Chapter One

 

Chaz was late. James waited at the corner of the road as instructed and glanced at his designer watch, wondering what was keeping him. He stamped up and down and blew on his hands. Good bloke, Chaz. He'd only known him for a few months, but they'd hit it off straight away, which was why he was now standing here, waiting.

This place Chaz was going to take him to was kind of like a private club. It had a proper gym, a private swimming pool and all the trimmings, all owned by this woman who had the body-urge, like him and Chaz. The biggest attraction was that it was private, so you didn't have to queue for machines and she also had these expert trainers to help you achieve. What more could a man want?

He wrapped muscular arms around an impressive torso and shivered. Mostly from the cold, but partially, he had to admit, because a tiny tendril of doubt remained embedded firmly in his skull despite numerous attempts to shift it; but everything was all set, and it wasn't the time now to be thinking of backing out. It was the chance of a lifetime and he knew he'd never get another. He couldn't blow it at this stage. To be offered the chance to train for a year - or however long it took - all expenses paid by this do-gooder lottery winner was not something to be sneezed at. All the same, there was something a bit scary about the woman in spite of the fact that she oozed something undefinably sexual.

"Cool it," Chaz had warned him. "Don't try anything on, just humour her, go with the flow and see what happens."

And this had happened. She'd agreed to take him on. Wow! He told himself firmly, trying to maintain the illusion of excitement, when what he really felt was apprehensive. Should he really be doing this? Should he have put his job on hold and rented his flat out just so he could train for a year? Wasn't that a bit self-indulgent? Yeah, but hell, why not?

It was because he trusted Chaz that he waited. They had discovered straight away that they had the same interests, well, interest, he thought honestly. Basically that could be catalogued in one word. Self; for both men were unashamedly in love with their bodies. Not each other's, of course, but the general business of muscle, tone, appearance, and how others reacted to the sight of it.

Even the age difference made the friendship work, somehow. Here was Chaz, fiftyish and fit as only an older man who has lived a hard and physical existence could be and James, a young man whose body still had not arrived at the peak of its possible perfection.

He'd said to Chaz that if only he had the will-power, he could squeeze that little extra out, get another few inches on an already sculptured chest, get a few more pounds on those thighs. He visualised it, mentally. My God, wouldn't he be stunning?

And suddenly, here it was. The chance to achieve all that. So why wasn't he feeling slightly better about it all? He stamped up and down, watched his breath freeze in the November air and finally, when he had almost given up hope, a black van pulled up beside him, Chaz leaning an elbow out of the window in spite of the cold, saying, "Hi, there. Sorry we're late."

"It's OK." But it was not Chaz, however, that drew his attention as much as the woman who was driving. And the way she undressed him instantly with her eyes. God, what a stunner. She had the most alluring smile a man could hope to be seduced with, a head of golden curls, the cutest chin he had ever seen and, in spite of the weather, a cleavage a man could have got lost in.

Chaz jumped out and opened the side door. "Jump in the back, James."

He was staring with open admiration at the woman, wondering if she was Chaz's girl, when she gave him a real fuck-me grin. God, he'd love to give her a good rodding and he was willing to bet she was available. He smiled back, secretly enjoying the stirring between his legs as he threw in his suitcase and climbed in as instructed. Chaz closed the door on him. Strange van, he thought. It was totally empty, save the one seat in the centre which he lowered himself into.

Then the female climbed over into the back with him. "You drive, Chaz."

Chaz looked disconcerted. "But I think I ought to ..."

The woman gave him a sweet smile. "The Mistress said you should drive, Chaz, and that I should do a fitness check on the way in. Save doing it later."

Chaz almost winced at the words, but, scowling, shuffled over into the driver's seat.

"Fitness check?" James said doubtfully. "In here?"

"It's nice and warm," she said and to his surprise it was. Almost too warm. "Just take your coat off, and your shirt, and I'll take your blood pressure and all that." She shrugged apologetically, but her tone was implacable, and suggested: do it, buster, or get out of the van, now.

He sighed, and complied, stripping down to his bare torso. He couldn't help flexing a few muscles as he did so, after all, if you've got it, flaunt it. He was gratified at the gleam of appreciation in her eyes as he did so, and relaxed just faintly. If she wasn't Chaz's girl, he was in with half a chance here.

She reached out and ran a hand along his sculpted ridge of chest muscles. "Oh, my, what big pectorals you have, grandma," she said.

