A few minutes pass. Still blindfolded, I hear Mitch move in and out of the room, down the hall and back again a few times. I make no attempt at communication and simply wait for what he's going to do with me next. I'm so humiliated and exhausted by the ejaculation that I don't have the energy to resist.
The door to the apartment down the hall opens, then shuts. Long, silent minutes ensue. My jaw continues to ache from the ball gag which has been in there now for some time—how long, I have no clear sense. Part of me continues to feel the acute vulnerability and embarrassment of my current (and quite recent) situation—tied up naked in my own apartment, by my own roommate, blindfolded and gagged. At the same time, another part of me is already habituating to this "new normal." I no longer expect to get free, to wear clothes, to go where I want and do what I want. Instead, this part of me expects my roommate to hold me captive and do things to me; and waiting in between such events is normal.
I reflect on this with some curiosity. Just two weeks ago I was engaged in an experiment to establish a new normal between my roommate and I, one where I wear nothing but exceedingly skimpy underwear around the house. Now, I notice, I'm engaged (unintentionally) in another such experiment, one where I come to accept a submissive, captive relationship with my roommate. In both cases, it seems, the new normal can be adopted rather easily. At least, parts of me seemed ready to accept both norms.
What about Mitch, though? Did he ever accept my wearing nothing around him? And in this case, he's the one imposing the new norm, and I'm accepting. Maybe I'm the malleable one, submitting to new norms and circumstances easily, while he resists them, instead making the norms bend to him?
I'm still pondering this when the apartment door opens again. I hear Mitch come down the hall, breathing hard and carrying something heavy by the sound of his footsteps sliding rather heavily across the hall floor. He enters the room and stops. I hear him set an object softly onto the rug in the center of the room. Then his hands touch my face and I have to suddenly squint as the blindfold is lifted and bright, midday light hits my eyes.
"Hello there, roommate," Mitch says cordially. "Welcome back to the world of the seeing."
I turn my head to one side and squint heavily, not in small part because I'm afraid to look him in the eye. I don't know why, exactly, but I'm scared to, scared of what it might mean, or perhaps of what he might see.
Mitch steps back and looks me over. After cumming my erection disappeared, but as he gazes over my slender, naked body it starts to flare up again.
"You're really cute, you know that?" I feel the intense heat of embarrassment flush my cheeks. I look past him, unable to meet his gaze like this. "And you look great tied up to that pole." Mitch gestures at me with both hands, "This look really suits you."
Mitch turns, picks up the object on the rug—his freshly laundered clothes—and takes it to the sofa, which sits opposite me. Sitting down on the sofa, he commences to fold his laundry.
"I imagine you're probably feeling pretty humiliated right now, given everything that's happened to you," Mitch observes calmly as he mates white ankle socks. At this I squirm involuntarily, his words serving to amplify my embarrassment. The clank of the handcuffs against the pole is pitiful. Not wanting to look him in the eye, I look down at the floor. But this is almost worse, since doing so gives me an eyeful of my naked body—nipples, belly button, newly-erect penis. In some ways, it was nicer being blindfolded.
"But really," Mitch continues, "you shouldn't be. As I said, this submissive role really suits you. I mean, look at you, so obediently captive. Hardly making a sound."
At this I become painfully aware of my jaw again, and start trying to beg him to remove it. Of course, what comes out is a series of plaintive sounding grunts and moans.
"Oh, well I take that back, then."
I redouble my efforts, nodding my head a bit in the hopes he realizes I'm not asking to be let go, just hoping for relief for my jaw. I really lay the begging tone on thick, much more than previous. And I look him square in the eye for the first time since he blindfolded me hours ago (or what seems like hours). I think I must have really look pitiful, because he sighs heavily, puts aside his socks, and approaches.
"Nngg gnnggrammphf."
"You know what? I can't understand a thing you're saying." Yet rather than simply mock me, he reaches behind my head and unbuckles the strap holding the ball in my mouth. I feel the strap go slack, then open my jaw just a bit wider as he tugs it free.
"Ohhh." I sigh and swallow, moving my jaw a bit. "Thanks," I offer, sincerely grateful. It's funny, he's the one who put it there and then left it in forever, yet the gratitude I feel towards him for having removed it is genuine.
"You're welcome," he replies, holding it by one strap and walking into the bathroom. I hear running water. A moment later he comes back out, drying it with a paper towel. He sets it down on a cloth on the coffee table in the center of the room, then returns to his seat by his clothes.
