The Ice Cream Stand
by Lon Grover
Copyright 2004. All rights reserved.

"Who's that?"

"Who?" Joyce replied, following my gaze.

"There, by the post: the guy in the well-worn leather vest with the bottle of Corona."

"That's Brian Poole. He went to college back east and worked somewhere around Boston for a while. He came home during the winter, works at the software company in the new industrial park."

"His family has a big farm in the hills, right? They've been there forever?"

"Right. His parents are retired; they still live on the farm but his brother's running it. I think Brian's living in the townhouses near the industrial park."

"What's the deal with the vest?"

Brian looked our way and scanned us quickly. Then he smiled, winked, and turned back to his friends. I was sure the wink was for me. Well, I hoped it was, and my nipples were at attention in any case.

Joyce laughed. "Oh, yeah. You never heard about that? Ten years ago, when he was in eleventh grade, the Sadie Hawkins committee asked him to be the 'sheriff' for their dance. He wore a vest with a dime store badge and stuck plastic handcuffs in his pocket. Remember, girls ask guys to that dance? They're supposed to ask for dances, too, so Brian was stuck with the stags. Well, he 'kept order' by 'arresting' girls he wanted to dance with. I don't know how the chaperones missed it, but dancing in handcuffs was the hit of the night until they fell apart.

"Sometime after that, he got some real ones. He'd go to a dance or wherever, hang out, and ask a girl if she'd like an ice cream when he was ready to leave. I don't know what happened after that, but he's been seen at the ice cream stand with girls who stayed in his pickup looking uncomfortable."

My pubic muscles squeezed nothing and my juices started; puss was interested but it sounded like Brian was the initiator. So, the evening went on and it was fun.


I was zoned out, catching my breath while the others at our table danced when I heard a voice. "Excuse me? Would you like to dance?

My first reaction was, "No thanks, I'm resting." Fortunately, I turned around first. It was Brian.

"Oh, sure, thanks!" I said, hoping my smile wasn't as brittle as it felt.

He took my hand and led me to the floor, where we formed a square with another couple. Square dancing doesn't offer many opportunities to talk, but I learned that Joyce's information was accurate; the ice cream stand never came up. He learned my name, Amy Harris, and that I'll be a junior at State in the fall.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked as we left the floor.

"Thanks," I answered, "but it's getting late and I'm tired."

"O.K., how about an ice cream then?"

My stomach flipped and I stared, deer-in-the-headlights, I'm sure, into his eyes.

"Um, yeah, that would be nice. What's still open?" Miss innocent, that's me.

"The ice cream stand's open for another half hour but we'll have to leave right away."

He'd been cheerful and smiling right along, but his eyes seemed to have an extra sparkle now. I picked up my purse and jacket from the table, said good night to everyone, and we went out into the dark roadhouse parking lot.

"You're quite a dancer, Amy. You hardly sat down all night."

"I was sitting down when you asked me to dance. Does that count?"

"That depends. Would you have said 'Yes' to anyone who asked?"

"I was resting, so I don't know. No one else asked, though."

"So you would have said 'No' to some people?"

"Yeah, probably." So what? Where's he going with this?

"So, you're a dancer and a tease, is that right?"

Uh, oh. "I don't think about it that way. I just like to dance and have fun. Anybody gets to ask and I get to say yes or no. As you said, I danced pretty much all night."

"A mitigating argument, but you haven't been tried yet. I'm afraid that, as permanent deputy of the Sadie Hawkins Dance committee, I'm going to have to take you in."

"Take me in where?" My voice rose nearly an octave.

"I was thinking of the ice cream stand."

"I didn't know they had a jail."

"My truck will do," he smiled, taking my elbow and turning between a white pickup truck and a dark-colored sports car.


"Put your purse and jacket on the hood and your hands on the fender."

"Now step back and spread your legs," he continued when I complied with his first instructions. I'd wondered what it would feel like to be arrested when I saw it happen on TV and in movies. Now I knew that, at least when it's a game and the "officer" plays nice, it’s hot!

Brian's hands gripped my shoulders, caressed my back, and ran over my hips and down the outside of my thighs. I could have been carrying an arsenal and he wouldn't have found it, but the muscles he touched tensed and relaxed as his hands passed. My breathing became shallow and rapid.

