My Exposed Fantasy

My Exposed Fantasy

A graduate study turns naked

by G. Lawrence

This is a fantasy story not intended to reflect real life. All characters are over 18 years old.

* * * * * *

Sometimes we need to be careful about discussing our fantasies. My friend Stan was a graduate student at USC studying psychology. We played on the same soccer club and often shared stories. He approached me on a Wednesday night at The Blue Duckling, our local bar.

"Jenny, I'm working on my thesis and need your help," he said.

"Sure, Stan. What is it?" I asked, drinking the beer but barely touching my salad.

"I'm asking people about their fantasies. Their deepest sexual fantasies. In detail. Like Nancy Friday did in My Secret Garden. The participants will be kept anonymous, of course, so they can speak freely."

"That's kind of a lot to ask," I demurred.

"Max agreed."

"Max is a wolf. His bragging doesn't surprise me."

"Frank and Trudy are doing it," Stan persisted.

"Frank is gay, Trudy is a lesbian, and they're both out. They don't bother with secrets."

"What secrets would you bother with? Are you secretly gay?"

"I've had some experiences with girls, but I would not describe myself as gay."

"How would you describe yourself?"

"Flexible."

Stan laughed.

"It doesn't bother you that you're a woman and I'm a guy, asking you to do this?"

"No. It's not like confessing my secrets would make me sleep with you."

"Then you'll do it?"

"Are you sure I'm the right person? I haven't even dated for a year."

"Why is that?"

"It's personal."

"But you still fantasize, don't you?"

"Oh, yes. I fantasize a lot."

"Then you're still a good candidate for my study."

"Okay, but let's not tell anyone. It would be too embarrassing."

"I brought my audio recorder," he said, reaching into his pocket.

"You'll take notes. I'm not putting my private life on a webcast."

"That's fair."

The tavern could get quiet at night during the school year, so we had enough privacy in our secluded corner booth.

"Okay, our confidential subject is a 28-year-old female fine arts instructor at Midvale Valley College," Stan officially recorded. "She is 5'7, 135-pounds--"

"128-pounds," I corrected.

"128-pounds, athletic, with dark auburn hair, hazel eyes, and a small mole--"

"Hey, you are getting awful specific here," I protested.

"Don't worry, Jen. I only use the information for my private notes," Stan assured me. "May I suppose you have sexual fantasies?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Men or women?"

"Both, but mostly men."

"Are they romantic? Intensely physical?"

"Intensely physical, yes. Usually not romantic. I fantasize about being taken."

"Taken? Like a rape fantasy?"

"Not quite rape. And never anything violent. More like lured and then caught off-guard."

"Bondage?"

"Oh, yes. I love the idea of being tied up."

"Have you done bondage?"

"Not really. I haven't been able to make myself that vulnerable. But I've fantasized all kinds of scenarios."

"This is very interesting," Stan said, scribbling madly. I didn't realize he knew shorthand. "What are some of your favorites?"

I grew quiet, needing to take a deep breath. "I've never said this to anyone. Not anyone. You're keeping it confidential?"

"There won't be any names in my paper," he assured me.

"I've seen videos," I confessed. "Porn videos. I won't watch the extreme ones, but there are a few I keep going back to."

"And?"

"It's kind of a gradual thing. The woman finds herself in a strange situation. Sometimes she's coaxed out of her clothes or caught without them. A guy confronts her. Sometimes another woman, but mostly a guy. He ties her hands behind her back, kind of playfully, so she thinks not much will happen. She'll need to put out, or suck his dick, and then it will be over. But he has a surprise for her."

"That's intriguing," Stan said, leaning forward. "You envision yourself in these scenarios?"

"It's embarrassing, but of course, that's the whole idea. Suddenly, instead of being used right there, I'm taken to another room. Maybe a basement. I've even fantasized about being taken to another building. I have no clothes. Not a shred. I hate those videos where the girl wears high heels. Where the hell is a naked tied-up woman going in high heels? The man, or woman captor, stays fully dressed, showing their dominance.

"Once in the new location, still feeling free enough to move around, I look for a chance to escape. I've thought of a lot of escape routines. But my captor has other plans. I'm tied to a table. Hand and foot. Spreadeagle, until I can barely move. When I try to protest, he puts a ball gag in my mouth. And there I am, naked and helpless, squirming, totally in his power."

"It sounds like the plot for a serial killer," Stan disapproved.

"No, I don't go there. That's not what this is about. It's a game. It's fun. My captor brags about the control he has over me. He says it's my fault for getting myself in this situation. And after toying with me, he fucks me and makes me cum."

"And that's it?" Stan asked. I lowered my eyes, afraid to confess more.

"No."

"Well?"

"I can't say it."

"Yes, you can. What is it?"

