Hogtying Dad M/M complete

[Jason Toddman]

Although this story involves inter-generational characters, both are legal-age adults and no sex whatsoever is involved or implied. So I assume that enables this story to fit in this section rather than the adult section.

HOGTYING DAD


It was Randy’s big chance. He was determined he’d get Bob roped this time, and make him keep his promise to let him drive the car whenever he wished.

Ever since Randy had turned sixteen and gotten his driver’s license, he’d wanted the right to drive his father’s car – not just the beat-up old pickup truck - on his own whenever dad himself did not need it. At first his father, Bob, had flatly refused. The two were more like brothers than father and son in some ways and did a great many things together on and off the farm, but Bob (father and son being on a first name basis with each other) had insisted on doing all the driving whenever they went anywhere together in the car.

The ’57 Chevy was Bob’s pride and joy; he’d owned ever since he was Randy’s age, when his father had in turn passed it on to him. The car was over ten years older than Bob himself was, but – like Bob himself – it was in splendid condition for its age and had been well taken care of. No one was driving that car until they’d earned the right to call themselves a man!

And so an agreement had been made: when Randy was able to take Bob on in a fight, wrestle him down, tie him up, and make him surrender, he’d get the keys to the car and dibs on its use in the bargain. There were only a few rules to this: all attempts must be made without any help from anyone else, no weapons other than ropes were allowed, and there must be no one else around at the time to witness them.

This was not as easy a deal as it might have sounded. Sure, Bob was 41 (at the time); he was also 6’ 4” and weighed over 200 pounds… and NONE of it was excess flab. He looked (and sounded) much like Race Bannon from the old Jonny Quest TV series; and (with combat experience obtained in the U.S. Marine Corps) was just about as formidable in a fight as the fictional character ever was as well. Randy on the other hand was 6’ 0” and weighed 185 pounds at the time Bob made this offer, and though he was strong, fit and trim he simply was no match for his old man in a fight.

At least; he wasn’t at age 16. But now, at age 18, he’d grown to his full height of 6’ 5” and weighed 210 pounds. He was even stronger and tougher than his old man and had youthful endurance on his side as well. What he lacked however was the experience, craftiness, and knowledge of hand-to-hand combat techniques that Bob had used to keep Randy’s coveted prize out of reach. He’d tried at least fifty times to whoop Bob in a fair fight – and each time he’d failed; getting tied up himself and paying for his temerity by remaining hog-tied in the barn until either he freed himself (which had happened only twice so far) or it was bed-time. If Randy was unable to get free, he was often subjected to an hour or so of tickle torture as well before Bob finally freed him.

But now Randy felt like he was ready. It had been months since he’d last challenged Bob to a wrestling match. Every day since he had been working out intensively; hardening those already hard muscles of his (from working hard at his and Bob’s farm) and building up his stamina to almost superhuman levels.
At the same time, though Bob had been continuing to put in a hard day’s work at the farm each day and was certainly not getting any weaker, at 43 he’d never again be any stronger than he was now. Randy was sure he’d gained enough power and skill to finally overcome Bob and prevail at last.

Especially if he launched a sneak attack.

Bob’s arrangement didn’t exclude these; in fact, he encouraged his son to be crafty. He felt that if he was unable to anticipate and defeat any attack from his ‘still-wet-behind-the-ears’ teenaged son, then he deserved to lose his set of keys to the car to him. And so over thirty of Randy’s attempts to win the car involved elaborate sneak attacks that might have made Wile E. Coyote proud – except that of course none involved the use of deadly traps. Unfortunately, all these attempts had met with the same level of success as Wile E. Coyote’s schemes; namely, none at all.

But today was different. Today school had unexpectedly let out two hours early, and Randy had taken the school bus to school and back home again - so Bob would not know he was home. The moment Randy was in sight of the house, he surveyed the whole area and learned from the sounds he could hear that Bob was in the house having a late lunch. Perfect! With great care to keep the barn between himself and the house so that he could not be observed, Rand sneaked into the barn through the rear door, hastened into the upstairs loft, broke out the ropes he’d stored there, and prepared to make his move.

Randy knew that it was Bob’s usual habit to do some carpentry work in the barn at about this time of day, and so he would be back in here before long. If he timed things just right then, with a little luck, he’d have his father ambushed and begging for mercy before he knew what hit him.

It was a hot September day and the temperature inside the hay-filled barn was sweltering. Randy removed his long-sleeved cotton shirt and tossed it causally aside, revealing a swimmer’s build that was the envy of most of his male classmates at Riverton High. He would make them even more envious of him if he could drive to school in his father’s own car! Nobody else had a car half as cool at a ’57 Chevy! With that, there wouldn’t be a girl at school he couldn’t ask on a date! Randy stretched his sinewy body as lithely as a cat at the thought, and well-toned muscles rippled with hidden strength as awaited the return of his father to the barn.

