A literotic sexstories: MORTIMER & VICTORIA (& SANDY & REX, TOO) by senorlongo
Hello! I have a story I’d like to tell you, but first I think I should introduce myself. I’m Mortimer—Mortimer Allen. I know, I know–who names their kid “Mortimer” any more? Even though I’m currently 43 years old, the name Mortimer was well out-of-date back when I was born. I often think it was a nasty sadistic streak in both my parents who set me up for an extremely difficult childhood by inflicting this horrible name on me. I might have avoided the beatings in junior high school had I been bigger and stronger, but I was just a puny weakling then, and things haven’t changed that much as I grew older, although I put my small size to advantage by wrestling in high school and college. I’m now five feet, six inches tall, and I weigh all of one hundred and thirty pounds.
Luckily for me, I have an extremely strong brain. I’m smart, and that’s no wild exaggeration, nor is it braggadocio on my part. I majored in business administration and mathematics in college, graduating magna cum laude before earning an MBA from one of this nation’s premier business schools. I went to work in the actuary department of an international insurance firm (you’d know the name but their lawyers tell me I can’t use it here), ascending to the department head in less than ten years. I was the youngest VP in company history and I had nowhere to go but up. I supervised a team of thirteen; there were more in pre-computer days, but computers had made our jobs faster and easier. They weren’t easy, mind you, but they were definitely easier.
I knew why each of my employees had been hired—they were all math geniuses—save one who I often doubted had even attended high school let alone a university. I inherited her from my predecessor and I suspected that he took advantage of her many other charms while looking the other way at work. Victoria was truly a beauty. She was five feet ten inches tall and probably weighed 135 pounds. She had a firm body—she certainly showed it off often enough—with big round and firm tits and jutting nipples and a nice round ass. There wasn’t a man at the firm who wouldn’t give his left nut to fuck her. This is the story of my life once I became involved with Victoria. Fortunately, I have a photographic memory so I recall these events as though they happened yesterday.
I was just ending my coffee break one Friday morning when Victoria cornered me, “Oh, hi there, Mortimer, I’m going out to eat this evening. Care to join me?” She batted her eyes and shook her big tits in my face.
“Uh, I don’t know, Victoria. I’m not sure I should—you know—being your supervisor, and all.”
“Oh, Mortimer, don’t let that bother you. We can pretend we hardly know each other. Tell you what—you pick the restaurant and make it a good and expensive one. Afterwards, I’ll make it well worth your while—if you know what I mean.”
Now, I have never been much of a lady’s man. In fact, at the age of 37 (my age at the time) I had been on all of six dates in my entire life and they had all been disasters. Maybe I was desperate, but I agreed and Victoria told me to pick her up at her place at seven. She gave me the directions, finishing by hinting that if I played my cards right I’d be invited back after dinner. She looked up and down the hall and, seeing nobody, kissed my cheek as she whispered, “Later.”
I was praying for the rest of the day to fly by so, of course, it dragged—hour by hour, minute by minute, it seemed that the clock stopped and refused to move. Finally, five o’clock came and I bolted for the door, something I had never done in my prior years with the firm. I drove home and ran into the shower to clean my body and shave. When I had exited and dried myself I called Le Cirque for a reservation at eight. It was the city’s finest and most expensive restaurant. It’s totally French—even the menus. Luckily, I’m fluent.
I arrived at Victoria’s at seven on the dot. She was even more beautiful and sexier at home than she was in the office. She wore a short black dress with those real thin straps—I think they call them spaghetti straps. It had a low back and the center front was open almost down to her navel. It was obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra. How those mammoth breasts were being supported was a complete mystery to me, but I sure was enjoying the view.
We arrived at the restaurant just minutes before eight and were shown to our table. It was at the edge of the room, near the windows with a great view of the river. I never had a doubt—the maitre’d is an old friend of mine. We had a wonderful dinner and the conversation was more interesting than I could have imagined. When the check came Victoria turned the other way, “Darling Mortimer, I’d never insult your masculinity by offering to pay, besides you must make twice what I do.” I grimaced at being tricked into a $200 dinner, but pulled out my American Express Platinum card, placing it on the check. We left five minutes later; she was quiet all the way home, but she did invite me in, promising me a “good time.”