"After fucking me, I expect him to let me go. He says that's not going to happen. He has all night. Maybe the next day. Maybe a three-day weekend. And he has friends coming over."

I took a deep sip of my beer, shuddering at the thought. And getting excited. My thighs were squeezed together in hope that my wet panties wouldn't stain my dress.

"Wow, I never saw that coming," Stan said, writing it all down with a big smile. Then he looked up at me, very uncomfortably.

"Don't even think it," I said. "It's a fantasy, and you are never in it."

"As much as I'd like to be, it would invalidate my study, so consider yourself safe," he responded.

I prattled on for another hour, talking about other fantasies. Sucking dick while on my knees. Paraded around in public on a leash. Being hung from a rafter and flogged. Finally, I managed to shut up.

"Thanks, Jen, this is great stuff," Stan said, putting his notes away. And then he bought me another beer.

In the weeks that followed, I tried not to dwell on our conversation, though talking about it out loud after so many years had made it more real. I used the fantasy several times with sex toys in my bedroom, getting hotter than ever. But I didn't mention it to anyone else. If my friends even suspected my inner desires, it would be humiliating.

Our soccer club had a big game coming up so we needed extra practice. I was fast, but the guys were better at close quarters. And to my disappointment, I was not selected to start. Coach Hayes hinted that I seemed distracted. After practice, the team adjourned to the Blue Duckling.

"You need to get back on your game, Jenny," my old friend Trudy said. "You were so good."

"I'm still good," I replied.

"When you show up. When your head isn't someplace else," she pressed.

"Sports isn't everything," I responded.

"What is everything?" Frank asked, my old childhood companion. "What do you even care about anymore?"

"Come on, guys, lighten up," I complained. The evening ended before nine. Early for a Friday night.

"You need a shower," Frank recommended after the rest of the team had gone home. "Maybe an hour in the sweat lodge."

"Why would you care? You're not into girls," I teased.

"I like girls that don't stink," he replied.

"Is Thermae's still open?"

"For another few minutes. And Old Mr. Masters won't kick us out."

The gym was right across the street. Frank and I went over, only finding a few patrons getting ready to leave. The old geezer who ran the place was buried in his office. I took off my clothes, stored them in my usual locker, and found a towel. The steam room was in the back near the showers.

"Isn't this great?" Frank said as we sat in the steam room. It was big enough for ten, but there were only two of us. The steam felt wonderful.

"I must admit, it is nice. Good call, Frankie."

"You know I don't like being called Frankie."

"You never have," I laughed.

The steam was plenty hot. Enough to work up a sweat. As the gym drifted into after hours, we could take our time.

"No boyfriends these days?" Frank asked.

"No. Any boyfriends for you?"

"I stay active. Trudy is my wing girl at the clubs, and I'm her wingman when she needs me."

"That sounds like an unusual combination. Crisscrossing gay couples?"

"We have a wide circle of friends, which you would know if you got out more."

"Okay, so my love life sucks. What else is new?" I complained.

"Maybe it can be better?" he suggested.

"Maybe, but not likely," I replied.

"These towels are soaking through, let me get a fresh one for you," he said, getting up.

"And sit here butt naked?"

"Do you think I care about your naked body?" Frank asked.

"Okay, you've got me there," I laughed, giving him my towel.

After he was gone, I stepped into the shower to cool down and looked at myself in the mirror. I was in my late twenties now with deep brown eyes and a nice body. My B-cup boobs were still perky. Maybe I wasn't a great beauty, but pretty enough. Why I couldn't attract a decent guy was a mystery. Being grumpy all the time didn't help.

Frank was still gone, and I wondered what happened to him. I peeked out of the shower but didn't see him. The women's locker room was thirty feet away. I covered my breasts with my arms and hurried over, pulling on the door. It was locked. Locked?

At least I could still get a towel from the men's locker room, and other than Frank, it would be empty. Those doors were locked, too. I wasn't sure what to do, looking around the deserted gym completely naked. What about the main office? Was anyone still there? It was like one of those enf videos I liked watching. And then I heard a sound from behind me.

"Hi, there, Jen. Good practice today," a voice said from the shadows. It was Max Summers, our team's goalie. Max was tall and strong with blond hair and deep blue eyes. Though we'd dated a few times, we had never slept together. He could be a little intimidating.

"Hi, Max. Where's Frank?" I asked, running back to hide behind the shower room door.

"I think he went home," Max answered.

"Home? He has my towel."

"That's thoughtless of him. Can I help?"

"I guess you'll have to. Can you find me a towel? And open the women's locker room?"

"Old Mr. Masters has already gone," Max said.

"What the fuck? My clothes are in there!"

"That's a predicament. Want me to find the keys?"

"Yes. Please," I said.

