It was Friday night, and Michael sat in the student pub, alone. It was mid-October, and normally he would be out with a number of friends. A tall, handsome, personable fellow, he'd come to Toronto from Tennessee on a scholarship, and as usual for him, had quickly acquired a sizable circle of friends. He should be out with them right now, having a good time.
But he was all alone. The evening started normally enough - Michael met his friends at the usual time, looking forward to a fun evening of drinking and chatting. But things had quickly turned sour. Kimberly had clued him in right away that something was wrong.
"You asshole," she had said, not mincing words. "Did you write that fucking letter to the editor?"
Michael had admitted that yes, he had written the fucking letter, at which point Chandra had told him he could go fuck himself, her boyfriend also glaring at him in anger. He looked at the other faces at the table, and saw the anger in everyone. He sat at the table.
"Look, it's not like you think, o.k.? I meant it as a joke - don't take it so serious," he said pleadingly.
"Here's my joke," said Kim, dumping an almost full pitcher of beer on him. His former friends all took this as their cue to leave. Michael was left alone trying to dry himself off with paper napkins.
He was surprised that the letter to the editor of the student newspaper had been so badly received. Michael fancied himself something of a wit, and perhaps he was. But his subject was poorly chosen, given that he was in Toronto. Perhaps there were universities in the United States where an anti-gay, anti-transvestite diatribe might be received with mirth, but Toronto was rather different. The letter had been printed the day before, and he'd noticed people had been a bit stand-offish the next day. It was official now, of course - he'd committed a blunder of the worst kind, and he could look forward to a rather solitary existence at U of T for some time.
But not all of his friends had deserted him - Angie, a medical student arrived at the pub just in time to see the drink dumped on Michael. Grabbing some paper towels, she came to help.
"She got you really good," said Angie, drying his hair. "What did you say to her?"
"It wasn't anything I said. It was what a wrote."
"That letter in the school newspaper?" said Angie.
"Yup," said Michael. "Some people just can't take a joke."
"You're just too soaked to dry off here," said Angie. "My apartment's only a couple of minutes from here. You're about my boyfriend's size, and he keeps some of his clothes at my place. I'll lend them to you." Michael expressed his gratitude, and followed Angie out of the pub, his ego deflated by his public humiliation.
As Angie had promised, the walk was very short, but the cool October wind cut through his thin, wet clothing, and he was quite chilled by the time they arrived at Angie's place, a small basement room in a huge house subdivided into a complex warren of student apartments.
"It's nice of you to bring me here like this," said Michael. "Aren't you afraid your neighbors will see you bringing a guy home who's not your boyfriend?"
"Not at all," Angie replied. "Even if I worried about that kind of thing, it's Friday night, and I'm sure no one's around." She handed him some clothes and a towel. and showed him the door to the bathroom. When Michael emerged a few minutes later dressed in borrowed clothes, Angie was sitting on her bed, with two mugs of hot chocolate. There was nothing suggestive about her sitting on the bed -the apartment was very small, and the bed doubled as a sofa.
"Don't leave until you hair is dry," she said, passing Michael one of the mugs. He sat next to her, gratefully accepting the drink. Angie had changed her clothes too, and now was in her pyjamas and a robe. She was a stunner, thought Michael, no doubt about that. Almost his height, with very long, wavy black hair, grey eyes and a perfect figure. They made small talk as they drank their drinks, Angie laughing at his jokes. At one point she leaned forward as she laughed, inadvertently displaying her cleavage. She sat up suddenly, and Michael was not quick enough at averting his gaze. Caught looking, he felt himself blushing.
To his relief, Angie laughed.
"Don't be embarrassed, silly!" she said as she put her drink down. Both hands free now, she placed them on both sides of his face and kissed him firmly on the lips. Michael put his cup down on the coffee table, and eagerly responded, the two now lying side by side on the bed, his hands wandering over her body.
"No you don't," said Angie jumping up, her breasts jiggling attractively as she did so.
Damn, thought Michael. This had seemed a little to easy. But when she spoke he realized that it wasn't over - they were just getting started.
