Little Boy Blue

3

He couldn’t move a muscle.

Conversation had been brief and they had moved quickly to the main event. A chair had been pulled out into the middle of the room and he had been pushed down roughly on to it. He knew not to say anything – the beauty of these encounters was that they were mysterious, anonymous and secret. Careless talk ruined the moment, but not here – something about this one just felt right.

He sat back and allowed himself to be bound. His captor had come prepared, wrapping thick ribbon around his ankles, tethering them to the chair legs. The material felt smooth and comforting against his skin and he exhaled deeply – he was so used to being in control, to being the one thinking, planning, doing, that it was gratifying to switch off for once. It had been a long time since anyone had taken him in hand and he suddenly realized how excited he was at the prospect.

Next it was his arms, pushed gently behind his back, then secured to the chair with leather straps. He could smell the tang of the cured hide – it was a smell that had intrigued him since he had been a boy and its aroma was pleasantly familiar. He closed his eyes now – it was more enjoyable if you couldn’t see what was coming – and braced himself for what was to come.

The next stage was more complicated, but no less tender. Wet sheets were carefully unfurled and steadily applied, from the ankle up. As the minutes passed, the moisture began to evaporate, the sheets tightened, sticking close to his skin. Before long he couldn’t move anything below his waist – a strange but not unpleasant sensation. Moments later, he was bound to the chest, his lover for the night carefully finishing the job by securing the upper sheet with heavy-duty, silver duct tape, winding it round and round his broad shoulders, coming to a halt just beneath his Adam’s apple.

He opened his eyes and looked at his captor. The atmosphere in the room was thick with expectation – there were many different ways this could play out: some consensual, some less so. Each had its merits and he wondered which one he, or she, would choose.

Neither spoke. The silence between them was punctured only by the distant thump of the Euro pop currently deafening those on the dance floor. But the sound seemed a long way away, as if they were in a different universe, locked together in this moment.

Still his captor made no move to punish or pleasure him and for the first time he felt a flash of frustration – everyone likes to be teased, but there are limits. He could feel the beginnings of an erection, straining against its constraints, and he was keen not to let it go to waste.

‘Come on then,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t make me wait. It’s been a long time since I had any love.’

He closed his eyes again and waited. What would come first? A slap? A blow? A caress? For a moment, nothing happened, then suddenly he felt something brush against his cheek. His lover had moved in close – he could feel his breath on the side of his face, could hear his cracked lips parting.

‘This isn’t about love,’ his captor whispered. ‘This is about hate.’

His eyes shot open, but it was too late. His captor was already winding the duct tape over his chin, his mouth… He tried to scream but his tongue was forced back down by the sticky, bitter adhesive. Now it was covering his cheeks, flattening his nose. Moments later, the tape passed over his eyes and everything went black.