by Cyan
Copyright 1998 by Cyan
All Rights Reserved; No Redistribution.
"Just who I wanted to see!" said Michael as I stood outside his front door. "Listen, you've got to do me a big favor."
"OK," I said, but I'm certain my voice was really saying You haven't explained what it is you want me to do. Well, it's not that I didn't trust Michael, it's just the way he'd stood there, staring at me the second before he spoke. I'd have sworn I saw the wheels turning in his head.
"Listen, you know about Doris and me: I just got a call and I've got to run, just for a few minutes." Know about them? I didn't have this figured out, but found myself following him into the house. "She's in the bedroom," he said. "You know. Just watch over her 'til I get back."
"Is she sick?" I asked.
He stopped suddenly, and I found him smiling at me. "No. She told me she told you." As he said it, he removed a string that he'd been wearing around his neck and put it around mine. "She's just tied up." The string held a key.
"Michael!" I hissed.
"Don't worry about it! Just watch over her for a couple of minutes: she's fine: she wants this. Listen: I gotta run. You're saving the evening for us, you know." And he dashed back toward the front. I stood there, hearing the front door close and then the car start.
My mouth was probably hanging open. Michael had just told me that Doris was tied up in the bedroom and I should watch over her for a few minutes? And just thirty seconds earlier, my life had been so normal! I turned and stared at the bedroom door and wondered if I should go in.
I had to. He'd implied I should, but in any case, something inside me needed to verify that this was really happening, that I had indeed understood him correctly. Yes, Doris had told me about their play as she called it. I'd managed to contain my astonishment at that little confession and finally felt comfortable about the idea when she'd explained their ground rules a bit more. But I think I had never really accepted that what she'd told me was indeed true. If nothing else, my curiosity was going to drive me through that door.
It was as he said. Candles were lit. She was in the bed, blindfolded and gagged, her wrists and ankles bound. She wore just a bra and underpants, sort of: the underpants were pulled down to her ankles. She was on her side, her knees drawn up as if to cover herself as best she could. "It's me," I said with a nervous giggle. I wondered what it would be like to be lying there, having your best friend walk in on you. "So you really do do it," I added, and then felt like I was just babbling. "Sorry, don't mind me: Michael said he'd be back soon."
I stood there. Then I thought about untying her. Michael had said not to. And I knew Doris was in on this game and Michael had said my being here was saving their evening. I couldn't spoil things for them.
I looked around for some place to sit. There was a chair, but clothes were draped over it. I looked at the bed, but it seemed it would be weird to sit there with Doris. She'd be able to sense where I was, of course, and I'd be rather close to her. I leaned against the door frame, feeling nervous. I still wonder how many years off my life the shock of that night cost me.
She just lay there. I looked around the room and back at her, not knowing what to do. It seemed interminable: just me holding the doorframe up and Doris lying there, breathing. I thought about how non-PC this was. Doris, a perfectly intelligent woman lying there, volunteering to be bound and gagged. Accepting such a vulnerable position seemed so unlike her, though she'd explained to me that that was part of the kick. I wondered if I could ever do such a thing: would I ever meet the guy who'd make me want to? What if some guy wanted me to do this? Doris'd sworn that the idea had not been just Michael's.
I stared. She was so vulnerable: her underpants pulled down. It looked so humiliating. Little Doris, tied and uncovered and nothing she could do about it. She enjoyed this? I wondered what Michael got out of this. A power thing? Having an independent woman, who also happened to be sweet and vulnerable, in your clutches, so to speak? Completely in your hands? I wondered if he touched her when she was like this. Of course, he must. Was it a soft touch? Would she shiver? Some instinct told me that's what she'd do when he touched her.
My eyes fell on a paddle: on the bed on the other side of her. For a second, I felt shock flow through me again. Doris said she loved these games. Being paddled? Like a naughty child? In front of me was a grown woman who got off on being spanked? I found myself picturing Michael spanking her. Of all things! Did he take her over his knee? I wondered if she cried. If she did, how could she be enjoying it? Did she get wet while she cried?
Suddenly I felt the uncomfortableness of the situation again. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be imagining these things: Doris frenetic with lust over these kinky activities. I imagined her writhing and felt my breath catch.
Then I heard it: the car pulling in. When I heard the door slam, I said "He's home," and left for the front door.
"Thanks a million," he said as he came in. "Everything OK?"
"Sure," I said, feeling a bit more confident now that this was over.
"She did tell you about this stuff, right?"
"Yes."
He smiled. "What did you think?"
