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A guy wearing a sport-coat and a tie, which were both so bright you could probably see them from outer-space, was making his way down the aisle, looking at the booths. He got to mine, and — not surprisingly — stopped. I watched him read the sign that stood prominently between my wide-spread legs, and down by my feet. He made a small, disappointed-looking frown, then spent some time looking at me, with extra time spent staring at my bare woo-woo, and my equally-bare boobs.
“Damn, those are some bouncy looking hooters.” He looked over at Damon, and said, “You serious about that ‘no touching’ thing?” He pointed at the sign.
Damon said,”Yeah, sorry. Not here, anyway.” He gave the guy a conspiratorial smile. “It will be a different story at our end-of-the-show party, though.”
With a sudden look of both interest and skepticism, the guy said, “End of the show party? Ok, how does a guy got about getting himself an invite to this party?” He’d been looking at Damon when he started his sentence, but by the end of it he was back to staring at my boobs.
Damon smiled the satisfied smile that fishermen get when the fish is good and hooked. “All of our customers are invited.” He put noticeable emphasis on the word “customers”.
The guy nodded, absorbing this information, and then asked Damon if they made some type of rope whose name sounded more like a super-hero than something you’d tie your boat up with. Damon said they did, and ushered the guy over to the little table-and-chairs that was set up towards the back of the booth, so they could begin their deal-making in earnest. They were far enough away that I couldn’t hear them, which was fine, since I’d already heard more about what separates good polypropylene from bad polypropylene, and how they ensure that rope colors don’t vary from batch to batch than I cared to. Ok, that last one had actually been sort of interesting. Or maybe that was just due to there not being much intellectual stimulation when you are tied up spread-eagle at a trade show.
Once or twice I really did wish I could hear the various conversations, like when the guy would look over at me, or point at me, and say something. Damon would respond with a chuckle and/or grin, and give a response that usually resulted in in the guy nodding happily. Hearing the crude way guys sometimes talk about me is one of my turn-ons. Well, at least it is when I’m in “slut mode” at one of my parties. Or tied up naked in an exhibition-hall. Otherwise it’s just downright creepy.
But in this case, I was tied up naked, and obviously here to tantalize the attendees, so I was sure that he wasn’t asking Damon what my favorite book was, and that was just fine. The only part that wasn’t fine was that damned no-touching rule! Being on display, tied up and naked, made me really horny, and not getting any physical stimulation to go along with it was incredibly frustrating. I guess it’s good I was gagged at this point, because I was past ready to start begging guys to touch me, and I’m not sure what would happen to Damon if he allowed the no-touching rule to be broken.
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