Victoria closed and bolted the door before leading me to the living room. She kicked off her shoes as she joined me on the couch. I had barely opened my mouth to speak when she covered it with hers. It was definitely the best kiss I’d ever had. Her lips were soft and full and her tongue wended its way into my mouth. We held the kiss for several minutes when she broke it. “Mortimer, why don’t you take off your clothes so I can play with you?”
I’ve had few invitations that enticing. I got up, removed my shoes and socks and hung my suit jacket over the back of a chair, followed shortly by my tie and shirt. I dropped my pants and boxers onto the chair and turned around. I was surprised to find that Victoria was still completely dressed. She was holding a ball of twine. “Uh, Victoria,” I asked, “I thought you…?”
“Oh, Mortimer, we’re not ready for that. I do so want to play with you, though. Thanks so much for agreeing.
Now come here and spread your legs a bit for me.” I walked the four steps to her side and placed my legs about two feet apart. She pushed them about another foot to the side so my thick erection, all six and a half inches of it, and my swollen balls were fully visible and accessible to her. She knelt on the floor and wrapped the twine around my ball sac. Over and over she wrapped it tightly around the sac until she wrapped a strand down between my balls. She continued this way for several more turns—one around, one down—until my balls were completely separated into tight individual compartments. She tied the package off with a knot before turning her attention to my cock.
“Don’t worry, my darling Mortimer, I’m going to hurt you a bit, but nothing serious or permanent, and the more you let me do the better your reward will be once we’re done playing.” She wrapped the first loop tightly around my erection. It hurt quite a bit but I was able to handle it, especially when she told me she was surprised my cock was so big. All told she made six turns before tying off my cock. I would have a rock hard erection all evening. “Just a few more adjustments, Mortimer,” she told me as she moved behind me. She distracted me by kissing my cheek as she snapped a pair of cuffs on my wrists. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself while we play. It will be so much better this way—trust me!”
Her final “adjustment” came when she pulled a small length of what appeared to be a waxed cord from a drawer as she put the twine away. “What’s that, Victoria?”
“This is a piece of glued twine. I’m going to put it under your helmet where it will glue itself in place so it won’t come free. My goodness you do worry. I told you I wouldn’t do anything permanent to you and I meant it. This will come off with a little alcohol.” She pulled the noose tight and, once it was secure, she attached a dog leash to the two loops at the ends of the cord. “You know I’ve heard that men will follow their penis anywhere. I guess that’s true, isn’t it? Now come along, Mortimer,” she laughed, “not that you have much choice—unless, of course, you want to pull your cock off, and what a shame that would be. It’s such a nice cock—much bigger than I imagined. Come along, now.”
She pulled me into her bedroom. The bed dominated—a king, I thought. There were the usual dresser and night tables and a large box covered with a sheet or table cloth at the foot of the bed. The bed itself was a four poster and I could see that there were ropes and leather cuffs attached to each of the posts. She pushed me down onto the bed, attaching my ankles to each of the posts at the foot; she uncuffed my wrists and fastened those to the posts at the head. I was spread eagled and helpless. “Uhh, excuse me for asking, but what kind of reward am I getting for this?”
“My goodness, Mortimer, you sure do ask a lot of questions. Well, so far I’d guess I would allow you to masturbate.”
“Can’t I do that anyway,” I asked, totally confused how that could be considered a reward.
“No! You absolutely cannot! You may not even touch your penis unless I say so. OK, I suppose you have to touch it to wash or urinate, but if you so much as touch it for pleasure I’ll have to punish you severely. Believe me, Mortimer,” she told me seeming suddenly caring and affectionate, “you do not want that. Now to continue our fun.” I was having a hard time figuring out how this was “our” fun, but what was I going to do? She brought out a ball gag, placing it at my lips. “Now, Mortimer, you need to be gagged. It wouldn’t do for the neighbors to call the police when you start screaming. Open up like a good boy.” She buckled it tightly behind my head. She tousled my hair when she was done.
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