The following is a work of fiction and the standard caveats apply. If you are eighteen or younger you shouldn't even be here--scat! If you dislike man to man love-making, please don't read this. And if you object to ropes and gags as the instruments of love, please don't read this either. If you enjoy man to man sex and ropes and big handkerchief or bandanna gags, please read on and welcome.
Note: This story takes place in the "West" of the imagination, not the west of the states on the Pacific side of the Mississippi. In other words, this is costume and atmosphere and boyhood memories of handsome cowboys and other such myths, not school book history. Please don't look too closely at anything but the characters, their clothes, their emotions, and the ropes and gag, of course, lest the grease paint and the screen painting show too obviously. Thanks!
PRODIGAL SON by Henry Pouchette
By the time I was shaved and cleaned up and dressed again, dusk had already fallen. I stepped out onto the porch of the small hotel and scanned the street. Far to the west, just above the low rooftops of the worn wooden buildings around me, sunset was just fading into a deep blue darkness. A slow breeze occasionally gusted from off the prairie, not exactly cool but without the weight of heat from earlier in the day. I leaned back against the wooden rail, easing my sore muscles and scratching at an itch between my shoulders. It had been a long ride, and tomorrow's would be nearly as long. I was looking forward to an early night after a hot meal. This was such a two bit town, I wouldn't have expected any more, even if I had wanted it. I hadn't even bothered to put on my good clothes, just clean canvas pants and a clean denim shirt and a fresh bandanna. Idly looking up the single street, I pushed my hat back on my head and then hooked my thumbs in the armholes of my vest--"posing" my friend Jack would have said, but Jack was dead, buried 5 months and long miles back.
This end of town was quiet. The hotel behind me was more of a rooming house, really, with no saloon and no place to eat. The real hotel, down the street, had both, and I supposed I would need to go there to eat But I wanted to enjoy the quiet of where I was for a moment more. There would be time enough for the noise and smoke and dirt I would find when I went. As I stood there, not really thinking about much of anything, my eyes rested on the tall figure of a man coming down the opposite side of the street. Something vague stirred in me as I watched. He came closer, close enough for me to hear the hollow sound of his heels on the wooden walk. There was something about the swing of his stride, the set of his broad shoulders. I resisted the urge to straighten up for a better look, unwilling to call attention to myself by the movement, but my eyes followed the man intently, straining for a better look. At the end of the walk, he stepped off and headed towards a building that stood off by itself and back from the rest--a schoolhouse, I realized suddenly, and I caught my breath. He was already across the yard and had disappeared on the opposite side of the building.
I jerked erect and gave a glance to either side, and then I laughed at myself. As if anyone would care if some saddletramp like me decided to amble over into the school yard in the gathering dark. But no one was around, and I felt easier for it. Trying not to make noise and trying just as hard not to look as if I was trying not to make noise, I headed off. It took me only a moment to cross the street and enter the dusty space surrounding the building. The windows I could see from my position near the front door were still dark, and I began to wonder if I had been wrong. Maybe the fellow had not entered the building but just gone on beyond it. My heart sank, and I wondered at the strength of my disappointment. With another needlessly cautious glance back to the street, I walked slowly around the corner of the building. I was in luck. A little ell stuck out on this side, with a small porch and a short set of steps leading up to a door. There was a window as well, and a light in the window. Even from where I stood, I could see the man's head, bent in the dull light of the lamp. He was, I guessed, sitting a desk or a table, his back to the window and to me.
Carefully now, and truly attempting to be silent, I approached the window. The schoolhouse was not built high, and I could see over the window sill easily. I stared at the man's broad back, at the gray hair brushed from a round bald spot on the crown of his head. He was sitting at a table, as I had thought, a study table, with neat piles of papers and books spread on its surface. He was reading a book, his head bent, his eyes straight before him, concentrating and unaware of his surroundings. I watched for several minutes, hidden in the shadow beside the window. Then the lamp flickered, and the man half stood to adjust it, turning almost towards me. I shrank back, but I had seen enough. It was Richard. I had thought it must be, hoped it might be, and I had been right. For a long moment, I stood staring at the ground, nervously pulling at my moustache. When I realized that my hand was trembling, I jerked it away, angry with myself but unable to control my response.
