Unconventional Behavior (sleep)
by Gentry DuVane
Sometimes it takes a while to know what we really want out of life – or at least a particular situation. That was the case with me and Mike. Not that I really blame myself. What was I supposed to do, faced with his sexy nude body, feigning sleep, yet giving me obvious clues that he wanted me to molest him? I had no idea what game we were playing, what it was he wanted.
No, that’s not true. I had plenty of ideas. I was just too startled to believe any of them.
That’s where change comes in. I’d always had fantasies about doing exactly what he wanted. As a kid on sleep-overs, I’d done more than my share of touching as my friends slept. Their smooth bodies were always too much temptation for my young, lusty body and mind to resist. To this day, I’m not sure how many of them really slept through it all, or just pretended to, to see what would happen. Maybe they were too afraid to say anything. Maybe just afraid to admit they wanted it.
But that was something I’d outgrown – that desire to molest sleeping men. Or more accurately, I still had the desire, but not the inclination. After all, it’s not what you’d call honest or fair. Until the day I stumbled on the web site, how was I supposed to know that there were guys who actually enjoyed being done unto exactly as I wanted to do?
Mike, I came to realize, was one of those. Not that he’d admitted it to me. If he had, I would have given him exactly what he wanted, without worry, without hesitation. But we’d both played it as safe as our ever-more-aroused bodies would let us. Our loss.
Pushing my way through the crowded halls of the Woodfield Hyatt, I couldn’t get Mike out of my mind. How well I remembered meeting him several years ago and talking for hours at the convention. Then sex on a balcony while his roommates slept… We connected again a few years later, this time convention roommates: the never-to-be-forgotten feigned sleeping incident.
We weren’t roommates this year, true, but this time I was a little more prepared.
I parked myself in the lobby, watching. Mike was supposed to meet me in a couple minutes, but I hadn’t seen him in hours. He could be anywhere. The lounge areas were already crowded with conversations. To my left were three Klingons and a guy who looked more like the Penguin than anything else I could think of. They were talking about software and the destructive affect Windows has on their battle cruiser. The rotund collection of SF fans at my right were commiserating about flame wars on their bulletin boards and their apas – apparently an archaic print version of the same concept. Tonight was the masquerade at the convention: Fairy Princesses mingled with a meticulously constructed smoke-breathing dragon; an octopus sat on a fabric-rendered rock complete with garden… all in all, a typical Saturday night at our annual science fiction convention.
At the thought, I smiled. This group was known for unconventional practices. Being gay here was nothing; being bisexual was actually highly thought of in many circles. Open (but tasteful) B&D was enjoyed and considered common. Some of the sexiest men I knew wore their collars openly, and their leashes were highly sought after. Still, how many of them had little bottles and the customary white rag in their rooms, ready and waiting?
Finally I saw Mike across the lobby. He searched the crowd for a moment, spotted me, lifted his head in a reverse nod, and was moving toward me in no time. Mike’s not one of the ones who goes in for costumes. Jeans and a flannel shirt today. It was probably more in line with the bears he usually enjoyed. To be honest, I still don’t know much about his personal fetishes except for the one clue he’d given me. But that was enough.
Mike, in case you don’t know him, is a pretty good looking guy. Just over six foot, brownish hair and an amiable face when he lets it be. Slender body and decently built –he did spend several years in the Navy, and it had left a fine mark on him. His jeans were maybe a little looser on him that I would have liked, but they still revealed a desirable… profile. He was scruffy again, but that was usually the way he looked these days. Better for catching bears, I guessed.
We chatted for a minute or two before deciding to start our circuit of the parties. The hotel’s clover leaf layout made it easy to wander around looking for them – and they were everywhere. That was one of the best ways to spend time on a Saturday night: Food and conversation, people to meet and connect with. Of course, I had already made the connection I wanted. I just had to get him into my room and the waiting props of my well-devised scenario.
The first party we stopped into was slow; the people were friendly enough, but none of the conversations interested us in the least. We took their convention fliers and headed onward. There was a bearish fellow in the second party, no one I would have really found attractive, but Mike was eyeing him a little. Still, the “bit of honey” this guy had before him was a Reubenesque woman, so I knew I wasn’t going to lose my own prey before the trap had been sprung. I spent a couple minutes watching the way Mike looked at him, the way he shifted just a little to accommodate tightening jeans. Good. Damn, I thought. Mike does look good tonight. But the bear wasn’t interested in conversation or anything other than the woman, so Mike quickly lost interest. We moved on.
