt and you to feel what I felt and I’ll be just as careful and tender and make you relax and tell you how beautiful you are with your ass in the air waiting for me and wanting me and you will be, won’t you?

To read the first part of Jimmy’s story, “How I’d lead you,” click here.

It’s not quite done, so don’t be gone long! The conclusion is here.