"I have this thing where I have to be the one in charge," said Angie. "It's my body and my place, and you have to play by my rules."
"Deal," said Michael, his cock swelling painfully inside the jeans Angie had lent him. He removed the jeans and underwear at Angie's bidding, and lay back on the bed, his eyes closed. He gasped as he felt her mouth engulf him, easily taking him to the root, all of his seven inches surrounded by her warm, wet welcoming mouth. He could not remember ever being so hard, and it was difficult for him to refrain from pumping his hips. But Angie had been very clear - he was to assume a passive role, and she would be very turned off if he tried to take charge.
He willed his body to remain motionless as Angie began slowly to move her head up and down, not using her hands on his cock at all, instead gently cupping his balls with one hand, while the other gently stroked his nipples. It was too much, he thought. Not being able to control the pace, he was helpless to avoid cumming as her head began to bob up and down, faster and faster. The head of his cock began to swell in preparation for firing off what was sure to be a huge blast of cum.
But Angie, seeing the signs of impending orgasm, released Michael's aching cock from her oral grip. His beautiful instrument slapped against his tight stomach, a small dribble of cum leaking from it.
"That was close!" laughed Angie. "Almost made you cum too soon." She bent forward, and licked at the leakage. "Yummie," she said. "I'll get some more of that later. But first, the cuffs."
"The what?" said Michael, surprised.
"Yes, the cuffs. You do want to make love to me, don't you?
Michael quickly confirmed his wishes in this regard, and so allowed himself to be cuffed. Angie didn't cuff his hands together, but instead attached him to a short steel rod which hung from a cord fastened firmly to the top of the bed frame. He watched quietly as she cuffed his legs at the ankles, the cuffs joined by a length of chain. Had he been able to stand, he would have been able to walk, but running would be out of the question. Michael looked up at Angie, a smile on his face as she let her robe fall to the ground, and took off her pyjama top, treating her guest to his first view of her perfect 34B breasts.
"I think it's time for a blowjob," said Angie. "What do you think?" Michael was in full agreement. There was no doubt about it, in his view. He closed his eyes and lay back expectantly.
"That's great," said Angie, as she began to pull down her pants. "It is blow job time, so open your mouth."
Michael began to laugh, and opening his eyes, turned towards Angie.
"What the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK?" he shouted, for only a few feet from his face bobbed Angie's cock, easily the same length as his own, hard, turgid and demanding. His exclamations of horror became more frantic as he sensed Angie trying to shove something in his mouth. He whipped his head back and forth frantically, biting at the intrusion. It did him no good, of course, for Angie was not trying to shove her cock into his mouth. Instead, she was silencing him with a ball gag. She put a knee on his chest, both to pin him down and inflict pain, and as he grunted in agony she fastened the straps on the back of his head. She stepped back to take in the view.
"You're pretty as a picture," said Angie with a giggle. "And that reminds me - time for the camcorder." She ignored the urgent sounds coming from underneath Michael's ball gag as she took her time setting up the camera on a tripod. Satisfied the angle was right, Angie returned to the bed.
"It's really a bore having to put a ball gag on you," she said. "I'd much rather you be able to talk, and I think you'd rather be able to talk, too. It's not that I'm worried anyone will hear you - we're in the basement, and no one's around. It's just I find it distracting. Now can I trust you to keep your voice down?"
Observing the muffled screams coming from Michael, and the violent head movements from side-to-side, she concluded that she could not count on Michael remaining silent. Moving forward, she grabbed his hair with her right hand, and firmly closed his nose with her left. Instantly Michael's air was cut off. She only let him experience this for a few seconds, and then relented.
"Let's try this again," said Angie. "Can I trust you to keep your voice down?"
This time the answer was a yes, for Michael had not enjoyed the feeling of being suffocated, even for an instant. He lay back meekly as his captor removed the ball gag.
"That's better. Now what about that blow job?"
"Please don't do this to me," said Michael, but in a whisper, desperate to keep the ball gag out of his mouth. "Please - I'm just not in to this."
.... There is more of this story ...