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EROTIC SHORT FICTION 3

The below tale of consensual homosexual BDSM role-playing is medium in strength. There are no whips or chains or leather outfits, but the role-playing scenario enacted by the two adult characters may unsettle some readers. Please turn back now if you are of a sensitive disposition and do not understand or respect the difference between mutual fantasy and cold reality.

THE BOY AND THE BUREAUCRAT

Two gay young men, engaging in light kidnapping role-play, discover a deeper connection than they originally expected from their “no-strings attached” hook-up.

DISCLAIMER: ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+ AND ALL OPINIONS EXPRESSED WITHIN THE ENTIRELY FICTIONAL SERIES OF EVENTS BELONG TO THE CHARACTERS AND NOT THE AUTHOR.

Ollie Wentworth prided himself on his tidiness at work. He would usually arrive early, just to ensure the office, which he shared with two other men, was ready for business. Quite literally. His own corner received the most attention, of course, with his in/out trays being audited for loose sheets of bureaucratic nonsense, the stationary tower checked for leaking paperclips or rubber thimbles, and his self-penned business continuity handbook, which he was proudest most of all, was up to date and ready for the days he was not around, allowing one or both of his dimwitted colleagues to easily cope without undue stress.

It was an oasis of administrative calm.

Ollie’s home, however, would no doubt serve as an utter disgrace to his professional alter ego. Fortunately, Ollie was usually able to separate his two clashing personas, so he rarely felt guilty regarding his apocalyptic domicile.

Except for today.

The young man sat, knees-up against his chest, on the floor in front of his tatty old sofa. A friend of his father’s had donated the sofa to him, in exchange for Ollie’s assistance in dismembering a fallen tree in his father’s friend’s back garden. While the backstory regarding this fallen tree is not a long one, the author does not wish to bother the reader with it at this juncture.

The sofa was brown and badly frayed where Ollie’s jeans would often graze it. Opened mail was shoved down behind one of the seat cushions. Fallen food crumbs were also down there somewhere, but Ollie had not the bravery to go routing around for them.

Although it was 9 am and sunny outside as we open our story proper, Ollie had kept the lounge curtains shut. The clothes shop downstairs played smooth jazz throughout the day, which Ollie never usually noticed, but this morning he did. It was dead silent in his living room. There was plenty to be watched on the television, but the television remained switched off. He had stacks of CDs by the lavish stereo in the far corner, but none of them were playing. The internet was bursting with voices and opinions and laughter, but he had unplugged the router.

Even his mobile phone was off, which is a good thing to do if one has taken the week off work, seemingly at random.

Access to his flat was at the rear of the clothes shop, up a wrought-iron fire escape from the mostly-empty staff car park. There were no other buildings looming behind or to the side. No other businesses or homes to take note of Ollie’s comings and goings. This pleased him greatly, as Ollie was a man who enjoyed living in the shadows. He refused to make eye contact with other human beings. Never walked down the high street, unless he absolutely had to. He preferred country cottage breaks to crowded seaside hellscapes.

He was exactly where he wanted to be and everything was in its right place.

The prone boy, lying face-down on the sofa, with his eyes blindfolded, hands bound with masking tape at the wrists and feet bound with the same at the ankles, was not exactly where he wanted to be. Ollie had managed to carry the boy up to his flat from his car without being disturbed, as if the bureaucrat was bringing home his nightly shopping. While Ollie had done his best not to harm his unexpected “guest”, he may have inadvertently bashed the boy’s shoulder as he carried him over the threshold.

The two had not exchanged a single word since Ollie had dropped the boy into his car boot an hour-and-a-half earlier.

The boy’s breathing was heavy, possibly due to his awkward lying position on the sofa. Or Ollie’s pour housekeeping, which usually meant a fair amount of dust and mould spores were floating about in the air.

“Sorry if I hurt you.” Said Ollie, not daring to turn and face the trembling boy as he awaited a reply.

Nothing.

“You were just getting a bit heavy, is all.” Ollie said, wiping dirt from his rear car bumper off his jeans.

Nothing.

“I’m not very experienced at this sort of thing.” Said Ollie, snorting at how pathetic he felt.

Nothing.

