Two

After a late dinner at a neighboring hotel (he still didn’t like the idea of eating nude, as he was a bit of a slob) Richie walked into his hotel room and was immediately set upon by four well-built masked men. One grabbed his arms, another put a hood over his head. The third man wound a cord around his legs, hobbling him. The last man tied his wrists together behind his back. The men worked in silence with brutal efficiency, the whole encounter taking less than half a minute. Before Richie could get his bearings, all four bodily picked him up. He struggled and squirmed but to no avail, and was man-handled out of the room.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” he yelled, scared out of his mind. “Let me go!”

“Shut up,” one of the assailants hissed, “or we’ll make you shut up.”

“I have money, man,” Richie said, fear making him babble. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll make it happen. You don’t have to do this.”

The captor at his head let out a bark of laughter, and cuffed him on the head hard enough to make him see stars. “I said shut up,” he growled. “Next hit makes you bleed.”

Richie did as he was directed to; hoping that by staying quiet he could glean details about the men who grabbed him, or where or HOW he was being taken. He heard the ding of the elevator, and when they stepped in, grunting with the effort of holding Richie’s weight up, their voices were hollow. They must be in the service elevator, not the opulently appointed ones that went to the lobby. For long minutes, Richie waited for an opportunity to get free, but the men’s hold on him didn’t lessen one bit. He was going to have to think of something else.

Finally, the doors opened, and the men stepped out. Richie couldn’t hear the footfalls of his hijackers, so they either were wearing soft-soled shoes or were on carpet. He had been in enough hotels to know that they weren’t in the kitchens or the basement. They must be on another floor. A few moments later, he heard a discreet knock on a door.

“Room service,” one of the men said in a low voice, making the others chuckle. Richie almost recognized that voice. He wracked his brain, trying to put a name or a face to that voice. He nearly had it when he heard the door open.

The men who held him brought him through one room and into another before dropping him roughly on a mostly soft surface. It was a firm mattress. A bed. For half a heartbeat, he wondered if it was his friends who set him up. It was his birthday after all, but this didn’t feel like something they’d do. Sure, they’d hunt him down in Mexico and kidnap him, but they wouldn’t hit him and certainly would have burst into laughter long before now.

As the men looped a rope through the bindings around his hands and attached it to that around his ankles, he shuddered.

No, this was definitely for real.

He heard the men leave the room, and conduct a muted conversation with someone. He couldn’t make out any words, but he could tell there was a woman among them. A door somewhere opened and closed, and a long silence followed. Then the door to the room he was in, a bedroom he assumed, opened and closed. He sensed someone walking toward him and flinched away from the sound. A single feminine chuckle was the only response. At least it was a woman. That was good.

Where the fuck did that thought come from? It was alright to be grabbed, bound and taken, as long it was a woman? He had to do some serious re-evaluating of what was okay. Once he got out of this.

A gentle hand ran up his leg from knee to thigh then cupped him intimately. Richie was just scared enough that the gesture had no effect on him. She was insistent, though, and after a few minutes, and despite his best efforts, he started to respond. He told himself it was just the biology of friction, and not the situation, that was making him hard. He didn’t want to dig too deeply into why he found this situation erotic.

A moment later, Richie felt something loop around his neck. He struggled for a minute, once again afraid of whatever was happening to him. “Shhh,” a soothing voice cooed. He felt something soft brush the hood against his cheek – a hand? A breast? – before feeling a gentle tug as the binding around his neck tightened.

Kathryn stepped back to admire her handiwork. She wasn’t as proficient in knot-tying as the heavies she employed, but she knew her way around a rope. Satisfied that he would not be able to free himself, she now only had to worry about him calling out for help, though he had not yet done so. She smiled. Perhaps he wasn’t as resisting as he pretended?

She opened a dresser drawer and extracted a pair of panties, and a long, gauzy scarf. She gently pried Richie’s mouth open and stuffed the panties inside, making sure he could still breathe. He would be no good to her passed out from lack of oxygen. She wound the scarf around his head, securing it tightly against the impromptu gag.

With a final pat on his cock, and a hard squeeze for good measure, she went into the bathroom and started the shower.

Richie couldn’t believe what was happening to him. This sort of shit didn’t happen to fifty-year-old men. It was reserved for the naïve teenagers who went abroad for Spring Break, wasn’t it? He, a world traveler, should have been more aware of his surroundings. He never suspected that something would happen here.