"About?"
"About Doris tied up like that?"
He was grinning. It seemed an innocent question and certainly it would have to occur to him to wonder what I made of all this. I didn't feel he was pressing me too hard. "She likes it?" I asked. Of course, she'd already told me that she did.
He grinned all the more. "Can't believe her when she tells you herself?" I think I might have smiled back at him in spite of myself. "So," he went on: "What did you think of Doris, tied?"
She's awfully brave, I found myself thinking, but bereft of speech. Somehow his phrasing reminded me of the wandering thoughts I'd had in there and I mentally stumbled before the right words came out. He continued: "Did you try anything with her?"
"Michael!" I hissed. I think I glanced back toward the bedroom wondering whether any of this was carrying into there. I found myself almost too stunned to be angry.
He was still grinning. "Oh, I know you didn't: not that she wouldn't have loved it. You can be sure she's wet just from you watching her and she'll be fantasizing about you for the rest of the night."
My heart was in my throat and I think I came out with a word that is outside my everyday vocabulary. I took my eyes off him and couldn't look at him again. "I have to go," I said quickly and ran out of there. Once in the car, I sat, trying to calm myself.
Later that night, there was no escaping the memories. Bastard, I thought: he shouldn't have said that even if it were true. And I wondered if it were true. And if Doris really was thinking about me that very night while she came. About being tied up, uncovered, humiliated in front of me. I felt so guilty doing what I did to myself that night.
* * *
It'd been our typical Saturday lunch out though often they followed a bit of morning shopping. Our conversation was ordinary too, but I was containing my thoughts on the recent evening and I just knew Doris had to be holding it in too. But then Doris played these games: this wasn't so new to her. As I listened to her, I found myself surreptitiously studying her to see if I could detect any unease. "Do you..." I suddenly blurted out, but stopped as soon as I started.
"Do I what?" she prompted. I glanced at her eyes: she showed not a sign of any discomfort with the situation, just patience with me.
"Did you get turned on? By my being there?"
I immediately saw that she knew exactly what I was talking about. "Oh god," she said, sounding as if the words were involuntary. "Did Michael tell you that?"
I studied her. She hadn't responded in a way that implied either a yes or a no and suddenly I was feeling like I might have just embarrassed myself over a lie. "Yes," I finally managed.
"Oh," she said and I finally detected nerves. "I'm sorry: please forgive me," she continued. She looked to be sensitive to my shock, but I couldn't help noticing that she didn't seem the least bit apologetic. "He shocked you," she said.
"Doris, I..."
"Oh, please don't worry about it," she said, interrupting me. "It's only a desire: we all have lots of passing desires that don't mean a thing."
She didn't think there was anything strange! I stared at her. And I thought, hard. "Really," she continued. "You must have had a feeling or two for someone at some point in your life, right?"
I continued thinking: so what was my problem? That I knew about her desires? That fact should be embarrassing to her, but why was I feeling so strange? Was it that I find out my best friend is a closet lesbian? Or more accurately, that she has lesbian desires? For me?
Well, I have had thoughts, so what's the deal if she's had them too? But my thoughts hadn't consisted of lusting after my best friend. But I realized there had been times when I thought of guys whom I knew very well weren't for me. Was it any worse to have such passing thoughts about your best friend?
On top of that, there was the situation I knew to be on her mind: being bound in front of me in the most humiliating position. I wondered if she fantasized about more.
"Of course you have," she said, and I found myself focusing on her again. She grinned: "Thinking about some men you would have liked in your life?"
"No!" I said a little too quickly, then wondered about myself. Was I so secretive that I couldn't even admit to something like that? "Yes," I said, probably grinning a little. Then the thought occurred to me that Michael had calmly exposed her secret. "He shouldn't have told me your secrets," I said.
"Well," she said, "I've given him the right to reveal anything about me when he sees fit."
"Huh?"
She thought for a second, then spoke: "It's part of our deal: our game I guess you'd call it. He calls the shots."
"And embarrasses you?"
She thought again. "I like him to have that power. And I suppose he doesn't really have it unless he tries using it."
"What did you want me to do?"
Amazed at myself for asking that question, I watched her stare at me. "What?" she asked.
"I'm sorry," I said, feeling I should back off, "I guess I have a nosy streak."
"What did you want to know?"
"You were tied up," I said. "Did you want me to punish you?"
She smiled. "Yes."
"How?"
She thought a little: "It's best when I don't know what's coming. Honestly speaking, anything you'd have done would have had me off guard. I guess I'd have loved it if you'd spanked me."
