Montreal, Part I
A couple of weeks ago when Belle was out of town, I found myself laying in bed with my imagination running wild. I had just woken up and wasn’t fully awake. As I lay there in that groggy state, I allowed an actual event – a trip we took together several years ago – to merge with fantasies being produced by my hormone-soaked brain. The vividness with which this tale spun out in my head was remarkable. Before I lost any of the detail and texture, I tried to commit as much of it as possible to memory.
In the distant past, I tried my hand at fiction. Once or twice, even erotic fiction. That, however, was long ago. What’s presented here is my first stab at anything of this sort in close to 20 years. It may be good, or it may not. You may like it, or you may not.
I think it’s important to point out at this juncture that none of the things related here actually happened. Also, I’m not saying by writing this out that I want any or all of these things to happen to me. This is porn. Porn is fantasy. There are elements of what’s described here that I find extremely arousing. However, at it’s best, porn is a cartoon-like caricature of real life. Maybe that’s the difference between “erotic” and “porn”. Erotic is closer to possible while porn is obviously not. Who knows? In any event, here’s my first stab at it. Please feel free to let me have it in the comments.
The hotel room door swung shut on its springed hinge and closed with a heavy thud as the couple, burdened with eight or ten shopping bags, returned after a long day perusing the tony little shops lining the wide urban streets of Montreal. Her job is with a large American retail company and she comes to Montreal every year or so to shop trends. He’s her husband and is just along for the ride – a chance for a romantic weekend away from the kids.
Their room is significantly nicer than those in which they typically stay. The hotel had oversold everything at the rate they booked and had to offer them an upgrade. They were in a corner of the tall building, eight stories up, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto a construction site across the narrow street and several apartment buildings next door to the hotel and adjacent to the building under construction. It was late in the afternoon, but there were still several workers in bright yellow hardhats milling about the site, many of them focused on some large piece of equipment directly across and a little higher than the couple’s room. The apartments seemed mostly empty, though he could see an old lady in a flowered nighty talking on an ancient cordless phone while watering the plants on her balcony, the cigarette dangling from her lips bouncing around as she spoke.
“I could use a nice hot bath,” she said as he dropped his bags on the floor at the foot of their king bed and fell backwards onto it.
“Mmmm,” he said drowsily as he hooked the tip of one shoe over the heel of the other and slipped them off his tired feet, “That does sound nice. Have a good time.”
Eyes closed, he listened to her move about the room. “A little nap,” he was thinking, “sounds about right,” just as he felt the weight of her body straddle his hips and her soft kisses on his forehead and face.
“Then again,” she whispered, “a bath can wait,” as she started to unbutton his shirt and run her fingers through his hairy chest. “Maybe I could have a little fun first.”
“Mmmm?” he said and moved his hands up to her waist. She had his shirt unbuttoned to his belt buckle.
“Take that off,” she said shortly. He immediately pulled the shirt from his pants and undid the last button. Leaning up slightly, he pulled the shirt from his body and threw it to the side. She was rubbing the palm of her hand along the hard, noticeable bulge in his pants and licking his left nipple. With a little bite that made him arch his back with pleasure, she hastily unfastened his belt and pulled open the six buttons on his jeans. She stood up at the foot of the bed between his knees and, in one motion, reached up and pulled his pants and underwear off.
Tossing the wadded up material aside, she stood looking down at him and admired her man. His long, strong legs, broad hairy chest and, in the middle of the lighter stripe of skin between his tanned torso and legs, a bright and shiny stainless steel chastity cage securely locked onto his straining manhood. Its construction consisted of a heavy steel ring encircling his shaft and scrotum. Secured to that by a small brass lock through a welded-on pin was a cage made from one long high-gauge steel bar formed into a curving spring-like form. The length of this cage was just short of 4 inches, so his erection pressed against the unyielding steel and pushed the ring up and into his ballsack pulling it tight across his testicles. The excruciating firmness of the cage caused the familiar aching pain from his constricted erection as it was forced back into his body.
She had locked him in his portable prison almost two weeks earlier (though he could tell you it was exactly 12 and a half days ago). The deal was she would release him on this trip and allow him to enjoy as many orgasms as he could get in the two nights and three days they were there. Imagine his disappointment and anger upon hearing she had forgotten the key back at their apartment, still on it’s fine silver chain she usually wore around her neck. He felt anger, yes, but dared not show it to her since to do so would only extend his imprisonment. He had learned that lesson the hard way.
She reached down and lifted from the floor a small black duffle bag, the contents of which he was well acquainted, and dropped it onto the bed about a foot from his left shoulder. She looked at the windows and furrowed her eyebrows in the cute and endearing way he knew so well. He continued to lie there as she went around and closed all the curtains on two walls of their room. He had an idea where this was headed (experience had taught him to trust her implicitly) but understood he was to do nothing without her instruction.
