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."