"Just a minute," Max said, disappearing around the corner. This so embarrassing, I thought. What was Frank thinking? Was he mad about something? Max returned a moment later.

"I haven't found where Mr. Masters keeps his keys yet," he said, standing in a dark niche. "Though I did find something for you to wear. It's not much."

"Anything is better than nothing. Bring it here."

"Come get it."

"I can't. I'm not wearing anything."

"We weren't wearing swimsuits in Mike Jacob's jacuzzi. It's not like I haven't seen you naked."

"Max!"

"A guy needs to have a little fun," he answered.

"Okay, let's make this quick," I conceded, taking a few brief steps in his direction. Max took hold of my arm, pressed me against the wall, and before I realized what was happening, he had zip-tied my hands behind my back!

"Max, what the hell? Quit kidding around," I protested.

He drew me out where the light was better.

"You are looking tasty, babe," he said, admiring my long legs, round breasts, flat stomach, and furry mound.

"Untie me before someone sees us," I demanded, crouching down.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I couldn't resist the temptation," he agreed. He turned me around, pulling at my wrists. "This tie won't come loose. I'm going to need scissors. Mr. Masters should have something on the loading dock."

"Put something on me. Give me your shirt," I insisted.

"I'm not giving you my shirt," he answered with a laugh.

I followed him to the back of the building. Standing next to Max, exposed as I was, felt very awkward. He appeared indifferent. The shipping and receiving desk was cluttered. He pawed through a drawer.

"This should work," he said, holding up a box cutter. "But it's awfully stuffy in here. Don't you feel it's stuffy?"

He turned toward the back door, pushing down on the lever. It opened.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Just getting a breath of fresh air," he said, drawing me forward.

"I can't leave the gym! Not like this."

"It will only be for a minute," he replied.

He pulled me into the deserted alley and took a deep breath. My bare feet on the grimy asphalt felt strange. The door started to swing shut. Max made a last second grab for it but was too late. It closed with a bang. Pulling on the handle was unsuccessful.

"The door is locked. We can't get back in," he reported.

"We have to! Break it down!"

"Jenny, it's a steel door. No one is breaking it down."

"Do you have the box cutter?"

"No, I left it on the desk."

"My clothes are in there. My phone. Everything! Goddamn it, I'm standing totally naked in a fucking alley!"

I looked out toward the busy street. Cars were passing. It would take nothing for pedestrians to see me from the sidewalk. Maybe even walk into the alley for a closer look. There was no place to hide.

"Don't worry, I have an idea," Max assured me.

He turned toward the back of the alley. I followed him through a chain-link gate into a private courtyard.

"This was Dolly's Bakery. My aunt owned it," he explained. "It's been closed for a few months, but I have a key. No one will see you here." He opened the rear door, helping me inside. It was murky, lit by a yellow lightbulb.

"This upper floor is kind of dirty and filled with rats, but the storage room downstairs is cleaner."

"The basement? I'm not going down into a basement!" I declined, backing away.

Max smiled in a sly way, then drew a leather collar from his pocket and put it around my neck, buckling the clasp. A leash came next.

"Max?" I questioned, hardly able to believe it.

"I read your interview," he confessed. "Stan didn't mention you by name, but I knew who it was. I've read it over and over. It's made me ache."

"It's just a fantasy," I insisted

"We'll see about that."

"What do you mean?"

Before I knew it, Max was taking me down the stairs by the leash. I felt the wooden steps creaking under my naked feet.

"Max, stop! What are you doing?"

We reached the lower landing, turned down a corridor, and paused at the end of the hall. He pushed a red door open.

"Home, sweet, home," Max said, turning on the lights.

I was shocked. The room looked recently remodeled with freshly painted white walls, a tile floor, and bondage equipment. A torture table. A spanking bench with iron rings. Chains dangling from the rafters. A cabinet filled with whips.

"What the hell is this?" I asked, trying to get away.

"It's as I told you. I read your interview. I've read it a hundred times. I know what you want."

"It it's a fantasy! Damn it, it's a fantasy!" I insisted.

"And now you'll get to live it," Max answered.

Max was much bigger than me. He had no trouble lifting me on the polished wood table. As I sat there dumbfounded, he attached leather cuffs to my ankles and chained them wide apart to rings at the bottom of the board. By the time I thought to fight back, it was too late.

"Tell me the safety word," he said.

"What safety word? There is no safety word."

He leaned forward to whisper in my ear. "And there isn't going to be one. I own you now. You are at my total mercy."

Max cut the zip tie off my hands, pushed me down, and climbed on top of me. As I struggled, he attached leather cuffs to my hands and chained them to the top of the table, leaving me spreadeagle. He was breathing hard, but no harder than I was. Fighting the restraints didn't help, they were too strong.

