Traveling Salesman & Bondage · Part 1 (1/2)
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"It's a great morning for a bondage meeting!" I said to myself as I drove along a desolate two-lane highway toward a small town about two hours away from the city where I live. But on a more serious note, I just hoped that this new acquaintance would show up… and turn out to be what he had led me to understand that he was. My mind tended to wander as I drove; I admit that I do sometimes get "lost in thought" (you know–unfamiliar territory and all that).
I am an enthusiast for bondage with other guys. Nothing painful or extreme, just the adventure of tying another guy up and the sensation and exciting feeling that it stirs inside me when I take control of another guy in this way. And sometimes, out of fairness, giving up control to another guy by allowing him to turn the tables and tie me up. I am not gay, but am well aware that bondage is sometimes associated with that lifestyle. I wondered if the guy that I was meeting–for the first time, I might add–was gay or just a bondage enthusiast like myself. I might find out soon, or then again, remain in the unknown.
Rod and I had met on a male bondage site via the computer. We shared messages and got acquainted, and later shared phone numbers and appropriate times to call and converse in person. He told me that he traveled a lot for his salesman job–mostly in five states, one of which was my home state. We remained in contact for about four months, and finally he informed me that he would be coming on a business trip to a large city in my state, and would gladly detour for a couple of hours if I was willing to split the distance with him. It sounded great, and would only involve a two-hour drive for me, and for him. Besides, I had a fair amount of vacation leave that I had to use up or lose, so a day off would be welcome.
Since both Rod and I like to take control of another guy, we planned a four hour meeting to begin around midday. We would take turns: one of us would tie the other up for a couple of hours, then we would switch places. It was agreed that we would avoid extremes, pain, and sexual gratification at the other's expense–but apart from using those loose parameters, no other detail of what to avoid was discussed. Big mistake–I was to find out later!
I was going over one of our latest telephone conversations in my mind as I drove. Rod's voice was deep, and mysterious, and just made for a radio. He sounded like his voice alone would melt the heart of any female within listening distance. "Jake," he had said to me as we were making final plans for the meeting, "I am the guest… as you are aware. That said, don't you agree that I should start and tie you up first?"
"What the heck," I replied, "one of us has to submit first. It may as well be me."
"And I can do whatever I want to you… right?" he questioned.
"Remember," I responded, "nothing extreme, no pain, nothing sexual."
A long, drawn out laugh followed as I listened. "Right," he said, and I knew he was smiling as he said it.
Since I was the "host", I was able to rent a room at a certain motel, with the explanation that an interview was going to take place and privacy was essential. Once I had the key, I would enter the room, and wait for him. I had previously emailed a picture of myself to him, but for a reason supported by a host of excuses, he could not return the favor. All I knew about him was that he was a wrestler and a gymnast in his high school, and had kept himself in excellent physical shape since then. Ordinarily, that small amount of detail would have caused me to throw up a distress flag, but all his excuses seemed valid, and I accepted them.
Another small matter entered my uncharted thought territory as I drove: I had to let him know what color and model of car I was driving, so he could watch for me. He would watch for me and come into the room after me, so I would not have similar information about him. Why hadn't I thought about that before? Should I even be concerned? Oh well. Life's a riddle at times.
I arrived at the small town and easily found the motel. I checked in, gave my name as the one who had called about booking a room at midday for a confidential interview, and left the office with the key to a "private room". I drove to the room (just behind the main office–so much for real privacy) and parked my car. As the host, it was left for me to bring whatever bondage items would be used. At least my mind had not been clouded in that regard–I had just a box of ropes cut in various lengths, some large cloth handkerchiefs (bandannas actually) of various colors, and a roll of duct tape: basics, but nothing fancy–as per Rod's and my agreement.
I pulled the box from the trunk, and looked around at the few cars in the central parking lot; all the cars appeared empty. I unlocked the door, and entered the room. A typical motel room with two beds, a writing table and chair, television, and a well hidden bathroom.
I sat down on one of the beds. Within two minutes a solid knock came at the door. That was quick!
I opened the door, and a well-built man about my height brushed past me into the room. "Greetings Jake," he said in a deep voice that I instantly recognized from our telephone conversations. He stood with his back to me for a moment as he looked about the room, then turned to face me. He was dressed in dark slacks and a dull-gold dress shirt that did little to hide his broad shoulders and narrow waist. And, he was wearing a skin colored ski mask that hid everything except his dark eyes and his mouth.
My mouth fell open involuntarily, and I stammered a questioning, "Rod?"
"It's me," he replied. "Good to finally meet you!"
His eyes had a slight twinkle as he saw the surprised expression on my face. "Oh, the mask!" he finally said. "Well I am a man of surprises, Jake." (This was something I would more fully understand and agree with in a short time.) "But since I am going to tie you up and take control of you first, I don't want you to see my face until later. I hope that is okay, but I need to keep my face hidden for a while longer–at least until you take control of me."
I just gave a small nod and answered, "Okay."
"Now, shut the door and lock it, then come over here by the bed," he ordered in a deep, but not condescending voice.
I shut the door, secured the lock (forgetting the dead bolt), and moved to the location where he was pointing.
He began to walk around me slowly, looking me over from head to foot. "Nice," he said, "very nice. You keep yourself in good shape, Jake. We only have a few hours, and we have gotten acquainted by email and phone, so lets get started! Are the ropes in the box?" he asked.
I closed my eyes and nodded. It was sort of strange, but he was right: we did have only a few hours to meet.
I heard him pull the flaps of the box open, and opened my eyes. I watched as he dumped the contents out on the writing desk. He picked up a length of rope with one hand and flapped it against the palm of his other hand a few times as he spoke. "I've seen your picture Jake, but it was just from the shoulders up–and they were covered. I want to see more. Take off the shirt," he ordered.
