The three women who had done this to me – my housemates Lisa and Ellie, and their accomplice Janice – had been gone for hours. I had been mulling over the sordid tale for much of that time, over and over again in my mind, but it really isn’t a tale you need be told to understand what happened next.
Exactly why they had done this, I wasn’t sure. At what point I should have realised I was being manipulated, I really couldn’t say. All I knew was that I was stuck there, alone in the house, unable to move, and that Lisa’s mother would be popping round to visit later that day.
She owned this house, where I had lived for the last three months while attempting to finish my doctorate, though I had not yet met her in person. I could only assume she had a key to the front door.
What a glorious first impression this was going to be.
* * *
The bra was pinching uncomfortably, and the stockings were making me itch. I was developing a profound appreciation for the discomfort many women go through to appease the patriarchal expectations of men in our society. Call it an education.
My hope that this was all some friendly jape, that they would soon return and untie me and we’d all have a good laugh about it, had died some hours before.
The doorbell rang.
Oh god...
Maybe it was just a salesman, I thought. Double glazing, loft conversions, spiritual salvation. That sort of thing.
I heard the front door open, and a voice called out.
“Hello? Lisa sweetie, are you in?”
I closed my eyes.
Footsteps climbed the stairs and slowly crossed the hall.
“Lisa? Are you in there?”
The handle turned, the door swung open and an attractive middle-aged woman walked gingerly into the room. She stopped dead when she saw me.
The family resemblance to my housemate was obvious, in both her face and her figure. She wasn’t staring at me with quite the degree of horror I had grimly anticipated, but seemed merely disappointed.
“Oh no,” she said, “not again.”
“Hello,” I said, forcing a smile. “I don’t suppose you could undo these handcuffs, could you?”
“Probably not,” said the woman, closing the door. “If I know my daughter then the key is down a drain somewhere. Suckered you in with her smelly pants, did she?”
“Um... yes.”
She tutted, came over to the bed and sat down beside me.
“Well,” she said. “You’re not the first, and I doubt you’ll be the last. What’s your name?”
“Danny,” I said. “I live here. In the next room.”
“Oh yes,” she said. “We’ve talked on the phone, haven’t we. I’m Sandra. I’d shake your hand, but, well.”
I shot her a humourless grin, and realised with some surprise that she was staring at my limp penis. To my absolute shock she then put a hand around it.
“Quite a big boy, aren’t you Danny?” she said, smiling at me and squeezing gently.
I grunted, trying to quell the erection she was expertly eliciting from me. I failed, and soon she was gently stroking my stiff cock with a faraway look in her eyes.
“I used to work in a massage parlour,” she said, distantly. “A real massage parlour, you understand? Not the mucky kind. But there were a few... special customers who got the occasional... extra . You know what I mean?”
“I, er, think so,” I said, nervously.
“I’ve wanked off quite a few men in my time, Danny,” she said, moving her hand more quickly. “I’ve stroked a lot of cock. I’m pretty good at it, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes,” I breathed. “You are. Very good.”
“Oh yes,” she whispered, bringing her face close to mine. “You like that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I murmured. My eyes closed as an orgasm began to build.
“Oh,” she said, suddenly letting go and standing up. “I think I see the key, after all.”
She went to the dresser, picked something up and came back to me. Glory be! The key! In moments I was out of the handcuffs, and began rubbing some life back into my stinging extremities.
“Why don’t you go and shower,” she said. “Then I think we should have a little talk.”
* * *
The shower felt glorious. I washed myself clean and felt warmth seep back into my aching muscles. I dried off, feeling refreshed but still rather angry, and walked naked across the hall to my room.
I shut the door, closed the curtains, stripped and re-made the bed, then lay down on my back relishing the feeling of being free from my restraints.
There was a knock at the door.
“Are you decent?” came Sandra’s voice.
I moved to cover myself, then realised there was no point.
“Not recently!” I shouted. “But you may as well come in!”
The door opened, and Sandra came in carrying a steaming bowl of water with a small glass bottle floating in it.
“I gave this oil to Lisa for Christmas,” she explained, knocking the door shut with her foot and setting the bowl on my desk.