after the gala my coworker tied my wrists with my own tie and fucked me in his hotel room. he kept the tie

Friday · October 2

by the time i realized where my tie was, it was wrapped around my own wrist.

ben and i had spent the whole charity gala being polite about it. seven hours of round tables and silent auction clipboards, pretending formal clothes didn’t turn us into worse versions of ourselves. he’d been watching my mouth since the salad. i’d been watching his hands on the stem of his glass since the second toast. we shared a cab to the hotel because the company had booked everyone into the same place and i told myself that was the only reason.

the tie came off in the elevator.

i’d been pulling at it for three floors. it was black silk, a good one, and my fingers were clumsy with champagne. ben watched me fight with the knot. then he held out a hand.

“give me that.”

i handed it over. he folded the silk once, pulled it taut between both fists, and looked at me over it.

“hands?”

it wasn’t a question about tailoring.

“yes,” i said.

the elevator dinged at his floor. neither of us moved for a second. then the doors started to close and he put a hand out and stopped them.

in his room he didn’t turn the lights on. the city came in through the window, orange and blurry. i heard the door lock behind me and his jacket hit a chair. i stood there in my open collar, black dress shirt, cufflinks still on, and he came up behind me, took both my wrists, and brought them together in front of me.

the silk went around twice. he tied it once and the knot was loose enough that i could have slipped out of it.

that was what got me. i could have left. every second i stayed, i was choosing to.

“good?” he said, close to my ear.

“good.”

“pretty.”

i laughed, high and nervous. “you planned that word.”

“i noticed you like it.”

i did. i hated that he’d noticed and i loved it. my cock was already pressing hard against my zipper.

he pushed me, gentle, onto the hotel bed. i went down on my back with my wrists in my lap and he climbed over me, one knee on either side of my hips, and took my bound hands and stretched them above my head.

“stay.”

the tie held my wrists together just enough to make the position feel chosen. he looked down at me. black shirt open to the sternum, cufflinks winking, wrists bound in my own silk, my chest going up and down.

“what?” i said.

“pretty.”

it went through me like current. he saw my whole body react, the way my hips pushed up against nothing.

“again?”

i looked away, embarrassed. he put a finger under my jaw and turned me back.

“look at me.”

i did.

“pretty.”

“fuck,” i said.

he kissed me. his mouth was hot and tasted like the whiskey from the bar, and when he bit my lip i pulled up against the tie without thinking and it tugged, lightly, and reminded me where i was. he smiled into my mouth.

he kissed his way down my neck and my chest. he undid the buttons of my shirt the rest of the way. he undid my belt, my fly, and dragged my slacks and boxers down my legs and my cock sprang out hard against my stomach, leaking, flushed, and he took one look and said, in an awful soft voice, “good boy.”

i closed my eyes. “apparently.”

he laughed. then he wrapped his hand around me.

i bucked up into his grip. my wrists pulled at the silk. i could feel every millimeter of it, every thread against the thin skin, and it made me notice my own choices. to stay. to lift my hips. to beg.

“faster,” i said.

ben slowed down instead.

i stared at him. “that was cruel.”

“you wanted me to take charge.”

“not badly.”

he grinned. his thumb circled the head of my cock, slick, smearing precum in a lazy loop. “still want faster?”

“yes.”

“say please.”

my face went hot to the roots of my hair. “please.”

he gave it to me. fast and tight, his fist twisting on the upstroke, and the praise kept coming with it. pretty. good. look at me. i did. i watched him watch me while the bed creaked and my wrists strained against the tie and my breath went ragged, and somewhere in there i realized i’d gone from laughing to shaking in about ninety seconds.

then he stopped.

“ben.”

“hold on.”

he got off the bed and i heard a zipper and a drawer, and then he was kneeling between my legs, shirt gone, his chest broad and a little hairy and gleaming. he wet his fingers with spit. he pushed one against me, down low, circling, and my whole body went tight.

“yes. yes, do that.”

he slid one in. then two. i threw my head back against the pillow and said his name with my wrists still tied above me, and he stretched me slowly, thumb on my balls, finding the place inside me that made my toes curl. he kept telling me i was pretty. he kept telling me i was good.

when he finally lined himself up, he was shaking. he looked at me over my own knees.

“tell me.”

“fuck me.”

he pushed in. thick, slow, the stretch hot, and i groaned from low in my chest. he went all the way. he stopped there, buried, forehead pressed against mine. i could feel his pulse inside me.

“god,” he said. “oliver.”

“move.”

he moved.

at first long and deep, rolling, our bodies sliding together. the tie pulled with every thrust because i kept trying to reach for him. he took both my bound hands in one of his and pinned them above my head, and used the other to hook my leg higher over his shoulder. the angle opened me up and he hit the spot dead on. i cried out.

“there?”

“there. there. don’t stop.”

he didn’t. he fucked me harder, headboard knocking, skin slapping, sweat running down his chest onto mine, the whole hotel bed shaking. his hand dropped between us and found my cock again and stroked me in time with his hips.

“you look so good like this,” he panted. “tied up. in your good shirt.”

“ben.”

“you’re mine tonight. say it.”

“i’m yours.”

“say you want it.”

“i want it. i want you to come in me.”

he made a sound i’ll hear for the rest of my life. his rhythm broke. he thrust, deep, again, and came inside me with my name in his mouth, his body shuddering over mine. the feeling of it, the heat, pushed me right over. i came on my own stomach, hard, shaking, hands clenched in the silk, and a noise came out of me that was halfway between a laugh and a sob.

afterward he pulled out slow and reached up and worked the knot loose and unwound the tie from my wrists and rubbed both of them in his thumbs, slow, until the blood came back.

no marks. just a faint line.

i flexed my fingers. he watched me do it like he was reading a gauge.

he kissed the inside of one wrist. then the other. then he picked the tie up off the sheet, folded it carefully into thirds, and slipped it into his own pocket.

“hey.”

“what?”

“that’s mine.”

“was,” ben said.

sunday night i did the thing you never do and opened the work chat on my phone in bed.

Read 11:53 PM. he didn’t send anything else. i lay there hard for an hour.

monday morning i stood at his desk. the open-plan office, the printers, someone’s microwave popcorn. he was reading an email with the straight face of a man who hadn’t spent the weekend inside me.

“you have something of mine,” i said, low.

he looked up, all innocence. “do i?”

i leaned closer. my sleeve rode up and showed the faint pink line left on my wrist. his eyes dropped to it. he went very still.

“friday,” i said. “same hotel.”

he smiled.

“wear a different tie.”

friday i wore the green one. he looked at it in the elevator and said nothing and took it off me before the doors closed.

that time he didn’t stop at my wrists. he tied them to the headboard, and then he knelt over my face with one hand braced on the wall and let me suck him, his thighs trembling against my ears, his balls heavy against my chin, the taste of him thick and salty, until i couldn’t see straight. he fucked my mouth a little. then he turned around, slid down my body, and took me in his mouth while i was still choking on him, and i came down his throat with the green silk biting into my skin. he swallowed. he looked so smug about it.

when we were done he tucked the green one into his pocket next to the black one.

“collection,” i said, panting.

“i’m going to need a lot more ties,” ben said.