"Well, that was a tussle, wasn't it?" he said, sitting on the side of the table stroking my stomach. His fingers inched down toward my treasure box, but didn't probe me further. Not yet.

"Max, do you realize how insane this is?" I asked.

"This is your fantasy, not mine," he answered.

"If you let me go now, we'll forget all about this."

"Tell me why I should do that?"

"Why? That's not even a question! Of course you should let me go!"

"Maybe. Eventually. Still a more items from your manifesto remaining."

He reached under the table and produced a ball gag, waving it in front of me.

"You talk too much. This will help," he announced.

"Max!" I shouted. But it only made putting the ball gag in my mouth easier. He wrapped the straps around my neck and tightened them, making sure the gag was secure. All I could do was mumble and hiss.

With my captivity complete, he stood up to paw through the cabinet. I tried to raise my head, not able to see much but the plaster ceiling. He picked up an electric zapper with a red tip, humming without a care in the world. I'd only seen zappers in porn movies but knew what they were for. I frantically struggled against the leather cuffs.

"Okay, let's see how we're doing on our checklist," he casually said, sitting back down on the table.

And it really was a checklist. A copy of Stan's interview with areas highlighted in yellow marker.

"Item one. A woman finds herself in a strange situation, coaxed out of her clothes. That's you, the woman. Frank was a big help to me there, getting you to the gym after hours."

Frank? I thought. That son of a bitch!

"Item two. Her captor, that's me, ties her hands behind her back, but she thinks not much will happen. Not knowing he has a surprise for her. I really did take you by surprise, didn't I? By the time you had a chance to think, we were out the back door into the alley." He chuckled and began to casually scratch my fur.

"Item three. She's taken to another room. Maybe a basement. Or even another building. Well, I need to tell you, sweetcakes, that took some work. I spent two weeks getting this room ready for you. A basement. In another building. I've met all of your criteria. Are you proud of me?"

I didn't know if he really expected praise or was just playing with me. With the ball gag in my mouth, I wouldn't be answering.

"Item four. She has no clothes. Not a shred. Not even high heels. Babe, I need to tell you, the high heels kind of do it for me, but this is your game."

He stroked my bare shoulders, then my breasts, and ran his hand across my stomach to the inside of my thighs. He wasn't rough. I was starting to squirm.

"Mission accomplished there. Not a shred of clothes. Not in the entire building. And I put a new padlock on your gym locker. Even if you'd gotten that far, it wasn't going to open."

My God, I wondered, how long has he been planning this? I didn't even think he was that smart.

"Item five. The captor stays fully dressed, showing no vulnerabilities. You know, I wasn't sure about that one, but now I get it. Here you are, totally naked, completely at my mercy. And I don't feel the least bit self-conscious." He dipped his fingers into my crotch to prove his point. I let out a short gasp. He could feel my growing wetness. Though I was terribly embarrassed, I was not afraid of Max. We were friends.

"Item six. Once in the new location, still feeling free to move around, the woman looks for a way to escape. You even had planned routines in mind. That would have been very brave, which is why I was watching out for it. I thought you might make a move in the alley, if anywhere. I know how fast you are. But you followed me, like the lamb to the slaughter. Once I had you down here, in a soundproof room, you weren't going anywhere."

It was true. I hadn't even thought of running in the alley. Why didn't I do that? Did I secretly want this? No, that couldn't be the answer.

"Item seven. She's tied to a table, hand and foot, until she can barely move. When she tries to talk her way out of it, he puts a ball gag in her mouth. And there she is, naked and helpless."

He put the list down, sighing with satisfaction. "I sanded the table for you. No splinters. Wasn't that considerate of me? And these leather cuffs are much softer than steel handcuffs. I've tried hard to make sure you're comfortable."

And I realized he had. The amount of effort he'd put into this was amazing, even going so far as to use Stan's interview as a script.

A script? I thought. What else had I said during that interview?

"Well, I guess we've reached the end of part one," he said. "Stan included a note saying your fantasy sounded like a guide for a serial killer. That kind of disturbed me. I want you to know that I will never hurt you. A whipping and some rough sex, yes. And, of course, a good spanking on that round ass of yours. But nothing beyond that. I may be fascinated by your manifesto, but I'm not some mean angry loser looking to take out my aggressions on a woman. Do you believe me?"

I nodded that I did.

"I'm glad. Though if I was a mean angry loser looking to take my aggressions out on a woman, there's nothing you could do about it, could you?"

I stared at him in trepidation, not sure what he was thinking. The grin disappeared from his face.

"Jen, I'm sorry. Very sorry. I'm just teasing." He leaned over to kiss me on the forehead. Strangely, it was comforting.

"As you wrote--that is, what Stan wrote quoting your words, this is a game. A fun game. Your captor is supposed to brag about the control he has over you and say it's your fault for getting captured."

