I
t's a very subtle and nuanced game the two of you are playing, in which little is said and the slightest movement or gesture speaks volumes. You want him to believe you want nothing to do with him, that it's beneath you to look at him, that you feel violated by him for having snatched you from your pampered world of privilege and forced you to lie here, a helpless captive.
More than violated, you want him to believe you feel humiliated to be lying here, dressed only in your expensive lingerie — your hands bound behind your back, your feet bound at the ankles, a ball gag in your mouth, your body exposed to a dangerous stranger who might do anything he pleases with you, without you're being able to stop him. You want him to believe you're furious with him for having done this to you but even more so with yourself for having allowed yourself to be put in this situation and that, really, you have no one to blame but yourself.
After all, you were the one who shook your head and smiled politely when he asked if anyone were sitting in the seat beside you at the bar in the hotel where you're staying. You were the one who said, "Not at all," invitingly, when he asked if he could join you. He struck you as a handsome man and you found him quite an engaging and charming conversationalist, which you look for and appreciate in a man, and it didn't take long before you were gazing in his eyes and hanging on his every word. Worst of all, you were the one who said, "I'd love to," when he asked if you'd like to join him for dinner at a favorite restaurant of his across town.
As you got in his car, you were looking forward to the evening ahead and already thinking about how it might end. Everything seemed fine as you rode through the city and chatted with him and it wasn't until the city began to become the suburbs that you first suspected that something was amiss. When you asked him how far away the restaurant was, with just enough concern and worry in your voice, and he looked at you and smiled and said, "Not far," and then looked back at the road, as if his mind were on something other than having dinner, you knew that you weren't headed to a restaurant but were being kidnapped. You did nothing and sat in silence, staring out the window. Really, what could you have done? Jumped out of the car?
He led you from the car to the house and to this room and told you to stand by the bed and undress, slowly, down to your lingerie. Then he sat in the chair and watched you. You began slowly getting out of your clothes, wanting him to believe you felt increasingly humiliated and vulnerable as you dropped each article of clothing on the floor. Kidnapping you was one thing. You understood why he would do that — for the money — but forcing you to undress? Well, you understood why he was making you do that, too —for his own pleasure — and you forced yourself not to let your pleasure in undressing for him show.
You kept your eyes on the floor as you worked your way down to your lingerie and then stood there, waiting to see what would happen next. Nothing did, for the longest time. He just sat there, admiring you and, at one point, you glanced at him and saw him gazing at you and smiling and then you watched him unzip his pants and fish out his cock and lay it against his thigh. You stared at in amazement, admiring its length and thickness and the forceful curve of it, like that of a scimitar.
You tried hard not to let the thrill you felt at the sight of it show. Despite your best efforts, though, you squirmed slightly and you know he noticed. He strikes you as a man who doesn't miss much. You know he noticed your nipples too, which had become hard and erect. Glancing down at them, you saw quite noticeable lumps in the sheer silk fabric of your bra. Glancing at him, you saw they were exactly what he was gazing at, which aroused you and caused the juices to begin flowing and you felt the moistness between your legs and squirmed again, this time unconcerned about letting your feelings show.
You're a strong, proud confident woman, responsible for your family's business empire, but this has always been your weakness and a secret one: behind the cool commanding façade, you're a cock-hungry slut who pays dearly to satisfy your insatiable appetite with men, wherever you are in the world. Only the right men from the right agencies will do. They must have a clean bill of health, of course, and your preference is for men with rugged good looks, with chiseled features, with dark hair and clean-shaven faces, bearing the shadow of a heavy beard, men whose appearance borders on the brutish, even the thuggish. Most important, they must be exceptionally well endowed, as your kidnapper obviously is.
You both remained as you were for a time — you standing across the bed from him, staring at his member, and he sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, gazing at you, both of you silent.
Finally he reached down and unzipped the bag on the floor beside the chair. You watched him remove rope and a ball gag and stand and walk to you. He tied your hands behind your back and told you to lie on the bed, which you did, and then tied your feet and put the gag in your mouth and fastened it around your head.
You watched him return to his chair and resume gazing at you and now here you are, lying on your side, gazing at his marvelous cock, both of you waiting for his cell phone to ring and arrangements to be made for the transfer of ransom money into his account, after which, you'll be freed and on your way back to your pampered world of privilege, never to see him again.
It really is quite a delicious looking member. You've seen and had many like it and it is the type you enjoy. What if you were to ask him for it? It wouldn't be any different than usual, really. He's a complete stranger and you'd be paying for it, just a lot more than usual, so why not get your money's worth.
You glance up at him and see that same bemused expression on his face and then look back at his cock and gaze at it, more and more hungrily now, and you know he can see it in your eyes. For a kidnapper, he's acting like a perfect gentleman and you begin to wonder why?
Here you are — helpless. He could do anything he wants with you. Why is he just sitting there? You're beginning to feel a little offended that he's not taking advantage of the situation. After all, you're a very attractive woman and quite a provocative sight at the moment. It should drive any man wild. Why is he acting so calm and composed? Well, you can see that you've made his cock stiff, so he isn't so calm and composed, after all, just doing a good job of pretending to be.
You touch the tip of your tongue to the ball gag, imagining that it's the tip of his cock, and then begin licking it, imagining you're licking the ooze from his slit. You feel your mouth filling with saliva and imagine it's his come and you savor it before swallowing.