She returned to the bed and pulled from an outer pocket of the duffle two foam earplugs, a long strip of black satin, and a length of black leather with chrome hardware attached.
“On all fours,” she said, “Up here,” patting the bed. He assumed the position with is head facing her. As she brought the collar up to his throat, he bowed his head and felt the familiar leap of electric excitement within his chest. As she secured the buckle, he felt the equality of their spousal relationship fall to the floor and land next to his wadded up jeans. When wearing the collar, he was her pet. Her plaything. Totally and completely hers. All that mattered to him now was her satisfaction and happiness. Whatever she required – whatever she asked – he would do. His cock strained against its cage.
She placed the black cloth over his eyes and gently tied it behind his head. He was blind. He felt an earplug go into one ear. A moment later, she whispered into the other, “Stay just like this. Don’t move,” and she plugged that one, too. He laid there in total darkness hearing nothing more than his short, nervous breathing. Subtle breezes over his exposed skin were the only way he knew she was still there, moving about the room, preparing for him whatever pleasurable torture she had devised.
After a few minutes (it was hard to know exactly how long in his sensory deprived state) he felt a thick leather cuff go around first his left, then his right wrists. She cinched them tight enough that he couldn’t slip out of them, but not so tight they cut off his circulation. Moments later, similar cuffs were secured to his ankles. She removed the earplugs and hooked her finger though the chrome O-ring attached to his collar.
“Get up and follow me,” she instructed him, tugging his collar. He got to his feet, off balance from her tugging and struggling to keep up, and walked a few feet from the bed. “Stop. Turn this way…OK, stay right there.”
He felt something pushed into the back of his legs from behind. It was cold and hard against his calves. Thinking about what was in the room, he quickly decided it must be the chair from the room’s desk. He felt her securing his ankle cuffs to the legs of the chair.
“Now, slowly start to sit,” she said from beside him. He felt one hand on his arm as she guided him down towards the chair. Suddenly, something under him bumped into his ass. “Hold on,” she said as she repositioned the slippery head of the fire engine red dildo so that it aligned with is asshole.
He moaned shallowly as she said, “OK, keep going.” He felt the head of the latex cock press against the tightness of his sphincter. “Relax,” she said, “Push out.” He relaxed his ass the best he could in the partially sitting position she had him in. His sphincter opened just enough to allow the red cock head to pop though. His grunt was her cue to resume her downward guidance. He felt his ass begin to accept the intrusion and in his mind saw 1.5” heft of the 12” dildo glide into his body. Finally, with hard rubber ball sack of the dildo pressing against the bottom of his, he was in a sitting position. She then secured around his waist a belt with several D-rings built into it. On each side of his hips, she ran a strap though a ring, cinched them tight, and secured the ends to the chair. His impalement was complete.
“Put your arms back here,” she told him as she guided them over the top of the chair. The chair back was at the same height as his armpits so his whole body slid forward slightly on the seat. He felt the dildo grind into his ass and press hard into his hole as the straps securing his belt pulled tight. His shoulders were against the chair’s back, but his ass was almost to the edge of the seat. She secured his wrist cuffs to the chair’s back and he found his range of movement to be practically nothing.
From before him she said, “Now, that should give you plenty to think about while I’m in my bath,” with a self-satisfied, gloating tone in her voice.
“You’re just going to leave me like this?” he asked, feeling heart thudding first in vessels lining his stuffed colon and then echoed in his throbbing, stifled erection. His ears reddened.
“Well yes, of course,” she replied matter-of-factly, “But I don’t want you to get bored. Hmm, too bad you’re not facing the TV.”
“Couldn’t see it if I was,” he said with a dangerously sarcastic edge to his voice.
“Well, then, let me remove your blind.”
As the blind was removed, he was left squinting and blinking in the light of the room. She had illuminated every lamp and light. As his eyes adjusted, he also noticed that she had pulled the overstuffed armchairs from the corner of the room. In their place was the chair to which he was secured. Next to him was the side table, the lamp upon it also on to its brightest setting.
“I shouldn’t be more than an hour or so,” she said from behind him. “Try to make yourself comfortable.”
It was then, as he heard her walk thick carpeting away from him and towards the bathroom, that he realized with horror the true nature of the predicament she had created for him. His cheeks flushed hotly as he looked out the tall, floor to ceiling windows, their curtains fully retracted. He was on display for anyone in the neighboring buildings who happened to look in his direction. Late afternoon was turning into dusk and all the lights in their room would turn it into a well-illuminated stage with his bound, submissive nakedness its main attraction.
A low, deep moan escaped his lips.
The story is continued here.