After a moment, I looked up and then snuck up to the window once more and peered in cautiously. Richard--for it was he, I was certain--sat as before, reading. As I watched, he suddenly stood up, pushing back his chair and stretching his arms overhead. Startled, I shrank back, but this time my bootheel caught on something and I stumbled and gave a low cry. Instantly recovering myself, I turned to hurry away. Behind me, I heard the door open, and Richard's voice saying, "Who's there?"
I stopped. For a moment I debated within myself, and then I turned.
"Who is it?" Richard asked again. There was no fear but uncertainty and some anxiety in his voice.
I walked toward him a few steps and then said, "It's me."
In the light from the open door behind him, I saw him frown. "And who is "me"? and it should be, 'It's I', whoever you are."
I chuckled nervously. Same old Richard. Then I reached up and slowly took off my hat, pushing my hair back with the other hand.
"All right, Richard," I said quietly. "Have it your way. It is I. Geoffrey. Geoffrey Coleman."
I watched as his eyes widened and then narrowed. "Geoffrey?"
Well, it had been almost fifteen years. I had been only thirty, Richard forty-one. But it hurt to think that I was so changed. My hair was gray now, I knew, and crowsfeet bled back from my eyes. But I was still lean and trim, and my hair, though it was gray, was still thick and curly. But fifteen years is a long time. My heart sank as I stood looking up at him, seeing in his eyes no recognition. Then he frowned, and then smiled without releasing the frown, and he took a step or two down the stairs.
"Geoffrey," he said, and there was a sudden warmth flushing his voice.
"Geof! It is you, isn't it. For a moment, I ... and in this bad light ... and it's been so long. But you're still ... " he stumbled to a stop.
I looked up into his face. That tight feeling still gripped around my heart. Fifteen years--had it been too long, for him? I could see now that time had worn at Richard as well as at me. The lines that had made him seem so mature and manly to my thirty-year-old eyes were deeper now, his expression more weary. His hair had thinned at the temples as well as at the crown. And what had been salt and pepper was now more salt than anything. But he was still a fine-looking man, tall, broad-shouldered, strongly made, with a firm chin and intelligent, amused brown eyes under heavy brows. What did he think of me, of the man I am now, I wondered?
"Well," he said gently," are you going to just stand there?" He paused and at my continuing silence, added, "Come on, Geoffrey. Come up here."
Slowly, still not speaking, I obeyed. I always had, fifteen years ago. I walked up the stairs, and Richard moved back to let me pass inside. I saw him glance out into the distant street before shutting the door and turning to face me. I was unprepared for what happened next. Taking me by the shoulders, he swung me into the corner behind the door and then he kissed me, planting his mouth firmly on mine and holding me tightly. For a long moment, all I could do was allow myself to lean into him. Memories of his mouth on mine filled me. When he pulled back, he looked into my eyes and shook his head.
"Fifteen years, Geof." He shook his head once more. "But I would have known you. You're still a handsome cuss."
"Am I?" I said softly.
He nodded, his hand curled around my neck, his fingers gently toying with the knot of my bandanna neckerchief.
"Yeah, you are. You always were, to me, anyway." He tugged at the knot. "Dressed like a cowpoke." He shook his head again. "Are you playing, or are you really a cowboy nowadays?"
I looked down a little into his eyes. We were the same height, really, but I was wearing high boots. "No," I said, "I'm not a cowboy. I'm ... a tutor, I guess you'd say. I teach rich men's sons how to squeeze enough book learning into their fool heads to make a fair showing against boys from those posh Eastern schools you used to tell me about, sose they can get into college and make their daddy proud." He nodded, his left hand still gripping my shoulder, his right still toying with my bandanna. I wasn't sure if he was really listening to me or not.
"I remember something," he said with seeming irrelevance. "You used to do your daddy proud."
