“That’s it, darling.” His fingers pressed into my hips, gently forcing me down. My legs shook as I resisted him. I had fought him when he had tied my wrists to my ankles, I had tried to get away as he stripped every last inch of cloth from my form. I’d lost those fights. But I wouldn’t – couldn’t – lose this one.
The vibrator buzzed beneath me. I could feel it in my legs, pressed as they were against the wooden frame the vibrator rested on. I was kneeling on the hard floor of his garage with one leg on either side of his sick contraption. My arms were behind me, my wrists lashed to my ankles. A ball gag was in my mouth, the leather strap pressing into my cheeks. Drool from my open, panting mouth had filled the gag and was dripping in long, wet strands to coat my chest and stomach.
When he had approached me at the bar, I’d intended to turn him down. He was older than me, and I wasn’t in the mood to do the song and dance of figuring out if he would be cool with me being trans. But he had been so attentive and kind, so flattering in his flirting and so careful with the light touches of his hand that I had caved. What would be the harm, I thought. Let’s give the old man a night he’ll remember.