The third party was the one where Paul Knight was reading tarot as the entertainment for a convention he’s involved with. I know Paul. A great stage hypnotist and a nice guy. I had plans on seeing his midnight hypnosis demonstration a little later. If it hadn’t been for his being straight, I might have talked to him about my own fetish. I love the look of a man being put under, and the thought of what I could do with him that way. Paul could really have helped me learn a few things.
If hypnosis was Mike’s thing, he hid it well – but then, so did I. Even with friends, sometimes it’s awkward bringing up your fetishes. Especially since Mike had no way of knowing what I had planned for him. How could he know I’d spent hours online reading and talking to people who are into sleepy sex? It was the stories and postings on the Knockout site on Yahoo that had been my inspiration.
We left Paul’s party. My room was around the corner. I made an excuse for stopping in, knowing my roommates for the convention were both busy, and we’d have the room to ourselves. Mike sat on the foot of the bed while I ducked into the bath room. In my travel bag, I had the rag and a bottle. I poured clear fluid onto the rag and resealed the bottle. My heart was pounding with anticipation. In a moment I’d know the truth. He’d get a surprise; I had to hope he’d enjoy it.
I opened the door quietly and could see in the dresser mirror that he was sitting at the foot of the bed, his pocket program guide in his hands. He glanced up and saw me. I’d planned for this. I took the bottle in hand and brazenly carried it and the white rag into the room. I set the bottle in my suitcase beside the dresser.
Mike’s eyes got a strange look in them. “What’s that?”
I gave him my best devilish smile. “Nothing. Just water.” He didn’t appear reassured. I walked around the bed toward the nightstand. “I need to clean my glasses.” I was behind him, but he hadn’t turned to watch me. Not that there was need. He could see me in the mirror.
Ignoring the glasses on my nightstand, I turned toward his back. His eyes in the mirror watched me carefully, his face shaming the best poker players. I smiled what I hoped was a puckish combination of reassurance and mischief. I pounced, watching his eyes widen as I placed the wet rag tightly over his face. Hands gripped at my arm, but to no avail.
If you’ve never been able to watch your victim’s face during the scene, I have to tell you you’re missing something totally fantastic. The look on his face as he reaches up to stop you, then realizes your hold from behind him is strong and firm. The way he tries to breathe, then tries even harder not to. The moment he knows he can’t hold his breath and still struggle. Then comes the way his body shakes when he takes that deep breath and gets a good whiff of the cloth; he realizes with certainly just what’s going to happening to him.
“Breathe deep, Mike… It’s time for you to take a nap.”
The struggling was becoming weaker. I could see his eyes still watching me in the mirror, but now the expression was different. There was no fear in them, only acceptance. I allowed myself a glance at his jeans, and found them already tightening. Whatever struggling remained was entirely for show. “Breathe deep, and sleep.” I returned my gaze to the mirror, and saw he still watched me, knew what I had seen. His eyes began to flutter, the grip of his hands on my arms weakened. In a moment his protestations stopped entirely, and Mike lay helpless, slumped back against my kneeling body.
The first thing I should do, I realized, was extract myself from the confines of his leaning body… but there was time. The weight of his motionless body against mine was getting me hard, and the way he pressed against my stomach heightened the experience. I ran my hand gently across his scruffy, slack face, then up through his brown hair; My cock pressed against the small of his back. I flashed back to memories of my childhood, and those stolen moments caught up in need and guilt. But there was no guilt here; the signs had been his. Tonight, there was only pleasure for two. I would see to that.
Slowly I backed out from beneath Mike’s slumped, body; my hands eased him down onto the bed. Stopping for a moment to survey the helpless ex-navy man from the aisle between the two beds, I smiled. His legs still hung over the edge of the bed; his arms lay akimbo, one across his stomach, the other hanging toward me off the bed. I moved closer and bumped it with my thigh; it moved but not of its own accord. I reached down and touched his palm with my finger tips, almost tickling him. I love to touch a man who isn’t moving. Finally I had him limply lying before me, ready for whatever I had planned. Believe me, I had thought about this long and hard – emphasis on the latter.