I don't know why, really. I started to cry. Not blubbering, thank the lord, just tears welling up in my eyes and spilling over to run down my cheek into my moustache. I could taste the salt. Richard watched for a long moment. He looked stunned. Then he reached into his hip pocket and dragged out a huge bandanna handkerchief, faded pale blue and white, folded into a thick pad, and he blotted my eyes with it. Then I really lost it. The sudden rush of lust his producing and using that big handkerchief induced in me; the shock of finding him here, in this little town I was only riding through, where I'd only stopped on the way between nothing and nowhere; the shock of his kiss and the memories it pulled up out of me; and the shock of hearing him speak in that old way, rough tender, and me knowing that for those eight months when he had been my daddy that I had done him proud--it was too much. I sobbed and slumped back against the wall.
Richard stared at me, dismayed, and I raged at myself for acting such a ninny. After the one sob, I pulled myself together and choked back the sob that tried to follow, and I dashed my gloved hand at my eyes. I took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry," I said hoarsely. "I thought I could act grown-up around you."
Richard looked at me solemnly. "You always acted like a man around me. You don't think your crying makes me think you're not a man, do you?"
I swallowed hard and looked at him through blurry lashes. I sniffed and wiped my nose on my glove. "Doesn't it," I asked.
He shook his head. "You were always my boy, but my boy is a man." He looked at the handkerchief in his hand and then he glanced over at me. I saw a twinkle in his eye and a sly grin was tugging at his mouth, but he stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket and then led me over to the table. I refused to take the only chair, but hunched myself up on the table itself while he sat down in the chair. He tilted back on the hind legs--how he would have yelled at any pupil of his that dared to do the same--and grinned up at me.
"You know, Geof, I don't think you've changed all that much after all." He clasped his hands behind his head. "You're still handsome, you still cry when a man is nice to you, and you still get all excited over a fellow's handkerchief." I felt the blood flushing my cheeks as he went on. "But there is something about you, though, that goes with the gray hair and the nice lines in your face, my boy." He grinned wickedly. "Something tells me that I had better be careful or it's likely me instead of you who'll be chewing on a nice fat gag the size of baseball before tonight is over."
I looked down at him, half shy, half excited. Fifteen years ago, the roles had been very different. Richard had been a gentle daddy, but he had kept me, his boy, tied up on many nights and gagged with a huge wad of the handkerchiefs that so excited me even more often. Now he was right. Mostly now I did the tying and the gagging. And the image that had flashed through my mind at the sight of Richard's big handkerchief had not been, as I might have expected, the image of me being gagged by him, but of me stuffing that big soft pad deep into his mouth and him struggling but enjoying it.
"A tutor, are you?" he said. I nodded. "Well, you always had a good mind as well as good looks. I always thought it a pity you hadn't had proper schooling. But I taught you well, didn't I?--I mean about teaching, not about, well, other things. And you knew quite a bit before, if I remember rightly, and I think I do. I'm not that old."
There was something a little uncertain in his tone when he said that, something in his expression that hinted to me of a need for re-assurance.
"No," I said quietly. "No, Richard, you're not that old. You're still a fine figure of a man, tall and strong and manly."
He looked down and his mouth twisted in a wry grin. "Do you think so, Geof?"
I bent forward and put my fingers under his chin. Startled, he looked up to meet my look.
"Yes," I said, and I put all the conviction I could in that one word.
We stared into each other's eyes for a long moment. At last, he dropped his gaze and I withdrew my hand from his chin.