He almost replied 'all the better to bonk you with, sugar lips' but seeing Chaz glance at him in the mirror, managed to refrain from answering. His breath shortened, and he closed his legs together to try to hide his erection.

"Better put the seat belt on, James," Chaz said innocently.

The action of reaching behind for the belt gave his mind something to latch on to. Because the seat was not against a wall, however, the safety belt was a bit strange. Like a full harness; something a racing driver would use. It came over both shoulders and met across his flat middle and when he'd clicked it into place, the woman clucked and pulled at the straps, tightening them into a snug fit. Her breasts brushed against his bare skin as she did so, sending a shiver of delight through him and as she wrapped the black pressure bag around his biceps, he guessed she'd get a rather strange reading.

"Now relax," she said. "Place your feet firmly on the plates," she pushed his feet into place, "and your hands on the rests. Like so." She smiled with such innocent attention to detail that he was quite shocked when she suddenly slipped two loops over his wrists and yanked them tight in a single motion. He jolted as if he'd been shot and with that recoil, realised that his ankles were also in loops. She reached down and tightened them firmly before his wriggling feet could work free.

"What the hell is this!" he yelled. "Chaz! Stop the car! What's going on?"

But Chaz seemed suddenly to have his eyes glued to the front.

After a moment of absolute panic, followed by another of supreme effort while his superb muscles (which had never let him down before) discovered that he could not break free of these bonds, he relaxed and stared at the female in horror. Suddenly she didn't seem quite so fuckable. That appreciative gleam in her eye and that faint lick of the lips took on a more sinister appearance. He stared at her, frozen, for a second.

"What?" he said. "What do you want of me?"

"Just a body check, James," she whispered. "Making sure you function, just like I said." Her voice wrapped around him like honey, but at the same time she was putting a thick collar around his throat which forced his head back into the hollowed head-rest and pushed his chin proudly upward.

"Chaz," he yelled. "Chaz, help me!"

But Chaz leaned forward and flicked a switch. All of a sudden the van was filled with the spicy sounds of seduction as five women all husked loudly: 'if you want to be my lover ...' The van was picking up speed now, moving out of the traffic and onto the Motorway, the beat of wheels against tarmac mingled with that come-and-get-me song, drowning out his plea for help. The whole situation was surprisingly erotic. He also belatedly realised that Chaz was this crazy woman's accomplice and equally as much his kidnapper; he could expect no help from that quarter.

The woman had now moved behind him. His eyes rolled furiously, trying to see her, wondering what dastardly mischief she was about to subject him to. He doubted they wanted him dead, but lots of other things rose to mind - like sadism and torture. "Oh, God, don't hurt me," he groaned.

Her lips fell from behind to caress his forehead, his nose, his lips. "I'm not going to hurt you, honey-bunch," she promised with a chuckle, as her hands slid over his shoulders, down his chest and curled suggestive rings around his nipples.

"Then what do you ..."

This faint reassurance dissipated, for as he opened his mouth in question, she popped in what might have been a large gob-stopper, except that it took a small amount of effort to get it past his teeth and he felt two restraining straps pull his cheeks back and hold it firmly in place. Good God! He'd been gagged! He uttered a groan of disbelief, his eyes rolled, watching with fear as she circled back to crouch before him.

Almost instantly a drool of saliva gathered under his tongue and he was forced to make slurping noising to stop it from dripping out over his chest. He pulled his wrists against the straps, struggling violently again, but after a futile moment, stopped struggling and subsided with a faint whimper. That was, until she reached for the waistband of his trousers.

He gargled with fear, but the slight pressure of her hand on his abdomen, coupled with his total inability to do anything about it, sent the most amazing buzz of anticipation to his loins that he had ever experienced. He gave a faint inward chuckle, wondering what she would think if she realised just how aroused this confinement was making him. Then her hand pressed more firmly and began to circle the outside of his trousers with firm movements, leaving him in no doubt that she was not only fully aware, but being deliberately provocative.

He tried to stop it from happening. Down, boy! he told it, but as always, it had a mind of its own, and began to sing happily inside the confines of his trousers. She was staring at him, those painted lips slightly parted, somehow her blouse had parted, too, giving him the full benefit of a bra so lacy and fine it was scarcely man enough to hold in the vast globes of flesh which jostled inside it.

