Beach Selfbondage
This story is fiction. Don’t try this at home (unless you know what you are doing). Never meet a stranger alone, it could be dangerous. Part Two The night on the beach was memorable, it won’t be forgotten for a long time. The experience even crept into my dreams a few times. I would awake rolling all over the bed and need to put a hand between my legs to finish what the dream had started. Just thinking about that night made the orgasms better. It had been nearly two weeks since that night as I left the house for the drive to work. It started as a normal Thursday morning until I arrived at my car and found a note: ‘For more of the same, come to the lifeguard stand midnight Friday night.’ I had kept the previous note and compared them both. The hand writing and paper were the same. It was him. A slight chill of fear went down my spine, he knows where I live. I quickly looked around, almost expecting to see him standing there, but it was a fruitless effort. Concentrating at work wasn’t just difficult, it was almost impossible, good thing it wasn’t a busy day. My supervisor is normally in meetings during the morning but I caught her after lunch. I made up a story about a plumbing problem and was given Friday off. I even managed to slip out a little early. Evening rush hour, in this small town, isn’t a big deal but there is always ONE slow poke. “Come on grandpa, put your foot down!”, I yelled but the car windows were closed and Mr. Wilson didn’t hear me. He’s a real nice, senior gentleman and I shouldn’t yell but I wanted to get home, NOW! “OK, get a grip on yourself. Relax!”, I said to myself. “You have over 30 hours before anything happens. Oh, great! Now he’s got me talking to myself.” Then it hit me, 30 hours! Holy geewiz, 30 hours of anticipation, 30 hours of ‘What will happen?’, 30 hours of ‘Are we there yet?’. (Well…sort of.) 30 hours, holy crap. Finally, I roared up to the house and almost skidded to a stop in the driveway. “Chill out!”, I yelled to myself. I can’t believe, how this one guy, has gotten into my head. I just had to relax. After a few good, deep breaths, I got out of the car, picked up the mail and went inside. Junk, junk, bill, junk, letter. No stamp, no return address, just hand writing on the front: ‘To the beautiful, self-binder with the nice ass’. I stood so fast that the chair fell over with a crash. I jumped at the sound, and ran to the door to lock it. In this small, quiet community there is rarely a need to lock doors but this was different. He had been right here, outside the front door, on the front porch. Was he in the house? I ran to the desk and retrieved my pistol. It’s only a .22 cal. but with a ten round clip it will do some damage. My dad was an avid hunter and even though I didn’t want to shoot a “Bambi”, he did teach me how to handle firearms, VERY well. ...