“I did bring a boy up here before, but he cried so much that I just let him go.” Said Ollie, wincing at that painful memory.

Nothing.

“Shame, as he was really cute.” Said Ollie, turning to check that his fresh victim was actually breathing.

Ollie noticed the boy’s nose was now wet with snot, which was running down precariously close to his mouth.

“I’ll get you some tissue.” Said Ollie, skipping lightly across the hall into the bathroom, rolling off a ream of scented paper, and returning to wipe the moisture from the boy’s pink snout.

“Thanks.” The boy said, his mouth smacking painfully due to lack of recent use. “You didn’t hurt me, it’s okay.”

“Oh good.” Said Ollie, successfully dunking the scrunched-up tissue paper into the bin basket by the blank television.

“You’re not going to though, are you?” Said the boy, a whimper emitting from his quivering lips.

“Of course not.” Said Ollie, rubbing his own nervous brow. “I just wanted some company for the afternoon, that’s all.”

The boy fell silent again. He dare not move. He dare not breathe. He dare not think about the immediate future.

“I’m sat facing away from you, by the way.” Said Ollie, looking up at his browning curtains. “So I’m not, like, being creepy and staring at you.”

“Oh good.” Said the boy, sardonically. “I’d hate for things to get weird between us.”

Ollie laughed, grateful for the break in tension and silence. While he enjoyed not being noticed by society as a whole, he did usually enjoy keeping his ears filled with all manner of sounds. Whatever would drown out his anxiety, basically. And most things made the young man anxious.

“Why didn’t you gag my mouth?” Said the boy, a stream of saliva running down to the sofa cushion beneath his head.

“Like I said, I didn’t want to hurt you, so I thought it best to allow you to tell me if you were in pain.”

“I am in pain.” Said the boy. “My arms are in a really weird position.”

Ollie looked back over his shoulder at the boy’s prone form and considered his victim’s bound wrists.

“Just a second.” Ollie said, taking a pair of scissors and slicing the tape. “There.”

The boy tugged at his loosened bonds, but still could not free himself.

“Can you help me?” He said, coughing as his diaphragm became caught between the sofa cushions.

Ollie leaned over and tore the tape off completely, the boy’s skin blushing red as it suddenly was made visible. There was no blood or any break in the skin at all, just glue burn.

“Shit, one second!” Said Ollie, dashing out of the room as tears of pain streamed down the boy’s face.

A few seconds later, Ollie returned with a flannel that he had soaked in cold water. He wrapped it around the boy’s wrists, which were now over the boy’s head, and patted them gently.

“That should do until I find the pain relief cream.” Said Ollie, leaving once again to search for his stray first aid kit.

Once the cream was applied and the boy no longer in pain, Ollie sat back down on the carpet in his original position and brushed some hair from the boy’s pale forehead. Ollie assumed it must have been annoying the boy, even though he had received no complaints.

“Thanks.” Said the boy, with a sniff. “The cream’s working now.”

Ollie smiled, feeling proud of his amateur nursing skills. He moved his fingers down from the boy’s hair to the boy’s red lips and stroked them.

“Do you mind if I do this?” Ollie said, expecting a negative response.

“I don’t mind.” Said the boy.

“Do you want me to undo your feet and blindfold as well?”

“No, they actually feel nice.” Said the boy, his expression not changing from that of uncertainty.

Perhaps it was best he did not see his captor, he reasoned.

Ollie nodded for no-one. Perhaps himself, whom he had become accustomed to deploying many social interactions for. Some might say such behaviour was tantamount to insanity, but Ollie was comfortable with it. He believed it was healthy to have an inner monologue. He had met far too many vacuous souls who did not, and he found these to be the worst sort of people.

“What time is it?” Said the boy, smelling the pain relief cream that was now drying around his wrists.

Ollie’s modest home featured an open plan lounge-kitchen combo, so he glanced over at the clock on the microwave. He could not remember the last time he had worn a watch. There were so many electrical devices around him morning, noon, and night, all of which featured prominent digital time displays, that he simply had gotten into the habit of not putting his watch on. Actually, he was not even sure where it was. Possibly in a drawer. Or in his satchel. Not that it mattered.