I take a real look at him for the first time today. He looks good in a white and navy blue polo and navy yacht shorts (I don't know what else to call them). It seems to be the only look he rocks, but he wears it well. His wavy blonde complements his outfit nicely, as do his toned legs and arms. He's not ripped, exactly, but he clearly goes to the gym, and doesn't skip leg day. I notice that I'm really observing him in a way I haven't before. Or at the very least I'm observing him in a different way—not as my roommate, but as the guy who has me tied me up, as my captor. He's attractive, confident, stereotypically masculine, potentially quite kinky too. I'm gathering clues as to what the next few hours and days and months could potentially hold.
I'm surprised to discover that part of me finds negotiating this new future from a position of humiliating weakness really hot.
After mating a few more socks and folding a pair of white slacks, Mitch continues his lecture. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," (he looks up at me with a disapproving look; I look back meekly), "while I commiserate with the embarrassment you must be feeling, all exposed and helpless over there, I really think you should cut yourself some slack. This," again Mitch gestures with one hand towards me, "is you being your best self, the true you."
While I recognize the condescension dripping from his words, part of me also recognizes the truth when it's spoken.
"You're a natural submissive, you know. As a dominant, I would know. I can read you submissives like a book." Mitch turns his head to one side for a minute, lost in reflection, then says, "No, it's more like smell or body language, far less intellectual than reading. In any case, you've got submissive written all over you, you little slut." He really leans into the last word, and it hits me with the force of a dirty label that fits, a stinky shoe that slides right on. It twists in my gut, burns in my cheeks, and turns me on all at the same time.
"And besides," Mitch says, "you look fucking hot doing it, so it'd be a shame if someone didn't tie you up and have fun with you every now and again."
Alongside the feeling of being so accurately diagnosed while bound naked to a pole, my thoughts latch onto the phrase, 'every now and again.' This seems to me a clue that my ordeal is soon to end. I can't help but hold onto that hopeful thought.
"Plus, by all indications you enjoy it." Mitch looks pointedly at my bare, semi-erect penis for a few seconds before his gaze climbs my body to meet my eyes. I catch his for a fleeting moment, then break contact. I can't deny my arousal, but admitting it makes me feel even more vulnerable.
Mitch seems to be satisfied with his speech for now and settles into folding clothes. Long, awkward minutes pass in silence. It's a very tense, active silence, though, and I'm aware that each moment represents a conscious decision on my part and Mitch's not to do any of the things that are naturally begging to be done. Mitch, for his part, continues to acknowledge my presence in the room as his bound, naked captive by staring at my body and enjoying the view whenever not actively digging around in his laundry bin for clothes. He pointedly does nothing to free me from my bondage. The initial capture and pleasuring are long over, but I remain bound and Mitch is making no move to release me.
For my part, I'm no longer gagged but say nothing, suggesting that perhaps I'm enjoying my predicament and don't wish to be released. Mostly, I'm silent because I feel ashamed to ask the questions that are ricocheting around my mind right now: why did you do this to me?; are you mad at me for wearing nothing but underwear around the apartment?; how long are you going to keep me tied up?; what do you have planned for me?
The loaded seconds drag on. Parts of me start to panic that saying nothing constitutes total submission to my roommate. But the words keep catching in my throat every time I try to speak. There's simply no way I can engage with Mitch right now that doesn't make me feel totally helpless.
In order to avoid Mitch's gaze my eyes drop down to floor at my feet and, for the hundredth time since Mitch pulled off the blindfold, I look over my body. The ropes binding my elbows together behind the vertical pipe pull my arms back, thrusting out my chest and pulling my skin taut over my stomach. Though I don't work out much more than a few pushups and situps a day, with this posture I can see the outline of my abs and my pecs are defined nicely. I bet Mitch tied me like this on purpose, I think to myself. I can't help notice my belly button (for some reason having my belly button visible to others has always been a source of embarrassment) and, of course, my large, erect penis sticking straight out. I sneak a quick glance at Mitch and see him gazing right back, looking my body up and down and clearly relishing the situation.
Finally, I decide to just force myself to start talking.
"So how long have you been planning to do this to me?" My voice sounds funny and grating after such a long silence. Despite the humiliation sloshing around in my gut, I force myself to look my roommate in the eye as I say this. It really does humiliate me, though, to say it. It's the first time I've verbally acknowledged that I've been bested, that he's got me and I'm helpless.
Mitch meets my gaze with pure pleasure as a wide grin spreads across his face. "Oh, about a week or so. I started planning to do something kinky with you once I read your erotica on your laptop, as well as all the stuff you've posted online. But the full plan was still germinating up until yesterday, even."
Damn. All this past week, as I was strutting naked around the apartment Mitch was planning to take me captive. I sure made it easy, getting rid of all my clothes for him. All he had to do was cut off my thong and he had me naked.
The silence ensues. Again, I force myself to speak. I have to somehow confront him on the fact that I'm still tied up.