But what exactly had happened? He was grabbed, trussed up like a damned fucking pig, and left on a bed while his captor, a woman he assumed he didn’t know went to take a leisurely shower? After groping his cock? He tested the bonds at his neck, but they held fast. He still couldn’t move his arms or legs, and he couldn’t work the wad of silk out of his mouth. With nothing to do but wait, he had ample time to consider his present situation and examine his reaction to her hands on his body.

He was no novice when it came to sexual fantasies. Hell, he’d had more of them, and fulfilled more of them, than any man had the right to. This though, was almost straight out of the deepest, darkest corner of his soul. He was always the aggressor. The chaser. The hunter. The dom. He always wondered what it would be like to be utterly powerless. To have someone take complete and total advantage of him. He would play out different scenarios in his head on long, lonely nights, never quite trusting any of his partners enough to see if they would indulge him.

Richie had no reason to trust this woman, whoever she was. In fact, he had every reason not to trust her. Why, then, was he not trying harder to get loose and escape? Because deep, way deep down inside where he kept his secrets, secrets even Jon didn’t know he had, the idea of being taken by a total stranger and used for sex was exciting. He didn’t want it to be, though. He wanted to feel violated, indignant, angry. Perhaps on some level he did, but he was more aroused and intrigued than anything.

When the shower stopped, his pulse kicked up. He wasn’t sure of what that said about him. He should be raising a fuss. He should be fighting against her the first chance he got, so he could get the hell out of there. One not-so-small part of him, however, wanted to stay and let this play out. Richie was so lost in thought that he didn’t register the sound of the door opening, or of the sweetly-scented steam billowing into the room.

Kathryn looked at the man on the bed. Even trussed up as he was, he was beautiful. All hard angles, smooth planes, and rigid muscles. She watched him for a minute, wondering what was going on in his head. Wondered more what he would do once she started. Would he fight? Smiling, she walked over to the side of the bed.

It was time to find out.

One

Kathryn was wealthy.

Obscenely wealthy.

She always could get anything or anyone she ever wanted. Ever since she was a little girl, she was so stunningly beautiful, and her English-born father so powerful, people bent over backwards to give this princess of Paris whatever it was that she wished. The men in her life were no different. All she had to do was look at something longingly, and it was miraculously procured for her.

It was how she got her first horse. She batted her long, curled eyelashes at her grandfather at the tender age of six, and commented on how the roan’s hair was almost exactly the same shade as hers. Two days later, the creature was in their stable. It worked with her first car, a shiny red Alpha Romeo she charmed from her father when they were in Italy, and just happened to be passing a showroom on her sixteenth birthday. It worked with her first man, who was so exquisite it made her soul ache. She had him convinced she loved him, and he turned himself over to her without a second thought. It became second nature for her to come to expect the finer things in life, and when they didn’t come easily, to make them come by any means necessary.

When she was older, and on her own, Kathryn surrounded herself with people who were utterly devoted to making her happy. She paid them handsomely, and treated them exceptionally well, and for that, she earned their undying loyalty. It was amazing the limits to which her people would go.

As she sat in a chaise by the pool at the gorgeous Hidden Beach Resort, she gazed up at the cerulean Mexican sky and smiled. The sky always seemed bluer here, at the perfect playground for the wickedly rich. All around her, under the chlorine aroma, was the stench of wealth. Kathryn had on dark sunglasses but nothing else, opting to take advantage of the resort’s nudist setting. Her thick chestnut tresses were piled atop her head, held in place by jeweled clips. The long line of her neck was encircled with a slender gold chain, from which a delicate cross dangled. It was the first piece of jewelry her father ever gave her, and of all the trinkets and baubles she owned, it was her very favorite piece.

She had brought a book with her poolside, some thick French-authored romance, to hide the fact she was hunting. It was no fun if the prey knew they were being pursued. She would turn a page every few minutes to keep up the illusion that she was reading, but her eyes never saw a word.

Kathryn had been in Mexico for close to two weeks now, without taking a lover. For her, this was unusual, for she had a voracious sexual appetite, and she was now hungry, starving for an encounter. She was almost to the point that just any man would do.

