OREGON. My reason for writing is that I am obliged to tell you my story as part of my payment for services rendered. I’ll begin by telling you about my companion, Clifford. Cliff and I have lived together for about five years, and we very much enjoy each other. I am thirty-two, Cliff is twenty-seven. We both play at active sports and hobbies and I teach physical education in a local high school. Although it is not a problem, I have harbored a fantasy for some years, and up until now Cliff has protested that he was either unable or unwilling to fulfill it. He, however, offered to help find someone who might do the job. We asked around discreetly and after a year or so, through a friend where he works, Cliff learned about a man who also lives in this part of the city. The man, whom I’ll call Adam, is a professional architect who, as a hobby, apparently enjoys being a bondage top; something that I understand is unusual as most like to be the bottom. Both Cliff and I do. But that’s his reputation as we heard it. If he finds a subject or proposition for a scene interesting, he will undertake to execute it. Much in demand, as you can imagine, he is quite choosy.
I called Adam, explained how I had learned about him, and told him that I hoped he would be willing to help me. Reluctantly, after explaining that he had all of the subjects he really wanted, he suggested that we meet the following Friday at an upscale restaurant for dessert and conversation. I agreed. He described himself, and I did likewise. We had no trouble identifying each other, and he was better looking than he admitted; about five-ten with dark hair, beginning to thin at the temples with a touch of gray; probably about forty. Well built, he complemented his clothes. But most of all I noticed his soft brown eyes and his very mild manner. I had trouble imagining such a reserved man being much of a bondage aficionado. After some small talk, he asked what I wanted.
“My fantasy is prolonged bondage,” I began. “I want to spend a minimum of forty-eight hours tied up and gagged. Not just tied up, but strictly tied up and effectively gagged.”
“Oh,” he sighed. He explained at length that most let their fantasies outrun their real ability to endure strict bondage, or any bondage at all. “So many people think they want an all night session, or even more, but most are demanding release after two or three hours. Are you sure about this?”
“I am,” I explained. “Cliff and I play bondage games now and then. He’s good tied up for an hour or so—no more, and I respect his wishes. When I look uncomfortable or squirm a bit, he turns me loose, which is usually what I want. But at the same time, I desperately wish he wouldn’t. I want someone who will tie me up and not give in, no matter how much I complain. I want real bondage—that is, to be a prisoner without possibility of escape. I want to know what it feels like—At least once in my life.” I had to reach down and adjust my pants. “I’m sorry, just thinking about it gives me a roaring hard on,” I quietly explained. “I want someone who will tie me up and not release me no matter what, no matter how much I complain.”