I would have liked it if his refusal to let Garvey have a second go at me was based on, you know, caring about me as an actual person, rather than a financial calculation. But hey, he was a CEO, and the correlation between CEOs and sociopaths is rather high.
But either way, I was glad he was respecting my rules. Although, as always, there was a part of me that was curious about just what kinky stuff ole Garvey had in mind. And, a part that was a little excited. I was confident that Eric would shake his head and look at me sideways when I told him about Garvey, and my fascinated speculation about what Damon didn’t even want to tell me he wanted to do. Eric thinks I get too carried away sometimes with my fantasies, that I’m maybe just a little too willing to explore my limits. I have to admit, sometimes he’s not wrong, and I probably count on him more than I should to rein me in.
Damon began unbuttoning his dress shirt, and said,”Speaking of fun with you…”
He took his time undressing. I lay there, still tied down with Garvey’s cum pooled under my ass, waiting to be fucked again. Sort of anxiously waiting. While Garvey had gotten me warmed up, I was far from satisfied.
The Roped Up CEO was tall, six-foot-five at least. I vaguely recalled hearing that he’d played basketball in college, at a good school, and seeing him naked I could believe it. The years as a prosperous businessman had added a few pounds, but he was in surprisingly good shape. And, in addition to a higher percentage of sociopaths for CEOs versus the general population, they also tend to be taller than average.
He didn’t untie me, but he did take the time to remove my ball-gag before climbing on top of me and plunging his cock into my waiting pussy. Once in, he began fucking me hard and fast. His cock was bigger than Garvey’s, and he truly knew how to use it on a girl. He was fucking me like he couldn’t wait to get to the finish line, and I was making loud “uhhh, uhhh” noises of pleasure each time he’d drive into me.
The seeming urgency of his fucking turned out, happily, to be an illusion. After a few minutes of the energetic fucking he was giving me, he was breathing hard, but hadn’t slowed down one iota. While Garvey had barely gotten me off the starting line by the time he came, Damon had managed to get me from zero to sixty in a couple of minutes. I felt the tingling warmth of a building orgasm, and was confident I’d get there this time.
Damon was working up toward his orgasm as well. He’d been holding himself above me, in a push-up pose the whole time, but now he shifted to hold himself up with just one arm. This left his other hand free to play with my tits. He started by just pulling on my nipples, and rolling them between his finger tips. It felt good, but he knew he was just teasing me.
“Pull those nipples,” I moaned. I truly love having my tits pulled when I’m being fucked. He gave them a few decent tugs, but for a guy who was very happy to see me used and abused for his business purposes, he seemed pretty content with just a straight fuck.
He gave them a few good squeezes though, and that was all it took for me. I squealed and made other orgasm-ey sounds as I came, my legs and arms pulling against the ropes. I expected my spasming pussy to push him over the edge, but he just kept thrusting away. He did return to his push-up position, and sped up a little, but it was at least another minute before he quietly growled, and his thrusts got slow and deliberate, each one pumping another jet of cum into my pussy. He let himself collapse onto me and we lay there, each of us coming down from our orgasms.
“Can’t believe how tight your pussy is even after all that stuff Garvey did with those bottles,” he mumbled. His breathing slowed, and for a second I though he was going to fall asleep on top of me, but he only lay there a little longer before suddenly climbing off of me, and out of the bed.
He took the time to untie me before he himself went to wash up. I’d have taken that for a kind gesture from most guys, but for Damon I suspected it was more akin to taking proper care of a valuable horse when returning it to the stables after a good hard ride.
We both got cleaned up and dressed, and he bid me a good night, reminding me to be at the Roped Up booth well before the show floor opened tomorrow morning.
Booth Babe
The trade-show’s exhibition floor didn’t open for another half-hour, but the “Exhibitor”pass that Damon had given me allowed me to get through the door. I walked through the empty aisles, amazed by just how many companies there apparently were that sold rope, and thinking about how quiet it was now, and how bustling it would shortly become. At least, it would if it was anything like the trade shows I’d attended as part of my “day job” at the newspaper.