I leant back and said musingly. "Do you know, Richard, when I first learned to rope a man myself, one of the first thoughts I had?" He looked up at me, silent. "I thought about you, about how handsome you would look all trussed and bound up with rope, and how handsome you would look with a big, big handkerchief gag in your mouth." I grinned at him lazily. "I couldn't tell you how many times I've made love to myself, lying in some dirty hotel room, or out on the road from one job to another, or back in whatever room in the attic of those rich guys' big houses they gave me to sleep in, how many times thinking of you all trussed up and gagged in my arms." I raised an eyebrow as I went on. "Do you remember how you used to grab me sometimes, and stuff a big ball of two or three of your handkerchiefs into my mouth, and tie my bandanna over my mouth, and then shove me down the hall to the bedroom, and how you'd gloat over me, saying, "Got you, boy, your daddy has you now, doesn't he, boy, gagged you, haven't I, boy?' Do you remember?" Richard nodded, his eyes on mine, silent. "Well, I used to think about that, only I turned the parts around, and it was me--I mean, it was I who grabbed you from behind and stuffed a big soft gag into your mouth and tied you up. And I would imagine standing over you, and you all tied up, dressed in that nice suit of yours with that nice big white handkerchief sticking up out of your chest pocket, and a big bandanna tied in a wide swath around your head and you with that big ball of your own pocket handkerchiefs filling your mouth, and, Richard, I used to come and come and come thinking about that, about you trussed up and gagged."
"Do you? I mean, did you?" Richard said gruffly.
"Yeah, I did and I still do." I looked down at him.
He nodded. His face was very still, and I couldn't read his expression.
"Revenge?" he said, lightly, but I heard something more in it, something I couldn't quite read.
"No," I said firmly, 'not revenge. I don't know what, wholly, but not revenge. It was, I don't know, how do I say it. When I learned to be the top man, I wanted to show you, see, I've grown up, and I wanted to be that way with you because ..." I stopped, suddenly afraid.
He looked up at me. "Because ...?"
I looked back. And I spoke. "Because I thought you were the handsomest man I'd ever known and because you were the kindest man, the one who cared the most for me in all my life, that I had ever known."
He nodded. He looked grim now.
"So," he said. "Why did you leave?"
"I had to grow up." He stared at me hard, and I held his gaze. For a long, long moment, I held his gaze.
"And did you grow up, Geof?" His voice was suddenly not grim, it was kind again.
"I tried." I paused. "I don't think I'll ever be thoroughly grown up. But I tried."
Richard stood up slowly. He put a hand on my shoulder and gently kneaded it. "That's all a daddy asks of his son, Geof. To try."
He bent over and blew out the lamp.
"You know, son," he said softly in the darkness, "sometimes a daddy needs his son to take charge for a while, when he knows his son has grown up enough to do the job." He reached into his hip pocket and took out his bandanna. Looking down at it musingly, he went on. "Never could understand your fascination with these things. To me, they're just a practical article of clothing, or an ornamental one, or else a handy and excellent gag." He crossed the room and took his coat off the rack in the corner, shrugging into it as he came back to stand beside me. The big triangular pad of the white handkerchief in the breast pocket gleamed in the faint moonlight coming through the window.
'But I know you'll need this," he said, and offered me the bandanna. "There're a drawerful of them in the bureau in there," he added, gesturing to towards the half open door that lead further into his rooms. "And some clothesline." He looked at me with a slow smile. "Does my boy know what his daddy needs?"
Taking the bandanna, I reached up to gently stuff it into his mouth. For a moment we gazed into each others eyes, I sitting on the table, looking up a little now, he standing in front of me, his bandanna filling his mouth, his hands at his sides. Then I slowly stood, and, reaching up to take him by the arms, I eased him down into the chair. With a grin, I sat down over his lap, straddling him and facing him, my arms circling his shoulders. Instinctively, his arms came up to embrace me, and we sat like that, looking into each other's eyes.
"I've told myself a story for a long while now, Rick," I began softly.
"Shall I tell you that story?"
Richard nodded. "Um hmmmph," he mumbled into the handkerchief.