He got up, went to the cabinet, and came back with a tube of lotion. An exotic vaginal cream. He squeezed some into his right hand.

"Purely from a practical perspective, I would say I have total control over you," he declared, beginning to smear me with the cream. It was warm. There was a tingling to it. Arousing. When his fingers ran down my pussy, through the folds, and began to massage, I started to tense. He worked me harder. I squirmed more, helpless to do anything about it. Just like in my fantasy.

"What would you say? Have I achieved control over you?" he asked, putting his fingers inside. I moaned and tried to pull away. He moved up and down. Back and forth. He added more cream. His middle finger slipped to my ass before resuming work on my vagina. He was vigorous, but gentle, watching for my responses and reacting to them. And I was responding despite myself. Maybe if I'd been scared, it would have been different. But I wasn't scared, merely embarrassed. And getting very wet. My juices were dripping on the table.

Just as it was becoming too much, he paused.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I'm supposed to lord it over you for getting caught. And it really was your fault. You fell right into our trap."

Our trap? I wondered. I looked with big eyes, my question clear. He laughed.

"You went to the gym, after hours, with Frank. Because he's gay and you thought nothing would come from it. The same Frank you keep calling Frankie even though he tells you not to. The same Frank you've been mercilessly teasing since the 6th grade. And though you're not a homophobe, you can't resist making little cracks about gay men in front of him. Frank read your manifesto, too, and when I suggested this little escapade, he was all onboard. I especially liked the part where he took your towel and left you naked in the steam room. That wasn't in the script."

Max was chuckling again, very pleased with himself.

"Okay, we've kind of fallen behind on our list," he said, picking up the interview. He glanced at the paper, mumbling to himself, using his finger to double-check each point.

"Oh, yes. Here we go. Having established total domination, the captor fucks the captive. We don't want to forget this one, do we?"

He didn't take off his clothes. In my fantasy, my captor maintained his power by remaining invulnerable. Max did open his pants, taking his cock out. Without doubt he was well-endowed, at least eight inches and looking rock hard. He climbed up on the table, but rather than plunging in right away, he initiated foreplay. Steadily. Relentlessly. Forcing me to get caught up in the passion. I felt the smooth surface of the table beneath me as I writhed beneath him. The leather cuffs restraining me were delicious.

"Your manifesto hints at a furious assault. I won't do that," he said.

Then he paused. The playful demeanor disappeared as his expression turned serious. He bent over close to my ear, whispering very softly. "I'm sorry to go off script, sweetheart, but some things can't be helped. If you don't want this, shake your head no. I'll stop. If you do want it, blink your eyes yes."

I was panting from the excitement. This was everything my fantasy had always been, and the amount of effort Max had put in was beyond belief. And I realized he'd done it for me. This was all for me. I blinked yes.

"That's a good wench," Max happily acknowledged. "Now let's make a night of this."

He repositioned and gradually entered me, getting to work. Slowly at first, with long sure strokes, arching his back to make better contact on my clit. He picked up the pace, grunting. I was breathing hard, experiencing sensations I didn't even know existed. Reaching the edge in a way I'd never imagined. My body was on fire. Grasping. Needing. Begging. I moaned in the ecstasy of his intensity.

"You need to know where I'm coming from," he breathlessly said. "I've always liked you, and I care about you, so we're taking this one easy. Next time, I'll be on you like a beast."

A powerful orgasm exploded through me like nothing I'd ever felt. Max hadn't even climaxed yet, taking a few more strokes. Then he took the ball gag out of my mouth so I could catch my breath. I was sweating. Panting. Feeling an unexpected exhilaration.

"You're exhausting me," he remarked, needing to wipe his brow. "I'm glad there will be an intermission."

"Intermission?"

"Did you think I was going to let you go after one fuck? That was never going to happen. We have all night. And Saturday is our day off. Hell, we have the whole weekend."

"The weekend!" I exclaimed.

"Don't worry, we cleared your schedule," he replied with a smirk.

"We? What do you mean?"

"Are you forgetting your own fantasy? After the captor fucks his captive, he invites his friends over to share."

"Share? Who? What do you mean?" I cried out, fighting an unexpected panic.

"That needs to be a surprise."

"Are you going to leave me here like this? Naked on this table?"

"In your fantasy, isn't this how you're found? Tell the truth, I have the manuscript."

"Yes, but I didn't mean it."

"I can't help that. It's not for me to change the script."

He zipped up and headed for the door.

"Come back here! Max, stop!" I shouted. He turned, leaning over the table.

"Thanks, I almost forgot," he said, putting the ball gag back in my mouth. And then he left the room.