I tossed both of his hands over his head so they touched the pillow a foot or two above his head. For a moment I thought again about using something to tie his arms, but I decided against it. I didn’t know what Mike was ready for and what he wasn’t. Besides, I remembered, hotel headboards are screwed to the wall; there was nothing to tie him to.
I moved to the foot of the bed where his legs lay dangling. After tossing the bottle from my suitcase onto the bed beside him, I reached down and took his right boot in my hand and began to unlace it carefully. The feel of his calf in my hand was indescribable. There was muscle here, totally limp and pliant in my hand. He could not fight me in his sleepy state, and the bulge in his jeans convinced me that he didn’t even want to. Laces undone, I placed his right boot on the floor at the foot of the bed and moved on to his left. When the partners sat side by side, I continued to hold his left foot and ran my fingers along the rough surface of his socks. Cotton. I played my fingers across his sole, searching for a ticklish spot. He quivered a little, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to bring him out of it. If all went well, there would be plenty of time to learn the length and breadth of his pleasures.
I lowered his leg gently, then placed my hands on his knees. Slowly, luxuriantly, I slid my palms up his legs toward his waist, feeling the texture of his jeans and the muscular legs that lay beneath them. I stopped before his crotch and pulled my hands back, this time placing them under his legs just behind the knees; I repeated the process. His legs threatened to slip out of my hands, inward, but I shifted and cupped his thighs in my hands. Pliant, accepting of my touch. I was stopped all too soon by his own weight just before reaching his ass; my position at the foot of the bed provided too little leverage. Instead, I ran my hands again along the top of his legs from his ankles up, this time climbing atop the bed as my hands coursed along his supine body. Soon I knelt straddling his unmoving form, his slowly thickening hard-on only inches from my own.
I lay one hand beside him on the bed, leaning forward to begin unbuttoning his shirt with the other. Slowly I revealed his furry chest, but not for the first time. I’m not one for furry men, but for Mike I’ve always made an exception – and enjoyed it. I played my spread hand across his chest, moving through so the texture tickled between my fingers. Mike did not move a muscle, but I both heard and felt his breathing shift slightly, enjoying the sensation in spite of his condition. We both hardened more. Leaning forward, separated only by our pants, we bulged into contact. I felt my body quake, and its reaction was mirrored in his. My fingers played at his chest for a moment more, not wanting to break contact. I touched his nipples, and they hardened. As my hands continued to pinch and play, my eyes ran across his upper body, seeing the way his shirt lay open around his shoulders and arms, flung where I had left them over his head. Waiting for my next whim… to move them, to play with them, to use them.
I leaned forward further, this time allowing my body to rest lightly on his as my mouth moved closer to him. My tongue darted out to his nipple, tasting and teasing, while my hands slid the shirt from beneath him further up his arms. My hands came together above his head, pulling the fabric of his shirt into a ball, not exactly tied, but restrictive nonetheless. My mouth moved to Mike’s other nipple, and he breathed in sharply, letting the air go in a soft moan of pleasure.
The bottle beside him caught my eye. This was our first time, and I wasn’t certain what to expect. Would he wake and require another dose? Some of the stories said so. How would this scene play out? I was determined to get much further with Mike than I had so far. Better to invest a little time in the preparations, I decided.
I eased myself from atop his willing body and stood beside the head of the bed. The shirt wasn’t nearly constrictive enough for my purposes. I used the sleeves to bind his wrists, then pulled the bulk of the shirt to the head of the bed. It barely reached, to be wedged in between the bed and the wall. Not very tight, but it would work unless he was really determined to get free; certainly it would hold against feigned or half-hearted attempts. That accomplished, I moved to his waist. Slowly I reached to his belt and took hold of the buckle. All breath stopped. His body froze in anticipation of my every move. The buckle slowly opened, and I pulled it wide. Then the jeans. Carefully, gently, I parted the closure and unzipped. Even held in check by his cotton underwear, his hard cock pressed through the separating jeans boldly, asserting its presence and desires. I cupped it for a moment in my hand. Every nerve in my body tingled with anticipation. His cock surged against the underwear, asking to be set free.
“All in good time,” I said quietly, sliding my hand from his crotch to the jeans that still covered his legs.