I unbuttoned my shirt and let it slide down my arms, catching it and tossing it on the floor by the side of the bed. I thought I saw the lower part of the ski mask twitch, and observed that he was smiling. 'Very nice," he repeated again. "I have wrestled guys who were in much worse shape than you, but they did have considerably less hair on their chest. All the more fun… right?" The way he asked that, I wondered if he was talking about past wrestling bouts or my chest hair.
"From this point," he said, emphasizing the importance of his words with a pointing finger, "until you take control of me in a couple of hours, you will speak only when I tell you to speak. Understand?" I nodded my reply.
Still carrying the rope, he began to walk in circles around me again. "Lock your fingers behind your head," Rod demanded with his deep voice. I raised my hands and interlocked my fingers behind my head as ordered. Rod stood directly in front of me, and I saw the bottom of the ski mask twitch again as he smiled. "Nothing like the sight of a torso being stretched," he said. "There will be more of that later, but stretched in a different way." This guy really liked to talk in riddles!
"Move over to the foot of the bed, and stand with your back to me," Rod ordered. I did, and he stood behind me. "Now drop your hands and put them behind your back." Then he added with a sinister laugh, "You won't be seeing your hands again for a couple of hours."
I could feel the rope that he had been carrying as he wound it around and between my wrists, binding them together–not really tight, but definitely inescapable. Once my hands were tied, he took me by the shoulder and twisted me in a half circle, pushing me down onto the bed at the same time. I landed on my side laying on the mattress, but when the twisting motion was completed, I found myself laying on my back on top of my bound hands, my feet still on the floor, my knees bent so my lower legs were hanging over the bottom of the bed.
It all happened without warning and so quickly that I was caught totally off guard. Rod wasted no time, leaning over me and unfastening my trousers, which he then pulled halfway down my thighs–along with my underwear. I was still in recovery mode as he lifted one foot and pulled off my shoe, then lifted the other foot and took off my other shoe. He proceeded to pull my trousers down to my ankles, then off completely, almost pulling me off the bed in the process. I was now wearing nothing but my socks, and those were quickly removed as well.
Rod stood up and rested his hands on his hips as he looked down at me. "Now I have the complete picture," he said in a some what victorious tone. "And Jake, I do like what I see!" As he brushed my clothes off to the side with his foot, he remarked, "You won't be seeing your clothes again either for a couple of hours."
With what had happened so far in our meeting, I really did not dare say anything. My face was probably a darker shade of red, but somehow, the feeling I had was more a flash of excitement than anything else. And much as I hate to admit it, it was evident by the erection that I was now displaying.
Rod grabbed me under my arms and pulled me higher on the bed so my head was now resting on the pillows. He reached into the pile of ropes and pulled another length out, then proceeded to tie my feet together. Reaching for another rope, and pulling the desk chair to the side of the bed, Rod then sat down and just relaxed. As I watched him, he just sat and looked at me, laying tied up on the bed. Several minutes later, he looked me in the eyes. "Jake," he said, "I am going to give you permission to speak. But you can only say numbers. You are going to count the number of times I strike you with this rope."
My eyebrows shot higher up on my forehead, and I opened my mouth to protest. But before I had a chance, he whipped me on the upper thighs just below my obvious erection. Then he hit me again on my stomach just above my navel. "Two," I said through clenched teeth. This went on for awhile, with intermittent breaks between each strike of the rope. Finally, we reached the magic number of twenty, and there were that many pink welts in various locations on the front of my body.
Somehow I endured it, knowing that my chance to tie him up was approaching. I had envisioned in my mind many times since we had started planning for this meeting just how I would tie him up when my turn came. But now, I was seriously considering scraping all that and doing to him exactly what he was doing to me. Getting him naked, using a rope whip: I was making mental notes of everything he was doing to me.
Rod put the rope down, then rolled me over onto my stomach. "Squirm down to the bottom of the bed, Jake," he ordered. "I want you kneeling at the foot of the bed and your chest resting on the bed so you are bent over." It wasn't hard to guess what was coming next. I took my time squirming down to the foot of the bed, pretending it was a difficult maneuver when tied up. Finally he took my feet and pulled me the rest of the way, then positioned me just as he had wanted.
"Start over with the counting, Jake," he demanded. I did. Most of the whipping took place on my exposed butt cheeks or my upper legs, but occasionally Rod would lift my tied hands into the air and land a blow on my lower back as I knelt at the foot of the bed. The count went to twenty-five, then the whipping stopped.
In all honesty, the stinging from the rope whipping was not severe. The first blow on my upper thighs while I was laying down was a total surprise, and I had not braced for the impact. It was by far the worst–the rest were uncomfortable, but not extreme.
Once I had said the number twenty-five out loud, Rod lay the rope next to me on the bed and sat down in the chair. He lightly rubbed a few of the pink stripes on my butt, then spoke, "You handled that very well, Jake. And you follow instructions very well." Then standing up from the chair, he gave another command, "Stand up and keep your back to me, Jake. It's time to tie you up a different way."
He assisted me as I tried to stand–not an easy task with my feet tied together, and my hands still tied behind my back. I stood at the foot of the bed, and waited as Rod untied my hands, then rubbed the rope marks on my wrists slightly.
"Keep your hands behind your back," he told me, then took the rope he had been using to whip me from the bed. I saw him reach into the pile and pull out a couple of bandannas also. He soon reached around and pressed a folded bandanna into my mouth, stuffing it in completely. The second bandanna was soon folded i
Traveling Salesman & Bondage · Part 1 (1/2)
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