About fifteen minutes later, the door opened. To my shock, it wasn't Max coming back. It was Frank. I mumbled and wiggled. We'd known each other since we were twelve. Sat in jacuzzies, stream rooms, and gone skinny dipping. He'd seen me naked scores of times. He'd never seen me chained to a bondage table with my legs spread.

"I'm not here to dominate you," he quickly said, sitting next to me. "Max needs a break, and the other guests haven't arrived yet, so I'm just babysitting."

Other guests? I thought. Max was serious about that?

He checked the cuffs to make sure they were secure. I was blushing.

"Make no mistake, Jen. I thought about fucking you. I could just imagine you mocking me later, saying I had the chance but didn't. You might make fun of me forever. I just can't bring myself to do it. Though I really enjoyed luring you into the trap. Wasn't the ploy with the towel great? I watched you from the shadows scrambling around all naked and embarrassed."

He leaned forward and slipped the ball gag from my mouth, leaving it hanging around my neck.

"Don't talk too much," he warned. "I'm not interested in you berating me."

"Frank, I'm not going to berate you. We've been friends forever."

"You've been distant this last year. Grouchy. Lashing out. If you need to know, that's why I agreed to this. After reading your fantasy, it seemed like what you need."

"And now it's done, so untie me."

"I can't do that. I can't be the one to ruin your fantasy. And don't ask again, it will just spoil the moment."

I wanted to ask again, but realized he was cautious, and hurt. What had I done to hurt him? I knew the answer. Sometimes we say cruel things without meaning to.

"I won't ask again," I promised.

Frank brightened up, taking it as an expression of trust. And it was.

"In your fantasy, the one dominating you has a thirst for your body. It's a great body. I see that. I just have no desire to dominate a female body, and you know that. I could never inspire the craving you need. But I am curious."

He put the ball gag back in my mouth. Whatever he wanted didn't require conversation. And then he began a forensic examination.

"You've always felt your breasts are too small. That's totally untrue," he said, rubbing them. "They are nice and round, not big and saggy. The nipples are sensitive, aren't they?" He gave them a squeeze. I was startled.

"I don't need to say how soft your hair is, or what pretty eyes you have. Your skin is so smooth." He caressed my stomach to confirm his opinion. It was raising goosebumps.

"Never having been with a woman, there are parts that I don't know about."

He twisted, turning his attention to my treasure box, and leaned over for a closer look. His hand reached out. I caught my breath.

"So, you've got this fur-covered mound. It's kind of firm," he remarked, running his fingers through the curly hair and down. "Is this crevice part of the vulva, or is the vulva the whole thing?"

How the hell should I know? I wasn't a doctor.

"There is a tube here. Is it where you pee from? And what's this? This button?"

He pressed his finger on my clit and my hips bounced off the table. My whole body went taut. My eyes went wide.

"Wow, that was interesting," he said, sounding amazed. He pressed it again and got the same reaction. He began to rub, using different patterns to see how I would react. Up and down. Side to side. And react I did. I was squirming. Mumbling. My legs were pulling at the chains, kicking uselessly.

"You must be very sensitive there. I've never seen a guy react like that."

I nodded, breathing heavily. He ran his fingertips along the folds of my vagina and slipped down farther.

"Gosh, the entrance is way down there? I didn't know that."

He ran his fingers along the opening, peering closely.

"Now that's interesting. I thought a woman getting all soaked like that was only in porn videos. Does it get wetter?" He was finding out, moving his fingers all over, in and out, watching my shameful whimpering. He pulled back.

"Yuck," he said, wiping his hand on his jeans. He had me at the very edge and saw it in my desperate eyes. "Okay, I was told that if I did this--"

He slipped his middle finger into my box, found my g-spot, and gave it a stroke. My body arched off the table in a massive orgasm, my limbs struggling against the restraints. It was incredibly electrifying and totally humiliating. I was sucking air through the ball gag. Frank had the most wonderfully satisfied smile. I really loved him at that moment.

He looked at his watch. "Well, this has been fun, but our next guest should have arrived by now. I'll see you later."

What guest? I thought again.

It was another ten minutes before the door opened. It was Trudy, my dearest friend. For a brief time, more than a friend.

"Hi, Jen," she greeted, carrying a bottle of rye whiskey. She set the bottle on the floor and took a seat next to me, putting her hand on my chest. "My, my, aren't you a sight? Let's get this mess cleaned up."

She produced a warm damp cloth, wiping my thighs and vagina. Then she raised her phone, taking several photos. I frantically shook my head.

"Don't worry, dear, these aren't going on the internet. I would never do that to you. But I am going to print copies for my scrapbook. Are you having a good time?"

I mumbled. It may have sounded like yes, or no, or nothing at all. She looked me over, probed a bit, and then removed the ball gag.