“Nearly 10 am. Will people be missing you yet?” Said Ollie, butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

The boy shrugged.

“Probably not.” He said, rolling over onto his back. “I don’t have many friends and I’m pretty thick, so I usually get forgotten about and have the piss taken out of me.”

Ollie stroked the boys hair and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

“Sounds like my life.” Ollie said, trying to guess how the boy would react to his physical affection.

The boy was very skilled at stoicism.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to hurt me.” He said, turning his head away towards the sofa-back.

Ollie, wracked with guilt, returned to staring at the curtained lounge window. The sun had gone in, for awhile at least, which relaxed Ollie somewhat.

“I need a wee.” Said the boy, scratching his groin, where a small wet patch had suddenly grown.

Ollie snatched an empty pint glass from the coffee table, which itself had been temporarily jammed into the far corner, and placed the glass on the floor by the sofa. He then lifted the boy up and perched him on the edge of the seat-cushion. Without asking permission, Ollie unbuttoned the boy’s trousers and pulled them down to around his ankles, then did the same with the boy’s moist underpants. Ollie then held the pint glass under the boy’s penis and waited.

“What, here?!” Said the boy, a smile finally cracking across his face.

“Go on.” Said Ollie, in mounting anticipation.

The boy, clearly a shy urinator, tilted his head back in reserved concentration.

“It’s coming.” He muttered, clearly under great duress.

Suddenly, a golden stream of warm piss gurgled into the glass, filling it dangerously close to the top.

“I think that’s it.” Said the boy, sighing with relief.

Ollie carefully took the glass into the bathroom and, after taking a gulp for himself, poured its contents into the toilet and flushed. Back in the lounge-kitchen combo, he placed the glass into the sink, squirted washing-up liquid deep inside, then filled it up with hot water from the tap. He regretted this action immediately, wishing he had been able to keep a piss-stinking trophy afterwards.

“Thanks.” Said the boy. “How bad are my pants?”

Ollie knelt down by the boy’s knees and fondled his underwear.

“Hmm, pretty bad.” He said, his hand lingering for longer than necessary. “I’ll put them on the radiator for a bit!”

“Don’t worry, you can keep them if you like.” Said the boy, reclining back against the sofa, with Ollie noticing the boy’s penis was now slightly erect.

“Cut them off.” Said the boy, raising his legs in the air.

Ollie dutifully took his scissors and made two incisions at either side of the cotton briefs, which allowed him to remove them fully.

“They’re obviously of no use to me now.” The boy said, with a wry smile.

Ollie gave the underpants a quick sniff, then dropped them lovingly onto the coffee table.

“I’ll keep them somewhere safe.” Said Ollie, returning to his seating position on the floor. “I’ll buy you a new pair.”

The boy shrugged, his semi-erection finally going limp.

A silence descended upon the room, apart from the faint whisper of smooth jazz from the shop below.

“So, why me?” Said the boy, allowing himself to slide back to his lying-down position.

Ollie shrugged. Again, for apparently no-one.

“I dunno, you just looked cute, I guess.” He said, not knowing how perversely descriptive he should be. “I noticed you hanging out with your friends by the supermarket.”

While the boy remained as stoic as he generally had been, he somehow gave off the air of undertaking great thought.

“Do you watch boys there a lot?” He said, a faint smirk making Ollie frown with embarrassment.

“Not very often, no.” He said, carefully. “Just when I’m feeling lonely.”

The boy thought some more.

“Do you have dark brown hair?”

Nothing.

“And wear a blue hoodie?”

Nothing.

“And really mismatching khaki trousers?”

Nothing.

“And have a green satchel?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Said Ollie, having clearly given himself away with his silence.

The boy nodded with delight at winning the contest, a contestthat only served to make Ollie more anxious than he had ever felt in his whole life.

“Well, this blindfold is surplus to requirement now, isn’t it?” Said the boy, his hands not moving from covering his still-naked groin. “I’ve noticed you a couple of times, actually.”

A silence, more deafening than an earthquake, rocked the ammonia-scented living room

“You always look really awkward.” Said the boy, a stray jet of uncaught wee running down his thigh onto the sofa. “Now I know why!”