"I daydreamed that I had found you again. In a little two bit town like this one. And that you didn't know I was around. I'd be staying in this little cabin outside of town, up in the hills somewhere, and I'd see you by chance, and know it was you, but you wouldn't have seen me. And so I'd make my plan. And one dark night, when you were walking alone back to your place, I'd jump you from behind, and before you knew what was happening I'd have a big soft gag of bandannas stuffed in your mouth, and I'd be tying your hands behind your back and then I'd be tying a big bandanna over your mouth, and before you knew it, you'd be my prisoner. Only you wouldn't know it was me, see, because I'd have masked my face with a bandanna. And I'd put you on a horse, and I'd get on my horse, and I'd lead your horse by the reins off into the dark, and you'd be tied and gagged and helpless and wondering who I was and what I wanted. And I'd bring you up to the little cabin, and get you off the horse, and take you inside. I'd tie you down to a chair, bind you up arms and chest and legs and all, trussed down all helpless, and then I'd come around and face you. You still wouldn't know it was me, because I'd still have the mask over my face and there'd be no reason to recognize me, because you wouldn't know I was within a hundred miles of the place. And I'd take out my sex, and I'd have a real hard-on, and I'd start stroking it, because I'd be real excited by the look of you, dressed the way you are now, in those city clothes you always wear, with that nice big soft white handkerchief sticking up from your pocket, and all roped up, and with that big bandanna handkerchief gag in your mouth, and I'd just slowly rub myself off, spurting into a bandanna I'd take from my pocket, and you all helpless and scared and bound and gagged, not knowing who this guy was who had kidnapped you and was so obviously excited at having you his helpless prisoner."
As I spoke, I clung close to Richard, my sex hard, pressed against his belly. He embraced me, his head on my chest, making small moans into his bandanna. I pulled back and looked down into his face. Our eyes were inches apart. I studied him in the moonlight, my fingers gently touching his face here and there. His hair was clean and soft, his eyebrows thick and furry. His lips beneath his moustache, stretched around the gag, were soft and warm. The bandanna in his mouth made a puffy lobe that just protruded from between his jaws. My cock was rigid at the sight of him.
"Shall I kidnap you, Rick?" I whispered. "Shall I tie you up, and stuff another couple of bandannas into your mouth, and rape you while you struggle and moan, all helpless and gagged?"
He nodded, pulling me to him and laying his head against my chest. "Um hmmph!"
I held him tight, cradling his head and shoulders against me, flushed with a wave of feeling mingled of tenderness and a rage to overpower and dominate the handsome old man in my arms. I wanted to cherish him, keep him safe, protect him, and at the same time I wanted to seize him, and bind him up so tightly he couldn't move, and stuff a gag big enough to choke a horse deep into his mouth and tie up his jaws so tightly they would ache with how fiercely they were bound. I wanted to carry him off to some private place, known only to us, safe from the eyes of any one else, where we could be alone together, and I could stroke him, and kiss him, and caress him, and murmur into his ear that my daddy was all right, that he had nothing to worry about, that I would never let anyone do him hurt or harm; and at the same time, I wanted desperately to have him my helpless captive, with his hands bound behind him, his arms snugly lashed to his sides, tight ropes coiled around his limbs in secure bonds that he could only strain against in useless struggles, and with a gag in his mouth so big, made of so many bandannas rolled into such a great wad and stuffed deep into his mouth, so big that his jaws cracked with being forced open to surround that huge ball of cloth the size of two fists, and smotheringly, brutally, irresistibly bound into his mouth with a big bandanna tied over his mouth, sealing up his lips from nose to chin, wrapped around his head and tied into a hard tight knot at the base of his skull. I wanted to love him, and I wanted to make him so helpless he would feel that he could make no move, no sound, could only lie in my arms and submit to whatever I desired.
Slowly I eased myself back from Richard to gaze into his eyes once more. Reaching into my back pocket as I spoke, I murmured, "I'm gong to tie up your mouth, now, Rick." I was taking out my big bandanna and fashioning it into a broad bandage as I continued. "I'm going to tie up your mouth and take you into that other room and then I'm going to tie you up and gag you again with two or even three more of your nice big handkerchiefs and I'm going to rape you, Rick." I pressed the thick center of the bandanna over Richard's mouth and brought the long ends around his head to knot them in back. I crossed them and pulled them tight and then tighter and then yet tighter. He moaned as my bandanna pulled his bandanna deeper into his mouth, and my cock leapt in response. Then I tied off the knot.
