Montreal, Part II

Here’s what I think about porn (at least, the porn I like): It’s fantasy. An escape. Total unreality. Just enough basis in real life so that it’s not outrageous and unbelievable (it needs to be just believable), but honestly not so far removed from a cartoon. Porn is not about the mundane mechanics of how sex should or does work, it’s about turning people on. Porn is not a guide to sex any more than The Lion King is a guide to wildlife. It should be reasonably well-written with all the words spelled correctly and with acceptable grammar. Basically, it shouldn’t look like it was pecked out with one hand (if you know what I mean). That is the standard I have tried to follow as I’ve continued this story.

Please note that the events I’ve depicted here have no basis in any personal experiences, except that Belle and I did once spend a very nice (very vanilla) weekend in Montreal in a room not unlike the one I describe in the story. I am not representing real life here and I am also very clearly not trying to describe some kind of ideal life through fiction. I would not want what happens to the guy in this story to happen to me (not all of it, anyway). Life is life, porn is porn. They are not the same.

Anyway, with that outrageously long preamble out of the way, let’s continue. Last we saw our protagonist, he was bound to a chair, a red dildo up his ass, on display in front of the windows of the hotel room he shared with his wife. Night was beginning to fall. Soon, it would be hard for anyone to miss him…

MONTREAL
Part II

The minutes ticked by. He sat motionless, not even taking advantage of the limited movement allowed by his restraints. Maybe, if he didn’t move, nobody would see him.

From outside, as the dusk deepened around the floor to ceiling windows, he seemed to glow like a beacon. Every light in the hotel room was lit, including the one next to his chair, and most of the other windows were dark and empty or had their curtains drawn. She could not have designed a more prominent stage upon which to display her man. It was only a matter of time.

His eyes darted toward every movement. The small group of construction workers were still there, concentrating on a large piece of equipment. The old woman’s apartment was still lit, though she was nowhere to be seen. He noticed another widow in a dark apartment two over from the old woman’s illuminated only by the flickering light of an unwatched television, an empty recliner its only audience. The occasional car or taxi zoomed by on the street below. People walked quickly by, probably on their way home.

He had no concept of time. He could have been there for ten minutes or an hour. If not for the progress of the gathering darkness, he’d have been in a timeless state, desperate to avoid what seemed to be the inevitable moment he was seen. Behind him, he could hear his wife humming to herself in the bath and the watery sounds of her occasional movement.

“How you doing out there, baby?” she called to him.

“Great,” he croaked. “You almost done?”

There was a pause. “Oh…I don’t know. The bath feels so good,” she replied. “Nice and warm.”

He knew better than to say much more. If he sounded too desperate, too worried, it’d only prolong her fun…and his misery.

Then, he managed to catch out of the corner of his eye the first person to notice him. One of the construction workers, a thin, shorter guy in a blaze orange vest and a yellow hard hat was pointing at him. The two others looked in his direction. He flinched. Trying to move, he grunted and struggled against his restraints, but it was no use. His heart thudded in his ears. He had been spotted.

The sound of his struggle must have traveled to the bathroom. “What’s going on, baby? Do you have some admirers?”

“Yes!” he called out. “Three of them. Guys working on that building.”

The three across the narrow way continued to look at him and talk among themselves. It seemed as though there were trying to figure out exactly what they were seeing. One squinted and cocked his head.

“Honey?” he called to her, voice quivering a little. “How much longer?”

“Hmm? Oh, I don’t know. Not long. My fingers aren’t even pruney yet.”

One of the workers, a large guy with a big gut, started talking in an animated fashion and seemed to be laughing. The others laughed along. The third pulled out his cell phone and held it up.

“Oh, god. He’s talking pictures.”

“Really? Maybe you’ll be on the internet, baby.” He hadn’t even realized he had spoken out loud. He pulled on his straps, but it was no use. Struggling only ground the big red dildo deeper into his ass.

