Tied in a Tent

I like to walk through the shopping district near where I work during my lunch breaks. Sometimes I stop in the upscale coffee shop where the attractive baristas flirt for tips. Other days I just walk from store to store for something to do.

It was a cool early-spring day, and on my usual lunch break routine and I found myself in the boutique book shop, perusing the eclectic book collection with little interest in actually buying anything. As I strolled from one aisle to the next in the small shop, a wave of surprise rolled through me as I spotted Gina looking in the store window from the outside.

Gina. How can I even begin to describe who this woman is, and how I came to be under her spell? I first encountered her several weeks prior to this day when a lost bet and a simple dare took me into the nearby homeless encampment on a mission to buy pot. Strolling into the tent city that day, I had walked right into her spider web as what started as a simple kidnapping and robbery of a clueless guy in the wrong place at the wrong time had turned into me, tied up on the floor or Gina's tent and used for her sexual gratification in the most profane ways. Thus began the unlikely tryst between Gina, the homeless dominatrix, and me, reluctant at first but enraptured nonetheless.

That encounter and those that had followed had taken place wholly in her world. So it was with no small measure of surprise that I noticed her through the bookstore window during my lunch walk, staring back at me with just the faintest hint of a smile on her face.

You might not guess Gina is homeless by looking at her. She stood there looking sporty as usual with her dirty blond hair in a tight ponytail, wearing black yoga pants and a pink tank top over a sports bra. She could easily have come from the gym, on her way to get a kale and acai smoothie before getting cleaned up for book club. But I knew better; that she probably slept in those clothes, and most of her worldly possessions fit in the corner of her dome tent and the back seat of her old beat up hatchback.

What's your story, Gina?

I often wondered, though I doubted I would ever know for sure.

I realized too late I had stared a moment too long, and looked down at the bookstore floor. Would she walk away, each of us going back to our respective worlds? After a moment of trying to resist the temptation, I looked up again to find her still staring at me, her smile replaced by a slight frown, as if she had sensed my contemplation about her history and disapproved. She slowly lifted her hand and beckoned to me with one finger, the way an angry parent might summon a misbehaving child.

Shit.

I broke eye contact and looked down again, making a quick decision on what to do. I slowly looked up and began to make my way out of the store. I crossed the threshold of the store entrance and turned toward where Gina was standing. She had turned to face me, the smile returning to her face. "Hey, shithead," she began, "funny meeting you here."

Quickly scanning around for anyone I might know within earshot and utterly failing to muster an appropriate response, I finally said, "Uh huh."

Gina laughed at my discomfort, then said cheerily, 'Well, come on." She grabbed my arm, not so gently, and pulled me away from the store window and down the sidewalk.

"Where are we..." I started, but she quickly shushed me. We fell into step, side by side, her arm still around mine, navigating us down the sidewalk and away from the bookstore. We walked past several stores, probably looking like two old friends, with Gina holding on to my arm just a little more tightly than strictly necessary. I saw her reach up and extract the hair tie that was holding her ponytail in place, twisting her head to let her hair fall free. She looked alluring as usual, her sporty outfit accentuating her slim, muscular body with the top of her sports bra and more than a little cleavage showing above the plunging neckline of her tank top.

We crossed a street in silence, walking briskly. Then Gina turned us sharply into a walkway between two shops. At that moment, I realized what our destination was: There was a public restroom at the end of the corridor we had just turned into. Now that we were mostly out of sight from the busy sidewalk, Gina moved behind me with both hands on my shoulders, pushing me toward the open restroom door. As we crossed into the bright, tile-lined restroom, I realized she had pushed me into the women's bathroom, and my unease and humiliation grew in proportion to my arousal. She let go of me briefly, turning to close the restroom door, and locking it with a solid "click."

Please tell me no one saw us come in here

I thought.

Suddenly Gina's hands were on my arms again, roughly twisting me around, then pushing me up against a wall. My chest collided with the hard tile of the restroom wall, and my cock, already hard beneath my pants, made painful contact at the same moment. Gina pulled my arms behind my back, and I felt stretchy cloth go around my wrists.

The hair tie,

I realized. I felt her loop the elastic material around my wrists two times, so that my hands were tightly bound together.