Spanked her? It was a case of asking for more than I should have. Hearing the specifics made me uneasy again. "I'm sorry," she said, "I can see we'd better get off this topic." I realized my face was telling her every misgiving I was feeling.
That night I'd had it. Yes, we'd moved on to safer topics, but it certainly wasn't something I could simply dismiss from my mind. I found myself dwelling on it: Doris getting off on thinking about me spanking her. I simply wasn't ready for it.
But what I really wasn't ready for was Michael's telephone call. "I've got to talk to you," he said that night. When I hesitated, he insisted it was absolutely necessary.
* * *
I stared at him. We sat in Rosie's, each with a cup of coffee. Why had I agreed to this?
"I've got a question for you," he said.
I didn't answer out loud but I'm sure my face was inquiring. Finally he spoke again: "Why did you ask Doris those things?"
Why did I ask her? "What things?"
"You know very well what things. I just need to know: why did you ask her?"
I took a deep breath. Had Doris told him about her talk with me? I realized that was obviously the case. "After what you told me," I said, "was I supposed to simply forget what you said?"
I guess I'd been glancing around the room as I spoke, but when I looked at him again, I found him staring right into my eyes. We sat there for a second, eyes locked. I felt my muscles tensing, but I didn't know why. "Come home with me," he said.
I don't know why I did it. We left my car at the restaurant, so there was no escape once we were on the way. I found I couldn't tell him to turn around: if I'd had objections, I should have raised them before we left.
When we arrived, he led me into the house. Doris was in the middle of the living room: kneeling, naked and blindfolded. I stared: had she been that way the whole time Michael was out? He motioned me to be quiet then took my hand and pulled me toward Doris. "Michael?" she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.
"You know you are to be quiet," he said. He still dragged me toward her kneeling form.
But suddenly I was wrapped up in the memory of the voice he'd just used with Doris. He'd responded in the calmest, quietest way, but there was something about his intonation: a firmness. I was suddenly feeling chills: it seemed like this was a man not to be trifled with. I found myself breathing harder.
I looked at Doris. While I watched, he knelt a second and put restraints around her wrists, in front of her. When he stood again, I noticed he held a piece of leather. Suddenly he smacked her rear with it.
And just as suddenly she was breathing hard: her only other reaction had been a little jerk when the leather struck. "Is she here?" she asked. Then she added: "She's here, isn't she?"
He turned and looked me in the eye but didn't say a word. Then he handed me the leather. I stood there, the leather sitting in my hand, while he backed off, motioning toward her rear for me to try the leather strap on it. I stood there, unable to act but unable to back away either. For a moment, the only sound was Doris's breathing.
Then Michael approached her again and unfastened her wrists. As soon as he had them undone, he caught them up in his hands, holding them. "You're ready for her to do it, aren't you?" he said. When he let go of her wrists, her hands flew to her sex and started rubbing furiously.
She sort of fell forward, losing her balance, leaving her on her knees with her shoulders and face on the floor, her rear sticking up. Her hands still worked quickly and her breathing grew harder and harder.
I didn't say a word, but just dropped the strap and darted out of there. Outside the front door I recalled that Michael had driven me over from the restaurant and I started wondering whether I should walk all the way back. Then he was behind me.
* * *
We sat in the car. He'd offered to drive me back, but he hadn't started the car yet. "It's OK," he finally said: "it's a lot to get used to the first time."
The first time, he'd said. He was saying there would be more? "She really likes it?" I asked.
"You saw her."
I found my mind racing. "Do you two ever switch places?"
"You mean Doris strap me? She's not interested. Not in the least," he said. Then he added: "Are you?"
"What?"
"Are you interested in using the strap on me?"
I wondered what would be next! Michael, submissive the way Doris was? "No," I said.
"I think you are," he said.
After a second I said: "I couldn't cheat on Doris."
"She leaves all these matters to me: she begs me to be independent." I just sat there. Then he said "Come" and got out of the car.
I followed him past the living room where Doris still was lying, on through the house into their bedroom. It brought back memories of Doris on that bed. Finally letting go of my hand, he turned toward me. He looked at me a second, then without saying a word, got down on his knees, then bent, his face to the floor, his hands on the back of his neck. I stood there, looking down at this man kneeling at my feet. The strap was on the floor next to him.
I was very wet. "Get naked," I heard myself say. The firmness I heard in my own voice surprised me.
Cyan Stories
Erotic fiction, sex stories, for erotica lovers.