My hands on Richard's shoulders, I stood up and pulled him to his feet beside me. With one hand I twisted his right arm behind his back and with the other I clasped him to me, his back against my chest. I bent my lips to his ear and whispered fiercely, "You just do as your told, old man, and you won't get hurt." I blushed at my dime-novel dialogue, but my cock strained yet tighter even as I blushed. "Let's go, you," I went on, "move!" I shoved Richard forward, still keeping his arm twisted behind him, and we crossed the room and went through into the room beyond.
That room was small, obviously Richard's sleeping quarters, a narrow iron bed with blankets made up with military neatness on one side and a tall oak dresser on the opposite wall with a washstand beside it. Heavy canvas cloth curtained the one window. On the floor in front of the dresser was a small worn rug. I shoved Richard across the room and made him kneel on that rug.
"Put your hands behind your back and keep'em there," I said gruffly.
Looking up at me, he obeyed.
I took out a match, scratched it on my heel, and used it to light the lamp on the dresser. Then I turned to Richard. He was on his knees in front of me, his head tilted back to look up at me, his hands clasped behind him. His hair was a little tousled. I looked down at him, breathing in the sight of him. He looked so, I don't know what, vulnerable, kneeling there, the gag in his mouth. And in my eyes, he looked so handsome, mature, manly, intelligent, dressed in his city suit, that big white handkerchief in his pocket, a little more prominent now from my having roughed his clothes up a bit when I grabbed him in the other room.
I unbuttoned the fly of my trousers and drew out my stiff cock. Slowly I stroked it, once, twice, three times, careful not to excite myself past control. Richard watched my hand. I stepped close to him and reached down to loosen the bandanna from around his head. Letting it lie over his shoulder, I stuck my fingers into his mouth and drew out his sodden bandanna, tossing it onto the bureau. Richard swallowed.
"Take it, buddy," I said softly.
Richard bent forward and slowly took my cock into his mouth. I gasped as the warmth enclosed my rigid sex. He began to suck me, sliding his mouth up and down my cock.
"Slowly, slowly," I said hoarsely. And then, "Stop!" He stopped, just holding my cock in his mouth. I swallowed hard, gradually regaining the control I had almost lost. Then I reached over to the dresser beside me and opened the top drawer. My cock leapt in Richard's mouth at the sight that met my gaze. There were several stacks of clean, worn bandannas, and a short stack of clean white handkerchiefs, and two silk handkerchiefs, both very large, one navy and maroon, one maroon and gold. I looked down at Richard, who looked up at me, his mouth still around my cock. Reaching into the drawer, I took out first one and then two and then three of the big bandannas. Opening them one by one, I layered all three one on top of another to make a triple thick square of soft cloth, and this I folded in upon itself to make a huge puffy wad.
"This is gonna be your gag, old man," I said. I put my free hand on Richard's head and slowly pulled my cock out of his mouth. Pressing back with my hand, I forced his head back onto his shoulders. "Open wide, buddy, open real wide, 'cause I'm gonna shove this whole big ball of your bandannas in your mouth now and shut you up real good." Obediently, he opened his mouth, and I thrust the huge wad of cloth between his jaws, pushing it deeply into his mouth until he had taken in the entire great ball. As I stuffed that gag into Richard's mouth, my cock danced with the excitement of the act, and a tiny bead of precum seeped out.
"Mummmugugugulmph." Richard moaned from deep in his throat. The gag was enormous, almost more than he could take, but he took it, for me, his eyes looking up into mine. Trembling in the pleasure of what I was doing, I took up my bandanna from where it lay on Richard's shoulder, and I brought it up to bind it once more around his head, wrapping it in a wide swath that reached from his nostrils to his chin and pulling it into a brutally tight knot at the base of his skull.
"Mummmmmugulmmmmph." Richard moaned again as I finished off the knot.
"You're gagged now, aren't you, old man?" I taunted him. "You've got a gag big enough to choke a horse stuffed in your mouth, and it shuts you up real well, doesn't it?" I held his chin in my hand and gave his head a shake. "You're gagged, buddy, and I gagged you, didn't I? And you know what, old man? Huh? There isn't anything I've ever done in all this world that gets my bird harder than this, than what I just did, making that big gag out of your nice big handkerchiefs and stuffing and tying that big, big gag in your mouth, old man. Nothing!"