She lowered the book to her lap, and slid her sunglasses down her nose. Her hazel eyes skipped over the bodies of the pretty people spread out before her like her own personal smorgasbord. There seemed to be so many different men to choose from, but when she looked closer, she saw they were really all the same. They all had the bleached-blond look of poseurs pretending to be playboys, and were clearly there just to gawk at the naked women. She sighed. There was no challenge in these men. Any would be easy conquests. Worse, there were none here that would be anything other than merely adequate in bed.

She deserved more. She deserved the best. From the time she was old enough to understand the spoken word, she had heard these words from her father. They became her mantra.

Kathryn closed her book and slid her long, tanned legs over the side of her chaise. Perhaps she would find a worthy specimen later in the day. She could always have her people go out and get something for her. It wouldn’t be the first time she relied on her devoted workers to do so. Their taste was almost as perfect as hers. She had just slipped her coral-tipped toes into her Blahniks when the most interesting prey sauntered into view.
He was spectacular, even to her jaded eye. He was tall and broad, and had a mane of brown hair that glinted with gold in the sun. His eyes were hidden behind wide, dark sunglasses, so she couldn’t see them but she would wager that they were the same rich chocolate color as his hair.

Disappointingly, the man wore short-legged swimming trunks, leaving his strong, tanned thighs nearly but not completely bare. Clearly he was American. For all their boldness, they were ridiculously prudish about some things. Studying the bulge in his trunks, he most certainly would be a sight to behold if he would only stop being so damned foreign. At least, she thought, he did not put on a shirt. His chest was broad and he had a smattering of hair sprinkled across a wide mahogany expanse. His biceps were cut and inked; two of her very favorite things.

The man clearly worked out; his abs and pecs had the chiseled look of someone who spent hours in the gym. Kathryn smiled inwardly. He would be strong. That would make him more of challenge. Strong men seldom enjoyed being prey; they much preferred the role of predator.

She pushed her sunglasses back up and settled back onto her chaise to watch his walk. He had the slow, confident gait of a man who knew his presence attracted the attention of others. He had a warm smile of greeting for any man that made eye contact and a wink for the women. Kathryn discreetly signaled the man sitting in the chair closest to her, and he made a show of looking at his watch, putting on an expression of dismay, and gathering his belongings to leave.

As the man passed Richie, he nodded. “Good afternoon,” he said.

Richie smiled. “Hey.” He couldn’t believe his luck. The chair the man was vacating was next to a magnificent brunette with bronzed skin. Lots of bronzed skin. Her legs, long and slender, met at the tiniest triangle of hair. Her hard, flat stomach spanned upwards, her torso taut and lean. Her breasts were beautiful, the natural oval shape a refreshing change from the perfectly spherical ones he was used to seeing in LA.

“Perhaps you are dressing me with your eyes, monsieur?” the woman said, with a light French accent.

Richie chuckled. “My apologies, mademoiselle.”

She shrugged indifferently and lowered her sunglasses to look him up and down. “You are American, oui?”

He spread his towel onto the chair next to her and sat on the edge of the seat, bracing his forearms on his spread knees. “Yes. What gave it away?”

She flapped a hand at him. “You come to a nudist resort, yet you are not nude.” She looked pointedly at the juncture of his deliciously hair legs and pushed her sunglasses back up once again. “Pity.” She reclined her chair back and reopened her book; though she had no intention of reading. “You are too big, too tanned to be English; you must be American,” she said with a bored tone.

Richie thought he had read the signals the woman was giving off as interest, but he was clearly mistaken. Oh well, he thought. He didn’t come to Mexico looking for a liaison. He came to relax. He specifically chose this resort, so he could relax in the way he was most comfortable. His friends laughed, but there was something to be said about hanging out nude, so to speak. He knew he looked good, fifty or not, and from the blasé way people were reacting to the beautiful naked bodies on display, he had nothing he needed to worry about here.

Sliding a sidelong look at the woman on the chaise, not sure if he was hoping she was watching him from behind those dark sunglasses or not, he slowly lowered his trunks and stepped out of them. He stretched out on the chaise and sighed contentedly, letting the sun warm his weary muscles.

Kathryn’s pulse kicked up. Beneath his tanned cheeks, the faintest blush had tinged his features as he stripped down. Breathtaking, she thought. She scanned his form as he relaxed into his chair. The thick length of his cock, impressive even in its present limp state, was draped across his thigh. Yes, she thought, he would do quite nicely. She removed the clips from her hair and shook out the long tresses, a signal to her man at the bar that she had finally selected her plaything for the night.