His eyes, facing forcibly to the front, were wide with lust and disbelief. His hands clenched on the arm rests, imagining the full warmth of those breasts kneaded in his fists. He saw the faint bulge of her nipples pressing against the flimsy garment, and his hips were working almost automatically, assisting as she continued to apply that faint pressure to his crotch.

The fingers of one hand slid inside the waistband of his trousers to touch the burning end of his throbbing cock, and the other, amazingly, began to slide down the zipper. Suddenly he recalled that he was in a van driving along a Motorway, it didn't seem right that he should be exposed in this way. What if they crashed? But whether he liked it or not, his trousers parted, exposing the bulging mass of his engorged tool, and were teased down over rigid thighs, for no matter how much muscle clenching his bum did, nothing stopped the inexorable progress of the fabric until his trousers were puddled around his ankles.

Then she slipped her fingers under the elastic of his kacks - which, though no more than an expanded pouch for his apparatus, had at least, until that point, maintained the illusion of dignity. His engorged penis was pulled down further and further down by the elastic, until it finally popped free with an audible ping.

"Oh, my," the blonde murmured. "We do seem to have a little problem here, don't we?"

No problem! he wanted to scream, pressing his bum tightly into the back of the seat, it's O.K., leave it alone and it will go away! But she began to coo and scrape a painted nail up and down its length, whereupon it treacherously panted and struggled to rise as far as it could away from its nest of black hairs. In spite of himself his hips began to move of their own accord in time with the hypnotic action of her finger.

Humming quietly to herself, she slipped her hand under her tiny skirt. James was shocked to see a pair of knickers as skimpy and lacy as her bra slip down the long, golden length of her legs to be discarded with wild abandon towards the front of the vehicle.

Startled, Chaz's eyes slipped automatically to the mirror, then away again. He threw the lacy item aside and bent his mind to his driving, faint beads of sweat springing out on his neck. He knew exactly what was going on behind him and the hard throb of his sympathetic erection beat painfully unattended behind skin-tight jeans.

Crazy with arousal, James' hands clawed against the arm-rests of his chair, knuckles whitening as she slipped up to straddle his thighs. He could feel the hot pulse of her bare flesh against his legs and wiggled his bum hopefully, trying to ease his cock nearer, for in spite of the chest harness and the tightly bound wrists and ankles, he still had great manoeuvrability in his hips.

She smiled with delight at his response, and bent down to bit sharply at his nipples, one after the other. He gave a strangled cry and jolted, not able to avoid those sharp, white teeth, but as the red-hot pain flooded his mind he found he was even more tightly erect than he had been before. He found himself gasping with tiny breaths, making begging, grunting noises through the ball which was becoming decidedly uncomfortable.

If the bitch wanted it, why didn't she just say so, he thought. Why didn't she just let him do what he was good at - all that kissing and cuddling and prodding about with his fingers that women seemed to like. Even as he was trying to communicate his willingness to fuck her, if she'd just let him go, that would be fine, the seat he was strapped to suddenly flattened out just like a recliner. He gave a bubbling gargle of shock as his torso descended and his legs rose until he was lying in a horizontal position. His wildly roving eyes could see nothing except his raised hands, still bound to the arms of the chair, pointing towards the black ceiling of the van. He was aware, though, that his cock was doing a passable imitation of a flagpole, and she was still sitting astride his thighs.

He whimpered slightly as he felt her reach between his legs, but soon realised that she was doing nothing worse than employing a few more straps, and soon he was glued tightly in this recumbent position in a veritable spider's web of almost blood-constricting bondage.

At this point he once again wondered what was going to happen next, and the rampant erection shrivelled and died.

"Oh, no you don't, baby," she cooed, slipping her hand under his balls to stroke the sensitive lump of flesh back into action. In some small part of his mind James felt totally humiliated, still aware that he travelled along a public road in the back of a van, and that if they stopped, anyone could look in and see him. But never before had he been so vulnerable, so tightly constricted, and so aroused. It was exhilarating and wonderful and terrifying all at the same time, and at this moment he wanted nothing more nor less than to come inside this glorious woman's body. Yet he could do nothing at all to aid his own release. When she (at last) sank her moist hold onto his waiting peg, he could not even ram it comfortably home. He could not even wiggle it, not even a little bit. He just had to lie there, gasping with need, frustration, and utter arousal as she played up and down his tool, pleasing herself as though it had been made especially for her personal pleasure.