"All right, give me your right hand."

I lifted my hand from the fender and offered it to him behind my back. He held my hand, tight, and a cool metal bar crossed my arm above his hand. K. K-k-k-brrr. A shiver began at my wrist and ran across my body as if a chill wind had passed.

"Stand up and give me your other hand."

I pushed off the fender and struggled for balance. He held the chain between the cuffs in one hand while the other gripped my shoulder. When I'd settled down, his hand slid down my arm and pulled it behind my back. K-k-brrrrr.

I shrugged my shoulders and fidgeted my arms to get them settled. The chain between the cuffs was at the back of my wrists, so they rested on the slope of my ass with my palms showing, my fingers loosely curled.

"Stand still so I can double-lock the cuffs; you don't want them to pinch."

He held each wrist in turn and did something to the cuffs, and then he took my elbow, just as he had when we turned in next to his truck.

"Get in," he said; opening the door and helping me slide up onto the seat. He stretched the seat belt across my lap and fastened it, then moved the shoulder strap into the valley between my breasts. He put my purse and jacket in the middle of the wide bench seat, pushed the lock button down, and slammed the door.

I tried to make room for my arms against the seat while he walked around the front of the truck. I was uncomfortable, but we were only going to the ice cream stand, right? He got in, started the truck, and backed out.


I saw the ice cream stand's bright lights almost as soon as we turned onto the highway; they're visible for miles on this arrow-straight highway. The crowd was typical for a summer Saturday night. The spaces facing the street were full of carefully kept old cars and hot rods with fiber glass bodies. There were no family groups left by then, mostly high school and college kids hanging out and some older couples. Brian pulled in and parked so the pole mounted overhead lights shone through the windshield. There were no shadows I could hide in.

"What'll you have?" he asked.

"I've always liked vanilla cones dipped in chocolate," I replied.

I watched him walk to the window, and then looked around to see who was there without making eye contact. My stomach was full of butterflies and I hoped no one would come over to talk. I even thought I might as well be outside with everyone else, but I knew that wasn't true. I took some comfort from what Joyce had said. Maybe there was at least one woman in the lot who had a better idea what was going on than I did.

By the time Brian came back with our cones, my panties and pubic hair were soaked. He could probably smell my arousal.

"Ready for your treat?" he asked when he got in and shut the door.

"Sure, but how will I eat it?"

"No problem! I'll hold it for you."

Which he did. We chatted between licks as if we were any other couple out for a cool evening after a hot day. He teased me some, making me lean out of the shoulder belt to reach the cone, or moving it around so I had to follow. I lost the sense that I was on stage and just had a good time.

When we finished, he wiped my mouth and chin with a paper napkin.

"Now what?" I asked.

"That's up to you," he smiled. "What would you like to do?"

I was no longer the person I'd been when we drove into the parking lot. My focus had switched from myself to him, like it goes to my partner when I dance.

"I don't want to go home," I said.

Brian smiled, nodded, started the truck, and drove onto the highway.


He opened the garage door under his townhouse with a remote and drove in. "We're here," he said as he shut of the engine.

I returned his smile, though my uneasiness had returned. I held onto the good feelings I'd had at the ice cream stand, determined to enjoy the game I'd joined.

He got out of the pickup and walked around the back, out of my sight for the first time since we'd left the roadhouse. I heard the overhead door roll down and felt the truck bounce when its tailgate dropped. He opened my door then, and reached across my lap to release the seat belt.

"No talking from now on, all right?"

Our eyes locked and I nodded. He kissed me, gently at first, then touching my lips with his soft, moist tongue. I opened my mouth, inviting his hot scout into my mouth, giving it free rein to explore, poke and push my own tongue out of its way. When he was satisfied, his pace slowed and his tongue withdrew, ending its search with a gentle lick along my lips.

He smiled, but his eyes were inquisitive when he pulled back. I returned his smile and turned on the seat toward the door. He helped me slip off onto the floor, took my elbow, and guided me past a laundry hookup, empty except for a big tool box and a bicycle, toward the stairway door.

"Kick off your boots," he ordered.