Moving to the foot of the bed, I took hold of the denim and began to slide it slowly from his body, unsheathing his legs. It was difficult at first, but after the first few inches, his body surrendered the jeans freely, and they fell to the ground around his feet. There was no foot board to fasten his belt to. I could not bind him. His own desire to be taken would have to hold him here… that and the moist, white cloth.
Again beside him, seated this time on the bed, I reached behind me with one hand to cup his covered cock, squeezing and searching its shape. His face was anything but barren of expression. In spite of the mask of sleep, definite signs of pleasure escaped. I felt myself harden again; why hadn’t he told me this is what he wanted? I’ve wanted the same thing myself a thousand times.
I couldn’t help myself. I let my eyes wander over the surface of his body, arms stretched over his head exposing his armpits and ribs. His furry chest, ripe for the taking, rose and fell in an easy rhythm of breath. His face… I wanted to move closer to him, to taste his lips with my own; but something held me back. Instead, I slid my hand across his chest, up his neck, and palmed the side of his scruffy face. His head lolled slightly toward my hand, resting in my palm. It had been subtle, but it was the first real indication that he wasn’t completely unconscious.
My fingers slipped from his cock to the band of his underwear, taking hold and pealing it back slowly to leave him fully exposed. Mike’s cock shocked upright for a moment, brazen and ready. Turning, I gently pulled his underwear down from his hips, past his thighs to his knees, where they fell to lie upon the jeans around his ankles. I ran fingers along the length of his cock, watching it twitch with pleasure, and then stroked fingertips along the crown and other sensitive parts. His cock danced beneath my touch while his body remained otherwise lifeless and pliant. My other hand came to rest in the fur of his chest, fingers massaging his slack muscles and ready nipples. I continued to harden him with my massaging grip.
A deep breath and a groan escaped Mike’s body, and I peripherally saw his head moving. I released his cock and chest, instead taking the bottle and white rag in hand. In the moment it took me to douse the rag, he muttered, “should be safe,” and fluttering eyes looked up at mine. I smiled. “Don’t worry, Mike. I have every intention of playing safe.” And the rag descended over his face again. The struggles of his arms and legs were minimal and quickly subsided. There had never been any doubt. Deep down, Mike didn’t want to escape.
I held the rag there for a good minute while I wrapped strong fingers around Mike’s hardening cock. “Nap time isn’t over yet,” I told him. “We have other things to do with you first…”
When his motions subsided, I took a moment to put the rag and bottle close at hand. Then I began in earnest on his pleasure. My hands and mouth began to function as a practiced orchestra, playing the instruments of his body to create swells of music and pleasure that began to sway his body with the rhythm of seductive sensations. One hand moved from his cock downward to work his balls, squeezing and manipulating them, learning what gave his body the best reaction. He revealed his pleasures to me, and I let my hands explore them further. Then my fingertips moved southward and began to tease at the edges of his ass. Though bound, I helped his legs to spread slightly and allow me easier access. I licked my finger, covering it with saliva, and then slipped it deeper into his crack. My other hand moved his cock, pulling and stroking, until his breathing began to grow harder, shorter.
My pace quickened, became harder, more insistent. I probably spoke to him, but I don’t remember exactly what I said. I know I told him when it was time to come.
He shot.
Again and again.
I held his cock tightly in my fist through each spasm, watching the cum spurt free onto his exposed stomach. And through it all, the rest of his body didn’t move. He didn’t make more than the barest sound. There was no indication of anything other than a man deeply asleep.
I left the cum where it was. That was one thing I had learned, the last time, when he pretended to be asleep in our bed. I made no effort to clean him up.
As I listened to his breathing begin to steady, to slow, I took the white rag in my hand and placed it again over his face.
“That’s right, Mike. Breathe deeply. Let yourself sleep. It’s good to sleep after so much exertion. Breathe in and feel yourself drifting away. You enjoy this feeling. Surrender to it.”
It was time to try my own favorite and see how he reacted. Pairing it with his own, maybe it would work. Already tired and spent, I hoped he would let himself sleep.
“You can feel how your legs relax, becoming even more limp as you breathe deeply. Don’t even listen to my voice, as you fall towards sleep…”
Ah, the plans I had…
END