“I guess I am, most of the time.” Said Ollie, pulling up the boy’s trousers for him. “So what do you want to do now?”

The boy simply shrugged, realising that he was still in a very vulnerable position. And his frustrated and teased captor had a pair of scissors to hand.

“If you let me go now, I can get to where I was going without anyone noticing I’m gone and meet you up another day.” Said the boy, sounding genuinely sociable, rather than attempting to negotiate a release. “That way neither of us gets into trouble.”

“But what if I really did want to hurt you?” Ollie said, as mild revenge for the boy’s insolent mockery.

“I’m not worth going to jail over.” Said the boy, zipping himself up. “Trust me.”

Ollie loomed over the boy’s prone body and looked down at his beautiful, blindfolded face. Ollie decided a test was required. He did not know the parameters of the test, he just knew he would know each outcome as true, as and when they occurred.

“Well?” Said the boy. “What…”

The boy’s words were stifled by Ollie kissing him hard on the mouth. The boy did not scream or squirm or pull away, he simply allowed Ollie to continue forcing his tongue into his mouth.

“When is it safe for you to pop round then?” Ollie said, finally easing back away from his victim’s blushing features

The boy shrugged as he scanned the calendar inside his head.

“I usually hang out with my mates around the shops on Saturday afternoons.” He said. “Then we go to the cinema.”

Ollie cut the tape from around the boy’s ankles and untied the fabric blindfold from his eyes.

“Ah, there you are!” The boy said, kissing Ollie on the cheek. “My parents won’t give a crap, just so long as I’m back by sundown.”

Ollie nodded, finally having another person to notice his awkward physical gestures.

“You are cute.” Said the boy, bending down as close to his own crotch as he could and giving it a sniff. “I don’t smell of piss, do I?!”

“Nah, you’re good.” Said Ollie, this not being the moment for truth.

After dropping the boy off where Ollie had scooped him up that morning, Ollie went back to his lonesome flat via the supermarket. It was Monday, and Ollie had booked the entire week off work, assuming he would need that much time to amuse himself with the boy’s naked body. Instead of his original plan, Ollie bought a crate of the only brand of lager that did not make him vomit and a couple of litre bottles of cheap supermarket whisky, hoping he would be too inebriated when the police inevitably forced their way through his front door and dragged him off to a life in prison.

By the time Ollie sobered up, it was Friday evening. Surprisingly, only the usual sellers of energy and religion had come knocking. No physical letters had been pushed through his door, as usual. Just leaflets about council works in the area and a missed parcel card. He assumed the parcel was a birthday gift from his parents, who got the date wrong each and every fucking year. He was not sure how he felt about this consistent personal admin blunder on the part of the two idiots who had brought him into this world.

While he was not usually an adept housekeeper, Ollie felt he was left with enough time to tidy his dingy abode, which was now littered with alcoholic paraphernalia and empty takeaway containers, before his victim was due to return the following day. The boy’s torn underwear now hung on the hook behind Ollie’s bedroom door. They still smelled distinctly of urine, which made him smile every time he came and went from the room.

As midday on Saturday arrived, Ollie sat on the sofa and read as he waited for a soft knock at his front door.

He woke up 5-hours-later, the sun having gone down, and no discernible knocks ever having been heard.

He lifted himself heavily off the sofa and staggered, weary from binge-sleeping, into the next room and collapsed miserably onto the bed. At least he was still a free man, but what good was freedom when he had nothing to use it for?! He was sure a seasoned prison population could tell him, with a hardy slap across Ollie’s face to bring the melodramatic bureaucrat back to his senses.

He still lay on top of his duvet, fully clothed, as Sunday morning creeped through the partially-drawn curtains. Ollie did not need to move, neither did he feel any inclination to. When a knock came at the door, he nearly did not answer it, but then he remembered Sunday was not the day for business calls. A sinking sensation nearly disembowelled him. Was this it? Had they finally come to take him away?!

The letter flap squeaked noisily open and a voice came from outside

“Hey! It’s me!” Came a familiar voice. “Are you okay?!”

Ollie leaped from the bed and through to the entrance vestibule so fast that he felt sure the Large Hadron Collider would register an object finally breaking the speed of light barrier.