There was a boot jack beside the door. I caught a boot in the slot and pulled my foot out. Since I couldn't use my hands, I kicked it aside with my sock-covered foot and got the other one off. The concrete floor was cold through my thick, white, cotton socks.

While one hand held my elbow, the other reached around my waist and pulled me back against him; for the first time, I felt his rigid cock, turning to slip it between my buttocks. I looked up at him, over my shoulder, and he bent for a too-short kiss.

He released the buckle of the wide belt holding my riding skirt and the buttons that closed its fly. When he pushed me away, it fell to the floor and I stepped out of it. Now his hand worked my white, cotton panties off my hips and started them down my thighs. When they reached my knees, I worked my legs to urge them over my calves and stepped out of them, too.

He pulled me back, pressing his erect, denim covered tool between my cheeks once more, and kissed me, hard, pressing my lips against my teeth and thrusting his tongue into my mouth once more. His free hand unbuttoned my blouse, and explored my belly and the edge of my bra. My breasts wanted to feel his hand, but he withdrew it, turned me toward the truck, and bent me over the tailgate.


The concrete floor was cold but the steel tailgate felt frigid against my warm belly. He pinned me in place with one hand, holding the chain between the handcuffs against the small of my back. The truck bounced as he worked his own belt and fly with his other hand, dropping his pants enough to free his rigid cock.

My pussy was soaking, eager for his rod, my hips flexing anxiously. He wasted no time before dipping his tool's head into my flowing slit, moving it up and down a few time, and starting it into my cunt. My greedy hole welcomed him, gripping and releasing as he worked, slowly, into me. When my ass felt his pubic hair, he began to pump, gently at first, then forcefully, all the time keeping me pinned to the truck bed like a dog with a bitch in heat.

People say I'm noisy during sex, and I guess they're right. That time, at least, my throat was raw when I came back to myself. He'd let go of the handcuffs but was still in me, his hands gently rubbing my ass cheeks.

"I'm going to get out now, but I want you to stay where you are, all right?"

I nodded a couple of times, rubbing my hair between my cheek and the steel truck bed, and he pulled out.

"Pull your legs together."

I complied, and felt our juices drool from my pussy and coat my thighs.

I heard him moving around, the sound of pants being pulled up and fastened, then footsteps. The truck bounced on its springs; he was getting my jacket and purse. More footsteps and the sound of boots coming off, then cloth on concrete as he picked up my skirt and panties.


I nodded, and he helped me get my feet under me, holding my arms for balance and turning me into his arms. He hugged me tight, crushing my breasts against his leather vest and rubbing my back, then letting me go to stare into my eyes.


He must have liked what he saw, for he kissed me, and guided me to the stairway door, my clothes draped over his arm and my purse in his hand. He sent me up the stairs first, his hand on the chain between the cuffs, his eyes, I knew, on my ass, pussy, and our glistening slime, his nose drinking our perfume.

The main floor of his townhouse was a large living and dining area and a small galley kitchen. Drapes hid a sliding glass door and deck at the end of the living room. The kitchen window was a black rectangle sparked by a street light, just right for the early morning hour. Brian led me to his dining table and helped me sit.

"Would like something to drink? Juice? Soda?" I nodded, and he smiled. "Sorry, you can talk now. What would you like?"

"Orange juice," I replied.

He fussed in the kitchen and came back with the biggest glass of orange juice I'd ever seen and a can of soda for himself. He sat beside me and held the glass for me to drink, then had some of his soda.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"That's a hell of a question," I grinned. "I've been arrested by the permanent Sadie Hawkins deputy, held without an attorney in what must be the Dogpatch Jail, stripped, and fucked doggie style in a garage. I'm doing fine!"

We finished our drinks and he guided me upstairs, just as he had before. We went into a bathroom, where he seated me on the throne while he brushed his teeth. I relaxed when he ran water in the sink and my bladder was empty by the time he finished. I flinched when he tried to wipe me, but then I relaxed under his gentle touch. He helped me up and stood me in a corner, nose to the wall, while he relieved himself; his bladder was as full as mine from the sound.

He kissed me lightly and held a finger across my lips.

"No more talking."


We went down the hall to his bedroom, one of two, where he sat me down on the bed. He released the cuff from my left wrist and locked it to the headboard, pulling my right arm that way. Then he worked my unbuttoned blouse off my left arm, unhooked my bra, and slipped its left side off.

