Charity shop (fiction)

I spent half of Monday night thinking about this scenario and got hardly any sleep. It took a while longer to write it down. All feedback is very welcome. If you enjoy it I'll post what happened after that (once I've written it down) ---- I am alone in a hotel room, kneeling face down on a mattress with my bum in the air and my face pressing against the sheet. I'm wearing nothing but a long-sleeved leotard, and the air conditioning - or perhaps the anticipation - is giving me goose pimples. I can feel a draft on my smooth bare legs, and the fabric of the leotard is slightly clammy where it clings under my arms. I'm blindfolded, my ears are plugged, and my ankles and wrists are cuffed. I've lost track of how long I've been here and I don't know what's going to happen. I'm waiting. The bed must have been the focus of the room even before I attached myself to it. It's a wooden-framed four poster from which all the bed linen has been removed save the sheet, and a mesh of webbing has been strapped around the frame and across the mattress. The leotard had been lying on it when I arrived, next to a small pile of equipment. You had provided very specific instructions for its use and I followed them carefully. After stripping off my clothes, the first instruction was to don the leotard. I have always found it incredibly erotic to put on a full-bottom leotard. Legs through the leg holes and pulling the bottom up to sit around my hips, feeling the fabric hugging my crotch and perineum. Cupping and lifting my balls and dick so they're facing forward and gently embraced by the tight fabric. Slowly pulling the smooth lycra up to chest level before sliding in first one arm and then the other. Stretching arms above head, feeling the fabric slide over my body as the wrinkles flatten out. Grabbing the rear zipper and pulling it up to my neck, feeling it tighten and squeeze my torso as it rises. I lost myself in a moment of silent reflection gazing at the mirror on the wardrobe. The leotard was primarily shiny yellow but with silver sequins arranged in swirls on the chest, which would catch the light and shimmer as I breathed in and out. I stroked the smooth silky fabric, feeling my cock stir against it. A door banged closed somewhere else in the hotel, bringing me out of my reverie. I consulted the instructions again. I fastened padded cuffs onto my wrists, and a leather collar around my neck. Then I knelt on the bed. A pair of fabric cuffs were attached to the webbing strap at the foot of the mattress, about hip-width apart, and I buckled them around my ankles. Another pair slightly further up the bed were clearly intended to go around the backs of my knees. In the centre of the bed there was a D-ring through which a retractable cord ran. On one end there was a snap hook and the other end ran up to the head of the bed and out of sight. I pulled the clip up and snapped it onto my collar. I could feel it strongly pulling me back down onto the bed and I had to use a hand to stabilise myself whenever I leant forward. After that, there were earplugs to go in my ears and a lycra hood with a sewn-in blindfold. Blind and deaf, I could hear only the noises in my head and see only the pictures in my mind. I stretched my arms out in front of me as I bowed forward letting the cord retract until my forehead was planted on the mattress. At full stretch my hands slid across another band of the webbing and then I felt two magnetic clunks as my wrist cuffs locked onto a magnet that must have been sewn into it. And since then - nothing. Can't see. Can't hear. Can't move legs. Can't move arms. Can't sit up. The fullness of my range of motion is to thrust my bum in the air and wigggle it like an animal in heat. When you enter the room you move stealthily, on the balls of your feet. I can't see you though the blindfold and can't hear you through the earplugs. Perhaps I don't know that you're here at all, or perhaps my other senses are heightened and I can sense your presence as the air currents move. Even if I can sense you're there, I don't expect what you do next. Suddenly and with no warning, you slap my bum cheek hard with your open palm. It's painful as well as surprising, and I yelp. Then after pause of a couple of seconds you slap the the other cheek and then back to the first, alternating from one side to the other in a slow but relentless rhythm. Now I'm expecting it and brace against your blows, and it's equally surprising when you stop. Your open hand cups my bum cheek; through the thin lycra fabric I feel the warmth of your palm on my tingling reddened skin, and it's making my dick hard. "I was right about the leotard, it looks like it was made for you" you say happily. You move closer to me and now I can feel pressure and warmth from your pubic bone pushing into my raised arse. Now you touch your finger to the base of my spine and trace a path along my back up to my shoulders. Through the layer of lycra it makes my skin tingle as though your fingertips are tiny buzzing insects This is only the second time we've met, making this a strange kind of intimacy. The first was on a bus a few weeks ago. I'd been browsing in the charity shop and working up the nerve to buy a leotard they had for sale. I'd walked past the rack a few times, even stopped next to it once to look closely, all the time trying to act as though buying second hand women's gymnastics leotards was a perfectly normal thing for a thirty six year old man to be doing. But the shop was busy and there was a queue at the till and I didn't feel brave enough for the judgement of the checkout assistant. Defeated, I'd left the shop and crossed the road to the bus stop. I boarded the bus when it arrived a few minutes later, and snagged the last free double seat on the top deck. I saw you when you came up the stairs after me. You were wearing a tight white t-shirt and burgundy exercise leggings that silhouetted your slim androgynous figure, and you moved gracefully with poise and economy of motion. I couldn't tell if you were boy or girl or if you'd rejected the binary entirely and ascended to gender transcendence, but you were gorgeous. You looked around at the seats and I assume you must have decided against sitting with the family of three small children or the manspreader in the puffer jacket, because you sat neatly in the seat next to me. The bus moved off. "Sorry", you said after a minute. "I know it's not done to talk to strangers on London buses, but can I ask you about this?". You opened the paper bag on your lap to show me the contents. "I saw you eying it up in the shop, but then you left. It suits you and I want you to wear it for me". The leotard from the charity shop at was nestled in the bottom of the bag. You looked directly at me. My mouth was opening and closing but no sound was coming out. "I do believe I've rendered you speechless! Look, I can see you're processing that, but if you're not repulsed by me, give me your phone and I'll add my number". Mute, I handed you my mobile and you dialled your number on it before cancelling the call. "I'll be in touch", you continued. You quickly stuck your hand, and my phone, between my legs, then hopped up and left the bus at the next stop. You take your hand away and I can hear a wet slurping noise from somewhere behind me. Now I feel your fingers sliding under the leotard seat, wiggling and roving around my bum crack until I feel a cold slippery sensation against my anal sphincter as you spread lube around it. Your finger pushes gently against the entrance of my hole, circling it slowly, teasing. The sensation is exquisite. I moan and wriggle and try to thrust my bum up to meet your fingers, but your palm is pushing down firm on my cheek and I can't make you go deeper. Now you pull the leotard crotch fabric to one side and there's fresh air against my bum crack. You squirt more lube onto it and I feel the coldness as it trickles into the crack. You take my cheeks in both hands and pull them apart, exposing my bum hole fully, and now I can feel you blowing gently on it. I'm making a guttural keening noise in the back of my throat. I need you inside me. Suddenly you stop and step away. I can't see you, hear you or sense you in any way. I wait, I can't tell for how long but it feels an eternity. Then there's another hard unyielding stinging slap on on my bum, this time hitting centrally and lower down, almost between my legs. "Fuck!" I shout. "You want me to fuck you?" you ask, pretending my exclamation is a request. "ohgodyesfuckmenowpleaseyesfuckme" I whimper, not pretending my request is anything less than an entreaty.

Sooo hot!

Nice! Love the scenario, the anticipation, the sheer kinkiness. 

Incredible story. That meeting on the bus alone.. the directness and sexiness.. I could have read pages and pages about that (and what his hand did when he thrust your phone back...!) Well done!