"You are looking good," she remarked, lightly brushing my bush. "Which is a surprise, considering most of your time is spent moping in your room."

"I get out. I'm playing sports."

"One day a week. And now you're on the bench instead of being first team where you belong. When is the last time you had a serious date?"

"That's my personal business."

"Frank didn't fuck you, did he?"

"No, he didn't go that far," I answered, not admitting to the rest. That felt private.

"I didn't think he would. He's such a wuss. Despite all the work we put in, he still kept getting cold feet."

"Work? What work?"

"Jesus Christ, Jen. We had to rent this whole basement for three months. The storage room was filled with garbage. We cleaned it, patched the holes, painted the walls, and added a heater so you wouldn't get cold."

I was able to raise my head a little and see that it was all true.

"It was a team effort. A dozen of your friends chipped in with donations. You can thank them later," she explained with a devilish smile. A dozen friends? Thank them later? How much later?

"This table you're lying on cost $500. We refinished it. Gave it that smooth surface," she bragged. "Rub your butt on it."

"What?"

She pinched my butt several times, making me slide back and forth.

"I drilled the holes for those iron rings," she boasted. "And I put the bolts in, using pliers to make them tight. Pull on those rings, see how strong they are."

I hesitated. Trudy reached over to tickle under my right arm, causing me to yank on the chain. She tickled under my other arm.

"Stop that!" I protested.

"Admit the rings are strong," she insisted.

"The rings are strong."

"The ones on your ankles are strong, too." She went to the foot of the table, tickling my feet. I tried to pull away but could barely move. Then she tickled my ribs. Being helpless under her touch was making me wet again.

"Trudy, stop. Please stop. You're going to make me pee," I implored.

"This is lots of fun," she decided, sitting down again. "Kind of like our night in the boathouse. You remember, don't you?"

"Yes, I remember."

"We were there for three hours, and you let me totally dominate you. No chains or ropes, but you did whatever I wanted. And you enjoyed it, didn't you?"

"Yes, it was a wonderful night," I agreed.

"And then your boyfriend found out. What was his name? Jerk?"

"Jake."

"Jerk found out, hit the roof, and said you should never be alone with me again. And eight months later, he dumped you."

"Thanks for bringing back such wonderful memories," I complained. "Are you going to let me go now?"

"Let you go? I am here to dominate you, just like in your fantasy."

"I wish people would stop talking about that."

"What you wish for is irrelevant at this point. You've been down in the dumps, and we're going to wake you up again. It's time for the bench."

She went toward the wall to drag a padded sawhorse into the center of the room. Then she climbed on the table, leaned over me, and whispered. "I'm pretty sure I can put you on that bench by myself. I don't want to call the guys for help. It would be special for me if I could do it alone."

She didn't wait for me to say anything, unclipping the chains from my handcuffs, sitting me up, and then reattaching them behind my back. Her fingers reached to my shoulders, massaging. It felt really good.

"We didn't put a pad on the table this time," she explained. "We wanted you to experience your raw naked skin lying against the wood. There will be a pad next time."

"Next time!" I blurted.

"It's your fantasy, Jen. Don't blame me."

Trudy climbed down, undid the chains from the ankle cuffs, and pulled my legs over the side of the table.

"Can you stand up?" she asked.

"Yes, I think so."

It was only a few steps to the sawhorse covered in tan leather. Four feet long with a wide top, sturdy steel legs, it rose three feet above the floor. I cooperated as Trudy helped me lay on my belly. Then she attached a chain to the collar, holding my head down, and attached the ankle cuffs to each side, leaving my bare ass totally exposed. She rushed around, adjusting the fit.

"Comfortable?" she asked.

"Yes," I answered.

"This looks perfect. When I measured you for that dress at the mall, I was really measuring you for this. The length of your legs. The width of your hips. How your butt would be positioned. The bench was cut specifically for your specifications."

"Gee, thanks," I said, trying to wiggle free. But the cuffs were tight and the bench heavy. She slapped my ass.

"Trudy, don't do that!" I objected.

"I don't think you should call me Trudy tonight, Jen. You need to call me mistress. You will call me mistress, won't you?"

She slapped my ass again, harder.

"Yes, mistress, whatever you want."

"That's better. Now let's see. What comes next?"

She sat down on a stool near the front of the bench and took out her phone, reading.

"What's that?" I asked.

"It's you, confessing your fantasies," she answered, showing me a list. It looked like the same list Max was using.

"Now once you're in this position, the guy fucks you doggystyle while you helplessly moan and groan. We made sure the bench would be just the right height. If it's a girl captor, she uses a strap-on." She jumped up, retrieved a bag near the door, and rushed back.

"Got it," she said, holding a 10-inch dildo. "And plenty of lube. You'll be needing it. I'm trying to see if your fantasy includes being fucked in the ass."