As the door swung open, Ollie looked down at the boy, who stood there wearing a football shirt, baggy jogging bottoms, and an ear-to-ear grin.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t come yesterday!” He said, swaying coquettishly with his hands clasped behind his back. “We went to my aunt’s house for dinner, but mum and dad didn’t warn me about it!”

Ollie stood to one side and allowed the boy to skip on in.

“No worries, I half-expected you not to turn up anyway.” Said Ollie, nearly collapsing due to a combination of relief and excitement.

“Oh, thanks for not trusting me!” Said the boy, mock-sighing. “Shall we continue where we left off then?!”

The boy eventually sat where he had spent Monday morning, with Ollie finally joining him by his side. The boy curled up next to his “captor” and kissed him hard on the cheek.

‘I’ve been thinking about you all week!” The boy said, smelling Ollie’s unwashed armpit. “You stink real good!”

Ollie clasped his palm to his forehead.

“Oh shit, yeah, I fell asleep waiting for you yesterday and only just woke up!”

The boy gave a theatrical gasp.

“We should have exchanged numbers or something!” He said, rubbing Ollie’s shivering arm.

“I know, but I wasn’t thinking straight that day.” He said. “Or most days.”

The boy giggled again, nuzzling into Ollie’s sweaty armpit lovingly.

“I’ll wait here for you, if you want to quickly get washed.” He said, standing up and fetching the television’s remote control from the elegantly-centred coffee table.

When Ollie returned, a towel wrapped around his waste, the boy was reclining on his side, his clothes having been removed and placed where Ollie had sat six days earlier. The boy smiled, his milky-white curves blinding, and patted the floor next to the sofa.

“Come. Sit.” He said.

Ollie obeyed, their roles now having apparently been swapped. The boy stroked his captor’s hair and ran a finger down to Ollie’s stomach.

“Are you going to hurt me this time then?” Said the boy, his penis now fully erect and moist with precum.

Ollie said nothing. Instead, he simply reached down and lifted the boy off the sofa, letting him wrap his kicking legs around Ollie’s waist. He carried his “victim” into the bedroom and threw him down onto the bed. Ollie climbed aboard and knelt at one end. The boy crawled over on his hands and knees and wrapped his lips around Ollie’s own erect cock.

“Fuck, I need this!” Said Ollie, rubbing his face as the tension drained from his stomach into his crotch.

“You taste really nice!” Said the boy, his head bobbing up and down rhythmically.

Ollie ran a hand over the boy’s cherubic buttocks, slipping his fingers inside and massaging the boy’s anus until it began to pout hungrily. Ollie then yanked the boy closer to him, so that the two became entangled in each other’s legs. Their penises met in between, with Ollie clasping the two together and tugging at them vigorously.

“This is nice.” The boy whispered, spitting down onto the two dicks for lubrication.

“I’m nearly there.” Said Ollie. “How about you?”

The boy tilted his head to one side. He was so adorable.

“Yeah, you wanna count down?”

“Five… four… three…”

The two ejaculated at the same time, most of the fluid spraying up the boy’s flat tummy and up to his heaving, puppyfat-padded chest.

“Wow!” They both cried in unison.

The boy scooped up a hearty portion of the cum cocktail and forced it between Ollie’s lips.

“You made me all sticky!” The boy said, rubbing the rest of the mess over his still-squirting dick. “It won’t stop!”

The two giggled and embraced, slowly toppling over onto the duvet and kissing passionately.

Soon came the awkward time for goodbyes. Both captor and victim were used to not keeping in touch with their online hook-ups, but neither had the nerve to end it this time.

“I need some volunteers at university to have their hair cut.” Said the boy, running his fingers through Ollie’s unkempt brown locks once again. “Why don’t you drop by? You get a free tea or coffee or can of pop!”

Ollie looked deeply into the boy’s twinkling eyes, attempting to read whether this was a genuine offer or just the boy’s guilty conscience hard at work.

“Tea. No milk. No sugar. Leave the bag in” Said Ollie, trembling with one of his classic anxiety attacks.

“Wow, you like it strong!” Said the boy.

“I like it strong.” Ollie confirmed.

THE END