He pushed me back to lie on the bed and moved me around until I was about in the middle, got another pair of handcuffs from his bedside stand, and cuffed my free wrist to the headboard. Then he released my right wrist and finished taking off my blouse and bra. When he cuffed my wrist again, my arms were held over my head, my hands about shoulder width apart. Finally, he pulled off my socks.

Now he stripped himself, quickly and neatly. He unbuttoned and slipped out of his shirt, dropped it on a chair, and pulled his tee-shirt over his head. His arms and torso had good, working muscles, the kind you get living on a farm for years rather than the hard-edged kind you get in a gym. He opened his pants and pulled his jockey shorts off with them, and then he sat on the mattress and pulled off his socks. Everything went in the closet, the pants on a hook while everything else went in a laundry bag.

Brian joined me on the bed, stretching out beside me, caressing my face and neck while he gazed into my eyes. His hand moved to my breast, cradling it while he massaged its nipple. My breathing grew short and my head tipped back. My hands became fists and pulled against the cuffs.

His lips came down on my eyelids, kissing and licking each one, stroking my eyebrows, and moving to my chin, then my lips. This was no deep, passionate kiss like the one in the garage. Rather, it was a long gentle exploration. He tasted my skin and my lips, the moisture that rose in the corner of my eyes, the hair beside my ear, and, I imagine, the wax he found when his tongue probed it. All the while, his hand and fingers played with my breast and nipple.

His mouth moved, slowly, along the side of my throat and investigated my shoulder, the hollow behind my collar bone. He shifted on the bed and his lips moved toward my breast, eventually sucking its nipple and as much of its bulk as fit into his mouth. I was panting now, short, shallow breaths that hissed and whistled through my nose and teeth.

He shifted again, and his mouth continued its journey across my belly, pausing to study my navel before exploring my pubic bush. My legs spread wide at his approach, my thighs pulling up and lying flat, my feet turning out to rest on the mattress.

His tongue worked along the crease of my thigh, avoiding my pussy to challenge the inside of my thigh. I gasped when his lips, then his teeth, nipped that sensitive flesh before returning to licking and kissing, exhaling his warm breath gently onto my skin.

Finally, his mouth moved to my flower, his tongue licking the hot, wet, red flesh lining my outer lips, swooping the length of my slit, slurping my juice into his mouth, coming to rest at last on the center of my pleasure. I was on fire, my legs twitching, my nipples craving attention, my arms flexing against the cuffs, almost not breathing, biting my lip, my face a grimace of too much, too much.

His arms wrapped my hips when I came, hugging me to him, kissing me gently now, drinking my juice.


I'd never slept with my hands bound before, and it took a while to fall asleep. When I did, though, I slept soundly until the smell of coffee and bacon woke me up. I found myself in a cheerful, masculine bedroom, lighted only by bright sunshine slipping past the drapes. I worked my arms and torso to loosen their kinks and dozed off.


"Are you planning to sleep all day?" Brian demanded, waking me from a lovely dream of a handsome prince rescuing me from a foul fate. I looked at him and rattled the handcuffs that held me in place.

"No problem!" he said, unlocking a cuff from the headboard and fastening it to my other wrist.

"If you promise to behave, you can have your hands in front while you eat. All right?"

I nodded, and he grinned.

"Breakfast is served." He unlocked the other cuff from the headboard and its partner from my wrist. "Do you need to pause on the way?"

I nodded vigorously, and he led me to the bathroom. He stayed again, but he let me wipe myself this time.

"Have a seat," he said, holding a chair for me when we got down stairs. When I was settled, he went down on one knee and cuffed my ankle to the table leg. "Hands in front is one thing, but running loose is too much!"

He brought scrambled eggs, bacon, coffee, juice, and a loaf of bread. A toaster and jelly were already on the table. We dug in, sharing the pleasant quiet of hunger and remembered fun.

"Sleep well?"

I raised my eyebrows and pointed to my mouth.

"Oh, sure, feel free to talk."

"Mostly, once I fell asleep. I'd never slept that way before, but it was more strange than uncomfortable."

He nodded. "I'm glad you slept well. I've heard that your ransom will be paid soon, so our time together is coming to an end."