I made my way over to the surprisingly large Roped Up booth, where I was greeted by Damon and two of his employees. They were setting up things, putting out literature, samples, and various show schwag. I pulled up a chair and watched as they finished their preparations. It was about five minutes before the doors would open and let the attendees pour in when Damon finally turned his attention towards me.
“Alright Tawny, please take off your clothes.”
I’d worn some cute pink shorts, and a sheer tank-top that was easy to get out of, so within seconds I was standing there wearing just my lacy bra, panties, and fuck-me pumps.
Damon looked me up and down, and said, “Very nice. But keep going, please.”
I had assumed I’d be standing around the booth in a bikini, or at a minimum, some revealing lingerie. Heck, maybe even a rope-bra or something. And by “standing around” I meant tied up. But naked?
“Uh, Damon, you can’t have a naked girl in your booth,” I pointed out.
“Au contraire, my dear. Not only can, but will. Since this trade-show is by paid-admittance only, the laws on this island do not consider you to be ‘in public’, so full nudity is perfectly fine. They only draw the line at actual sexual acts. So no blowjobs, penetration, or even touching.” He made a show of shaking his head sadly, then grinned and added, “At least on the show floor, that is.”
Well, this was going to make my time as a booth-babe more interesting! I felt myself flush. Not out of embarrassment, but with excitement. Getting to indulge my strong streak of exhibitionism by being naked at an event like this was the kind of thing I fantasized about. Eric had told me there would be more than one surprise that I’d enjoy on this trip. This was definitely one of them.
I had just stripped out of my underwear and shoes, when a few more booth personnel arrived. They included an actual fully dressed woman, and fairly large individual called, I kid you not, “Knuckles”, and whose job it was to make sure that the no-touching rule was respected. And more importantly, that no photos were taken of me. I was very glad that Damon was taking that last one so seriously. Being so far from home satisfied my concerns about being recognized by any of the attendees, but photos… well, photos were another story in today’s global social-media world.
❖ ❖ ❖
Damon led me over the the big wooden frame that was obviously meant for me. It stood in the front of the booth, right on the aisle. Big and square, about seven feet on each side, it was painted a bright red, and was deep enough to be stable and not be at risk of tipping forwards or backwards. It had to have been made here, I thought. Shipping something like that, even broken down, would have been crazy expensive.
Near each of the inside corners was a big, sturdy looking metal eye-bolt. Attached to each of these eye-bolts were lengths of bright blue, slick-looking rope with wide nylon cuffs at their ends.
I stepped into it, and Damon and the other guys wasted no time in securing the cuffs around my wrists and ankles. They drew the ankle ropes tight, not stopping until my legs were spread wide. Not uncomfortable, but just barely. Then they pulled the ropes attached to my wrists taut, then pulled a little more and actually took some of my weight off my feet. I wasn’t suspended by my arms, by any means, but I was certainly pulled up a little. The wide cuffs were comfortable, and ensured that there was no undue pressure on any nerves in my wrist — always something to be aware of with bondage, especially any that supports some of your weight.
I saw some of the exhibit hall staff making their way towards the doors, preparing to let in the waiting throngs, and I thought it was nice that Damon had waited until the last minute to tie me up.
Damon took a little “No Touching” sign, set it on the frame between my legs, and then he picked up the ball gag from the table next to me. I opened my mouth obligingly to let him insert it. He buckled it loosely, since it was basically just for show — I didn’t expect to be moaning and yelling into it here on the show floor.
Just as he finished securing my ball-gag, they opened the doors, and I saw that my estimate of “throngs” might have been a bit optimistic for the Biennial Rope & Cable Manufacturer’s Trade Show. Still, there was a reasonably steady flow of people coming in, so maybe my expectations had been warped by Comic-Con, and this was what a normal conference exhibit hall looked like when the doors opened.
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