Holding me against the wall with one hand on my back, Gina's other hand roamed around to the front of my body, finding my hard cock for a moment, then traveling up and down my thighs with her fingernails, finally pulling my shirt out from its tucked-in status. Her hand roughly explored my chest, rubbing, then pinching my nipples until I flinched. Then she reached down and unbuttoned my pants, and her hand traveled inside my waistline, rubbing my cock through my boxers.

I felt her body push against my back, and I heard her voice in my ear saying, "Spread your legs." She kicked at my feet to illustrate where she wanted them, and I did as instructed, moving my feet apart, effectively keeping my pants from falling all the way down. This brought my bound hands in contact with the crotch of Gina's yoga pants, and I knew from experience that this was intentional. I wiggled my fingers in a blind attempt to find the outline of her pussy through her tight yoga pants, and she pushed against me, grinding her crotch against my hands, guiding them where she wanted.

I felt her arm encircle my neck in a hold that seemed like it was meant to control more than choke, and then her warm breath was in my ear saying, "I'm going to make you come in your underwear then send you on your way, and I want you to feel that sticky mess all day when you go back to work. Understand?" I nodded. "Maybe you'll even have a wet spot on your pants you'll have to explain to everyone," she added as her strokes became firmer and faster on my cock. Her crotch continued grinding against my hands, increasing the pressure of the handjob she was administering.

I felt the arm she had around my neck move, and suddenly her hand was on the back of my head, grabbing my hair and twisting so that my cheek rested against the cold tile, and my gaze was sideways with Gina in my peripheral vision. Her hand pushed my face against the wall and I felt completely helpless despite the simplicity of her stretchy hair tie holding my hands in bondage, and her body holding mine against the wall.

Gina leaned close to me again, and whispered, "I don't even have to tie you up to control you, I can just show up like this with my little old hair tie and you're all mine. But I'm still gonna tie you up next time because it turns me on." and her rubbing on my cock was fast and furious. Within seconds my body started to shudder, and orgasm rolled through me uncontrollably, my hips jerking and thrusting involuntarily, her crotch pressing harder and harder against my bound hands. Gina continued stroking as the waves of pleasure finally left me, and were replaced by the familiar pain and pleasure mix of post-orgasm sensitivity. She kept this up for another few seconds, clearly enjoying the grunting and jerking her continued strokes elicited from me.

Finally she stopped, extracting her hand and pulling away from me, leaving me leaning against the wall, hands bound behind my back, breathing heavily. "Don't move," she breathed. I heard water running in the bathroom sink as she washed her hands with a thoroughness that left me wondering how long I would be left standing here in this ridiculous pose.

Then, as if on cue, there was a sharp knock on the bathroom door. "You gonna be much longer in there?" The voice was just audible above the sound of running water. There was a pregnant pause, then Gina giggled.

"Almost done!" Gina shouted, drying her hands on a paper towel, and stepping back behind me. Grabbing my arms, she swiveled me around so that we were face-to-face, immediately stepping into me and planting a deep, aggressive kiss on my mouth. Her body pressed against mine, pushing me back into the tile wall where my bound hands bore the brunt of the force. As she disengaged from the sloppy kiss, she twisted me back around again and I felt her fumble with the hair tie that was holding my wrists together, eventually extracting it and freeing my hands. She reached around me and pulled my pants all the way up, leaving them unbuttoned.

Gina then started pushing me toward the bathroom door, saying "I hope we bump into each other again soon." As if to accentuate this comment, she pushed me full-force into the door before taking one hand off me to disengage the lock. She pulled me back, opening the door, then pushed me out into the corridor.

I quickly spotted the source of the knock, an older woman who had watched my hasty exit with a scowl. Realizing how bad I looked, pants still unbuttoned, emerging with a stagger from the women's restroom, I quickly lowered my head and retreated into the men's restroom across the corridor. There, I took a moment to regroup and shake my head at the drastic change in course my day had taken. The wetness in my crotch was cooling, and I knew it would go from sticky to crusty before the day was over.

Had this truly been a chance encounter? Or had Gina planned it? The implications of that sent a chill through me. Had she been following me? Did she know where I worked? Where I lived? Though the locale of our interactions had already grown beyond the confines of the tent city, it now seemed that we had something more like a relationship that was edging further and further into my life.