"No! No, it doesn't," I said.

"Oh, here it is," she said, checking the list. "Fucked in the ass. Hard."

I stared at her, shaking my head, realizing how totally vulnerable I was. She grinned, squeezing my butt cheeks.

"You know, Jen, I don't think I'm onboard with fucking you hard in the ass."

"You're not?"

"No. Fucking your ass slow and easy should be good enough. When we get Frank back in here, maybe we can convince him to think you've got a boy's ass? He might go for that."

"Please, I don't want Frank in my ass. I'd never live it down," I said, almost crying.

"Okay, don't get upset. I doubt he'd want to fuck you. Max might not be so particular."

"Max? Oh, god."

"He'll want your pussy again first. So do I."

She stood up and disappeared from view. The strap-on was left on the stool, so I knew she wasn't doing that yet. Then I felt her. Her fingers opened me up. Her warm breath. And then suddenly her tongue was on me. I nearly screamed.

"Gosh, I forgot," Trudy said. She jumped up, put the ball gag back in my mouth, and returned to her task. It was like that night in the boathouse two years before. Wet, and deep, and vigorous. I bucked and moaned. And after I came like I hadn't in ages, she waited a few minutes and started again. By the time she finally relented, I was gasping for air.

"You are better than ever," she declared, returning to the stool where I could see her. The ball gag was removed. "What do you have to say?"

"Thank you, mistress," I replied.

"Do you mean it?"

"Yes, I mean it. That was wonderful."

I was covered in sweat. Trudy sponged me down.

"Okay, that went well. Do you see that chain hanging from the rafter?"

"Yes."

"You must say, 'Yes, mistress,' or I will punish you."

"Yes, mistress."

"After the spanking bench--"

"Spanking bench?" I interrupted.

"Yes, this thing you are chained to is called a spanking bench. Your ripe ass is going to be bright red by the time I'm done with it. Then the next item on the list is to hang you from that chain by your wrists. Not all the way off the floor, but enough. We'll let your toes touch. I may need the boys' help for that. And then we will whip you."

"Whip me!"

"Your fantasy doesn't say how hard you get whipped. To tell the truth, I wouldn't want to confess that, either. Now this is how it will work. Max will say you've been a bad girl and threaten to give you a good beating. He's the enforcer in your fantasy. He needs to be scary. Actually, we're just going to smack your ass enough to make you dance. Naked, on the end of a chain, in front of all of us. We'll take photos but blur your face before posting them. It will be delightful. You danced for me at the boathouse, if you remember. On the dock, under the moonlight, wearing nothing, so this isn't new for you. That's true, isn't it?"

"Yes, mistress, it's true," I admitted. And not terribly upset about the idea. It was a favorite part of my fantasy.

"After you dance, we'll put you back on the bench, get some of that doggy action going, and once you're tired of that, we'll put you back on the table."

"Back on the table?"

"We spent a lot of money on that table. We need to get our money's worth."

"May I make a request, mistress?"

"You may."

"Please don't let Frank watch me getting fucked in the ass. I'm not sure we would stay friends after that."

Trudy went to her phone, reading the notes. "Okay, having a gay friend watch you getting fucked in the ass is not part of your fantasy. You get a pass on that. But he still gets to watch you getting pussy fucked. Right?"

"Yes, that's okay," I agreed.

"I will enjoy watching Max fuck you. And we'll both be fucking you again later."

"Later? Mistress, how long is this going to last?" I asked.

"How long does your fantasy say these things last?"

I needed to think on that. Some of my bondage fantasies only lasted a few minutes. Others lasted several days.

"I'm afraid to answer that," I said.

"We'll just need to see," Trudy said. "Probably no later than Saturday evening after the party."

"Party!"

"Of course. So many of us worked on this. Sandy. Jeff. Roger and Annie. Carlos and Maria. We'll open a few bottles of wine and have dinner around the bondage table while you're chained to it. But don't worry about other things. It's not a gangbang. They're coming to celebrate the return of their friend, not fuck you. Unless you decide that's what you want."

It was just like in my fantasies. What a blabbermouth I'd been talking to Stan!

"Maybe--" I started.

"Don't dig the hole any deeper, dear," Trudy warned. "We've rented this basement for another four weeks, and you have vacation time coming."

I couldn't believe she said that, but the idea made me hot. Trudy laughed and leaned down to give me a long, passionate kiss. Then she left the room.

What happened? I wondered. Where is my spanking?

The door opened. I couldn't see who it was until he sat down on Trudy's stool. He was wearing a nice brown suit with a tie and loafers.

"Hello, Jen," Stan said. He sat down with a notebook in his lap, adjusting his glasses. "Okay, let's discuss how your fantasy is going."