I straightened up, ignoring my rigid cock where it stood out from the fly of my trousers as if it didn't exist. "Now," I said, "before I tie you up, buddy, and believe me, I'm gonna hog-tie you so tight your bones'll crack, but before I do, you're gonna do a little something for me." I reached into the drawer and took out the silk handkerchief of navy and maroon. "Quite the dude, aren't you, old man?" I looked down at Richard. "Take out that white handkerchief from your pocket." After a second's hesitation he obeyed, drawing the soft lobe of cloth from his chest pocket. "You know what to do with it." He stared up at me, his puzzlement evident in his eyes, but I waited. Suddenly he understood, and I knew he remembered. He shook open the handkerchief, rolled it carefully on the diagonally into a slim bandage and then reached out for my cock. First he tied the handkerchief snugly around the base of my balls and cock, then he brought the ends around to encircle my cock alone, pulling the soft cloth tight but not too tight.
It was what I had once done for him. I sighed as he pulled the knot closed.
"Yeah," I breathed. "That's a good man." Then I reached out with the handkerchief of heavy silk I had taken from his dresser drawer. "And you know what to do with this." He looked up at me and nodded slowly. Taking the handkerchief, he arranged it with studied care into a great puff in the chest pocket of his suit coat. He took his time doing so. He knew that I was enjoying the sight of him arranging that dandy handkerchief. He had always known.
"Just like for Sunday," I said softly. He paused to look up at me, his hands still. Slowly he nodded. "You knew how I used to like to just sit there in church beside you, with you all dressed up like that with that big silk handkerchief in your pocket, didn't you? How much I wanted you?" He nodded once more. After a long moment of meeting my gaze, he returned to arranging his dandy's handkerchief. Finished to his satisfaction after a few minutes more of stuffing and puffing and plumping, he looked up at me.
I reached down and opened the lowest drawer of the dresser. Where I remembered them, they were still--coils and coils of soft rope, rope Richard had once used on me, rope I would now use to bind him.
I looked back down at Richard. "I'm gonna tie you up now, old man. You're gonna let me, aren't you? You let me stuff that big gag in your mouth, and now you're gonna let me tie you up hand and foot, aren't you?"
Richard nodded and struggled with the gag. "Um mph."
"That gag really shuts you up, doesn't it, buddy?"
He nodded again.
"Yell for me." He stared back at me. "Go on. Yell."
He stared at me a moment longer, and then he took a deep breath. "Mummmmmummmph! Mmmmmmummph!" His cries were muffled, choked, smothered deep in his throat, reduced to inarticulate, barely audible moans. He looked almost surprised himself as he realized how thoroughly gagged he was, how well that huge ball of his own bandanna handkerchiefs stopped up his mouth. I smiled down at him.
"I'm gonna tie you now, Rick," I said softly, almost tenderly. "I'm gonna tie you up hand and foot to your own bed, truss you down so that you're completely, absolutely helpless."
He looked up at me and nodded.
Reaching into the drawer, I grabbed a handful of the coils of rope. I took Richard by one arm and hauled him to his feet. Shoving him over and down onto his bed, I pushed him onto his back. Working slowly, taking my time and enjoying what I was doing, I took lengths of the rope and tied one to each of his wrists and ankles, making the bonds snug, but not so snug they would cut off his blood.. Once I had a rope on each limb, I began to tie him down, bringing first his hands, then his feet to a corner post of the iron bed, and using the rope to lash his hands and feet securely to the posts. In a few moments, he was thoroughly bound down, spread-eagled, stretched out tightly from corner to corner.
