Erotic Fiction: It’s Okay to Want It

“I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”  

I tried to telegraph the disdain I felt toward him.  “Then why am I tied to this chair?”  The fact that I was also nude, made his assertion sound even more implausible. 

He smiled, and it was a kind smile.  But he didn’t answer my question. 

I resisted the urge to spit at him.  Probably not the best idea to antagonize my abductor, even if he hadn’t actually hurt me.  …Yet.  I settled for the facial equivalent of a ‘sternly-worded fax.’ 

He pulled up another chair and sat down in front of me.  “Make all the bitchy faces you want.  You’re going to be begging to suck my cock, within the hour.”

“You’re dreaming, asshole.”  I smiled, remembering that I had teeth. 

He chuckled like he knew what I was thinking, and he shook his head.  “I’m not.”  He took his chair and brought it to the opposite corner of the room, but still facing me.  He sat down.  “Sooner or later, you’re going to beg to suck my cock.” 

I took a deep breath and tried not to roll my eyes.  I wasn’t being hurt, so I didn’t feel the need to be quite so defensive.  He was, in fact, sitting all the way across the room.  He hadn’t even touched me.  

“I know you don’t want to suck me,” he started.  “And that’s okay.  You don’t have to.”  He looked at me intently, but in a surprisingly disarming way.  

I felt myself relax at the thought.  If I didn’t want to suck him, then I wouldn’t. 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” 

I took another deep breath, and I could feel my anger, my fear, my resentment, beginning to dull.  

“I won’t force you.” 

Another breath.  Less anger.  “Okay,” was all I could think to say.  

He leaned back and unzipped his jeans.  He retrieved his semi-erect cock and held it in his hand.  

I felt myself swallow hard, and a wave of derision flowed through my body.  I hated being tied up, I hated being naked, I hated being at the mercy of this arrogant stranger.  

He continued to watch me.  “Remember, I won’t force you.  I’m not going to lay a finger on you.” 

A string of curse words formed in my mouth, and then died on my tongue.  He hadn’t touched me.  He wasn’t even near me.  “Good,” I said.  I wanted that word to drip with contempt, but it only sounded small and… mildly agreeable.  

“Good,” he repeated.  “You don’t have to do anything, here.” 

Every breath I took felt deeper, and every breath eased my tension.  “Good,” I said, and this time, it was calm.  

“Good.”  He started running his fingers over his cock, very lightly.  Up and down.  

I watched his fingers move.  Up and down.  

“Good,” he repeated again.  “You’re not doing anything, just watching.  It’s okay to watch.” 

I watched.  He wasn’t forcing me.  I could have looked away, I guess.  But… no harm in watching.  And it was my choice, so all the better.

“That’s good.”  He wrapped his fingers around himself.  “It’s good to watch.”

I watched him get harder and harder under his own hand.  He pumped up and down, slowly, and I began to wonder what his skin felt like.  I watched him move his hand in that practiced motion.        

“Imagine,” he said, “Imagine if it were you doing this.”  

My glazed eyes blinked in half-hearted protest.  

“It’s natural to imagine.  Remember, I’m not making you do anything.  You’re just imagining.  It’s okay to imagine.”  His hand continued to slide up and down his cock, but his pace had picked up.

I remembered that I wasn’t doing anything, that he wasn’t forcing me.  A breath escaped my throat, and I felt calmer.  He was right — I could imagine, no harm in imagining. I was safe in my own thoughts.  He was right. I watched his hand move, and I imagined my own hand sliding up and down his cock.  Thoughts bubbled to the surface as I watched him. I imagined that he was hard and warm, and the skin was soft.  I imagined running my fingers over the veins, I imagined my tongue running over those pulsing veins, I imagined slipping my tongue over his rounded cockhead.

Again, I blinked, pulled from my mental reverie.  I wasn’t going to put him in my mouth.  

“Remember, you’re just imagining,” he said.  “It’s okay to imagine.  You’re not doing anything but imagining.  It’s good to imagine.”  

“Good,” I replied, feeling instantly at ease again.  It’s good to imagine.

“Good.”  He was very erect now, and he showed no signs of slowing down. 

I felt my lips part.  The thought of the head of his cock between my lips was so clear, I let out a little moan.  I could almost feel the girth stretching my mouth and sliding over my tongue, and I squirmed in my bonds. He stroked himself, and my mouth opened further as I drew in my next breath.  I felt myself pulling, ever so slightly, on my restraints.  I wanted… to be closer to him.  I wanted to be closer to that cock.  

“It’s okay to want it,” he said in the same calm voice that he had maintained since the beginning.  “It’s your choice.  And it’s okay if you want it.” 

His cock was beautiful, I realized, as I continued to watch him stroke.  I wanted to touch that beautiful organ, worship it for all that it was.  

“It’s okay to want it,” he repeated.  

“I want it,” I said, without thinking.  It was okay to want it, though.  It was okay that I wanted it.   

“Good,” he said.  “It’s good that you want it.” 

“Good,” I replied softly.  

He stopped stroking.  “I’m going to untie you now, but I need you to stay where you are.  Can you do that for me?” 

I nodded.

“Good,” he said, smiling at me.  He walked over to me, but I could not take my eyes off of his hard cock.  It was so close as he undid my bindings, and I mewled in protest as he returned to his own chair.  

“I want it,” I said. 

“That’s good.  Now, I’m going to continue.”  He began to stroke again.  “You can stay there if you want.  Remember, it’s up to you.  But if you want –” he laid an extra emphasis on that word, “– then you can crawl over here and we can keep talking.”  

Photo by Renjum Baker on Unsplash