I didn't know how to respond. Being this kind of kidnap victim had been fun, but it didn't seem like a long term gig. It seemed churlish to cheer.

"I'm glad things are working out so well. I've heard that not all kidnappings have happy endings."

"I suppose that's true, but I haven't had any really bad experiences. There is the matter of the ransom, though."

I knew there had to be a catch. "Oh?"

"Yes. I'm afraid you'll have to suffer my attentions once more."

"Ah. I guess that might be a problem, but I don't see how."

"Good! No more talking."


He released my hands and cuffed them behind my back once more. Then he rested his ass on the edge of the table and opened his robe. The details of his ransom demand were obvious, and I leaned forward to make the payment.

I began with a kiss that pressed his belly hair against his pubic bone. He lifted his leg onto the table to accommodate me as my mouth moved into the gap between his cock and thigh. Then I took his balls, one by one, into my mouth, their sack's long, stiff hair tickling my nose. His cock was erect now, moving freely against my cheek.

I released his balls from my mouth and moved to the root of his cock. It was a fine tool, one that any woman would be happy to enjoy. My lips nibbled gently at the base of its tube, then along its length until the purple head slipped into my mouth. I sucked it in, not too far at first, then let it nearly out, and sucked it in again, deeper and deeper with each stroke.

I swallowed when his cock reached the back of my mouth and my tongue stroked the bottom of his rod, trapping it against the roof of my mouth, massaging it and exciting its head as it passed in and out. When he tensed, I held him deep in my mouth, breathing through my nose when I could as he came, and came, and came. I swallowed a lot, nearly all, but some escaped the corners of my mouth to run down my chin. Stories about women who catch every drop must be fantasies, I thought.

His hands were in my hair the whole time but he never tried to control my head. When he finished, he played in my hair while his erection faded. I licked him clean as he slipped from my mouth, and then licked myself clean as far as my tongue could reach. He lifted me off the chair, into his arms and we rested, silent, catching our breath.

"Thank you," he said.

"Da nada," I replied, laughing.

"No, it's not nothing. Excellent, deserving thanks."

I snuggled against his shoulder; for once I had nothing to say.

"How about a shower?" he asked eventually.


So we did, together, my wrists cuffed in front again and caught over the shower head while he washed me. The gentle, slow missionary sex that followed was predictable but wonderfully relaxing. Then I lay on the bed to watch him dress while he looked at me. We gathered my scattered clothes and he helped me dress, still without releasing me.


"What made you think I'd go for something like this?" I asked when we were on the highway, my hands comfortably trapped against the seat once more.

"I didn't; I never do, and I've been wrong a few times.

"I watched you dance and you seemed to lose yourself on the floor. You were happy and vigorous no matter whom you were with. You never took your attention off the people you were with, never looked for a better opportunity. You're not a tease; that was just a line. I didn't know how you'd react to playing the victim in my kidnapping fantasy, but it was worth the risk. A few women have balked when I tried to handcuff them the first time, and two backed out at the ice cream stand. The rest stayed for the whole thing and said she had a good time by the end.  You're a beautiful woman, Amy. Your smell and taste are wonderful. I've enjoyed being with you and hope you've had fun, too."

"I did know a little about you before you asked me to dance. You're well known around here, and lots of people saw us leave together. I knew you were up to something but I didn't know what. I was scared but you were nice, so there was an edge rather than panic."

We rode in silence for a while.

"Has Joyce played your game?"

"I never talk about the women I see or what we do, and I ask them to do the same if they had a good time. I'm sure they'd talk if they thought I got out of line, but that would be O.K. I'm not a predator." 

‘More than fair,’ I thought.

He drove me to Joyce's place, where I found my car parked at the curb. I leaned forward out of the shoulder strap and he released my wrists. Then he pulled me into a hug and kissed my forehead gently for a long moment. When I stirred and opened my eyes, he was smiling, and I thought my face mirrored his. My hand moved slowly down his chest, free for the first time in almost twelve hours. We kissed good-bye and got out of his truck.

I watched him drive away, turned, and walked to Joyce's door. I'll be wearing long sleeves for a few days, summer or not.

The End

Copyright 2004 by Lon Grover ( All rights reserved.