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.