I stood looking down at him. He was, to me, in that moment, the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. He was a big, manly, handsome fellow, mature and worn but strong and resilient. He was dressed up in his city suit, and he had that silk handkerchief of his sticking up in a big rounded lobe of a puff from breast pocket of his suit on his deep chest, a dandy handkerchief he wore of his own choice but that he had arranged tonight just for me. And he was bound and gagged. He was stretched out, exposed, helpless, vulnerable, at my mercy, unable to protect himself from whatever I might choose to do. He was gagged with so big a wad of his own bandanna handkerchiefs and that wad was so tightly and securely tied into his mouth by my bandanna that any sound he made, no matter how hard he tried to yell, would be defeated, smothered, muffled into a pathetic moan. My daddy was mine now.
Slowly, smiling into Richard's eyes, I reached down and began to unbutton the fly of his trousers. He moaned faintly into his huge gag, twisting slightly in his bonds. I slipped my hand inside his trousers front and pulled at the fly of his union suit. Again I slipped my hand inside, and I gently, tenderly curled my fingers around his stiff cock.
He moaned again, his head tilted back. I gripped his cock hard with sudden intensity, and he bucked slightly, pulling helplessly at the ropes that held him stretched and taut, and groaned in agony into that gag. My cock stiffened yet more at his responses, and another drop of precum and then another seeped from the tip. To tease this helpless, bound, gagged, vulnerable man with pleasure flushed me with joy.
"I've got you now, daddy, don't I, daddy? Your boy has his daddy right where he wants him, doesn't he? All tied up, that big gag stuffing your mouth full, all helpless and tied and begging for release. You want me to let you cum, don't you, daddy? Being all tied up and gagged gets you hot, doesn't it? You really like that gag, don't you, daddy? And you like dressing up with that big dandy man's silk handkerchief, don't you, for me you do, don't you, daddy? Yell for your boy, daddy, yell through that nice gag for me, daddy, yell for me."
As I spoke, I stroked and twisted and rubbed his hot cock, and Richard writhed and moaned helplessly, sweat beading on his brow and his eyes looking up into mine with a pleading pain in them. I let go of his cock and stood back.
"Mmmmmmmmmm? Mmmmmmmmmmm?" He pleaded inarticulately through his huge gag.
Smiling down at him for a moment, I suddenly turned away and crossed quickly to the dresser. From the top drawer, I took one of his white pocket handkerchiefs and returned to his bedside with ii in my hand. Quickly I shook it open, rolled it into a narrow band, and then, reaching inside his trousers and pulling out his cock, I bound the handkerchief around the base of his cock and balls as he had bound a handkerchief around mine. Then I gently stroked his cock once more, teasing him, playing with the rounded tip, bringing him close but never quite over the edge. All the while, he twisted against the ropes that held him and moaned into his gag.
Finally I could stand no more. Fifteen years is a long time, and I had waited more than ten of them to have this man in my arms, bound and gagged and at my command. I jerked open my pants and pulled myself up onto the bed, stretching out over my captive lover. Forcing my arms behind him, I embraced him, hugging myself tightly to his chest, my face above his. Our cocks lay side by side, pressed between our bellies, straining against our flesh. I began to rub myself against him, knowing that my rubbing excited his cock as well as mine. He stared up at me, pleading, begging with his eyes. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he gave a deep guttural cry back in his throat, a cry held in, compressed, compounded by the gag that stuffed his mouth to bursting. Staring down at him, at his gagged mouth, at his big silk puff, I cried out myself, smothering my noise against his shoulder. I felt his hot spunk shoot out between us, and then my own burst out, again, again, and again it seemed, and I yelled once more into his thickly clothed shoulder, muffling my cries of pleasure in the fabric of his suit.
As the last drops of cum jetted from my cock, I jerked back and looked through tear-blurred lashes into his face, and I began to chant, "You're my daddy now, you're my daddy now, you'll never belong to anyone but me, you're my gagged daddy, my gagged daddy, you're mine, you're mine!" And then I fell forward, pulling him so tightly into my arms I feared I would crush the life from his big chest, but he was nodding frantically in reply to my chant, and grunting into that huge gag, and I knew he was telling me, yes, he was mine, he was mine, he was mine. ======================== Comments, compliments, complaints, brickbats, e-mail the author at dbrown@ggu.edu