Off to the right, movement in the old lady’s apartment caught his eye. She was walking from her kitchen with a bowl in her hand, a cat snaking between her feet. She glanced up casually and saw him. She froze. The bowl dropped to the floor and the cat pounced on the dry food scattering across the floor. He could feel the heat rise in his face.

From her perspective, she could see it all, including the bright red scrotum of the dildo. The woman took several steps over to her balcony, her mouth hanging open. Looking right at her, he felt his heart thud once, twice, three times before her face started to contort and redden. She started to yell something. All he could hear through the thick glass was a muffled, high-pitched voice. She may have been speaking French. She stood there, screaming at him and waving her fist in the air. She was loud enough to get the attention of the workers who were doubled over on each other in laughter.

More movement above. A light had come on one floor up from the old woman’s and to the right. Two young, beautiful women walked into view, one sorting through the day’s mail while the second came behind, pulling off her earring and mouthing some words he’d never hear. They looked like two office girls sharing a flat so they could afford to live in this upscale neighborhood. The second girl turned her head and saw him. Her hand went to the shoulder of the first and both their gazes were on him.

His mouth went dry. He breathing was in short, shallow pants. His chest, ears, and stuffed rectum all thumped in rhythm with the increasingly frantic beat of his heart. Cold beads of perspiration popped up on his forehead. He felt faint. This was getting out of control.

“HONEY!?”

“Yeah, baby?” she answered, as lazily as his call to her had been frantic.

“Can we stop this now?!”

Pause.

“Not quite yet, baby.”

He was embarrassed beyond belief. She knew that he got off on degradation, objectification, and humiliation, but she had never gone this far. It dawned on him that while he was terrified of the attention – of all the strange eyes on his naked and bound body – that his steel chastity cage was stuffed as never before and pulled far from his body, its ring biting painfully into the base of his erection. How? How in the world could this be turning him on?

The construction workers had sat down, legs dangling over the edge of the unfinished fifth floor of their building, and called down to passers-by and pointed up to him. He saw a small group on the sidewalk below looking up. The old lady had her antique phone up to her ear and was yelling at someone on the other end of the call, free hand gesticulating wildly. The beautiful young women had come out onto their balcony and were leaning on the rail, one on her cell phone, the other – oh god – the other with a small pair of binoculars up to her eyes, a sly smile spread across her red lips. Now, she could see everything in perfect detail, from his stuffed ass to his caged cock to his panicked expression.

His eyes fell to the apartment directly below that of the girls. The TV was still on, but it now illuminated a huge, fat man sitting in the recliner. He was entirely naked, covered in thick body hair, and staring unblinkingly at the bound figure before him. His clenched fist worked slowly up and down what, even from this distance, was an obviously huge erection.

His eyes locked with those of the fat, hairy man whose gaze bore right back into his. Undisguised animal lust burned in those eyes. His submissive psyche immediately responded to his larger man’s obvious dominance. In a different time, a different place, the large, hairy man would have turned the other into nothing more than a sexual object. A slave.

“Ready to get out?”

He jumped. She was right behind him wearing the thick, white hotel bathrobe, her hair up in a towel. He never heard her leave the bath, though now he could hear the water gurgling down the drain.

“Oh god, yes, I’m ready. I’m so ready.”

“Because if not, I could go back in there and touch up my toenails…”

“NO! Please. Please stop this now. Please, I want it to stop”

“What will I get if I do? Tell me. What will you do for me?”

“Anything. I’ll do anything. Just close the curtains!”

“Anything?”

“YES! Of course! Anything!”

She walked to the window and slowly drew the curtains. The workers started making crude gestures at her while the old woman turned and stormed back into her apartment. The beautiful girls laughed while the one with the binoculars blew him a kiss with her perfect mouth. The fat, hairy man continued to stare and work his massive hard-on.

The curtains finally closed before him. The show was over. His tension recoiled and he slouched as best he could, the heavy sheen of sweat suddenly turning cold all over his body. The bright red dildo slipped just a centimeter deeper and a shiny bead of precum oozed from his caged, hard cock.

To be continued.