Randy heard the door of the house open and then closed shut, and the sound of approaching footsteps out in the hard-packed dirt of the yard. Here he comes! Randy grabbed the lasso he’d carefully prepared for this moment and waited at his chosen hiding spot; careful not to make a sound that would alert Bob that an ambush was in the offing. The footsteps were coming toward the barn… closer… closer…

A man-shaped shadow began to darken the main doorway of the barn directly below the rafter on which Randy was carefully balanced. Randy raised the lasso; ready for throwing. The muscular form of a shirtless, white-haired (his hair’s natural color; not from age) man appeared directly below, entered the barn, and walked on it facing away from him. Bob was apparently oblivious to Randy’s presence as he walked along the hay-covered floor between two large, fresh piles of hay. He was dressed almost identically to his son: long faded blue jeans, brown leather cowboy boots, and a Stetson. The only real difference in their attire was that his Stetson was white while Randy’s was light gray. Otherwise, were they the same age they could almost be mistaken for twins or mirror-images of each other.

Randy made his move. In a single lithe motion, he tossed the lasso – which sailed through the air, came directly over his unwary father’s head, and descended with Bob right in the very center of it. With a whoop and a holler, Randy pulled on the lasso so that it tightened just as it reached his father’s waist – pinning his muscular arms to his sturdy body. Then, before a surprised Bob could think to react, Randy jumped from his high vantage point and landed right on top of him – sending them both into the soft pile of hay that Bob was passing in front of at the moment.

Bob had the wind knocked out of him for a few precious moments as he fell on his belly while Randy landed on top of him. Before he could recover, Randy had grabbed his wrists, pinned them against the small of Bob’s muscular back, and tied them together. Randy was just cinching this tie when Bob recovered his wits and his breath and began to fight back – bucking and writhing like a bronco that had not yet been busted and he sought to knock his gleeful son off of him. But Randy refused to be bucked off, and Bob had lost the use of his arms by this time, putting him at a serious disadvantage.

Bob began to thrash and to kick with all of might, but this was a mistake. Randy had expected such a thing and was ready to deal with it. Grabbing on of Bob’s flailing feet as he straddled his father’s back, Randy tied a loop of rope around it, and readied another loop to trap Bob’s other foot once it came within reach – which it soon did. With another wild whoop and a laugh, he toed Bob’s other foot, made several loops around both feet, cinched the ankle ties, and then forced Bob’s feet as close to Bob’s buttocks as he could. Then, with a few more quick and deft motions, he had Bob completely hogtied.

“You insolent pup! What do you think you’re doing?!” Bob roared, though he sounded considerably less angry about the situation than a stranger observing the scene might have expected.

“Winning the right to drive the car at last, of course!” Randy replied casually as he sat back on his haunches and watched Bob struggle in his bonds.

“You haven’t won the right yet, boy!” Bob replied as he continued to struggle with great vigor but also with apparent futility to get himself free. “I have to be unable to free myself long enough so that I give up first! And you know how stubborn I can be! I’ll keep striving to get free, and when I do I’m going to whoop your ass so that you can’t sit down for a whole week!”

“Big talk, but I’ve got you for sure this time!” Randy replied gleefully as he watched his father struggle against his rope; surreptitiously admiring his father’s well-developed physique as he struggled. “I never even got so far as to get any ropes around you before, and this time I’ve got you hog-tied like a steer! And I remember every trick of tying that you ever taught me. Ain’t no way you’re ever getting out of that without help, and you ain’t getting it until you tell me those car keys are mine at long last!”

“Boy, I haven’t even been tied five minutes yet and already you’re planning your first car date!” Bob replied conversationally but without ceasing his struggles. “You don’t really expect me to give up so easily, do you? I’ll keep trying to free myself if it takes me all night. And when I do, I’m taking you to the woodshed to teach you proper respect for your elders!”

“By nightfall you’ll be too tuckered out to saw wood, let along give me a whooping,” Randy retorted.

“Don’t count on it boy,” Bob replied; still sounding conversational rather than angry. “I can keep struggling all night if need be.”

“Not if you’re too worn out first,” Randy replied as he stood up, stepped over his father’s still-writhing form, and seated himself on the small of his father’s back – trapping Bob’s hands underneath him. Then, before Bob quite knew what Randy was up to, Randy gently stroked his fingers like he was playing a piano along his father’s exposed ribs.

“Hey! Ahahahahahaha! What are you hahahahhahaha doing?!” a rather astonished Bob yelled. “Hey! NO! Hahahahahahahaha! STOP THAT! Bwahahahahahahaha! You young punk! Hawhawhawhaw!! I’ll
Aaaahhhhh-hahahahahahaha I‘ll get you for this! Hahahahahahaha! You’d better not go to sleep tonight boy! Hahahahahahaaa! If I catch you asleep when I free myself, your hahahaha your goose is cooked!”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to stay right here with you and make sure you’re too tired to even think about getting loose, let alone get free and come after me!” Randy replied with a smirk as he continued to relentlessly tickle his father.

“Oh No! Hahahahahahaha! NOOO! Aaahhhh-hahahahahahahaaaaaaa!” Bob protested.

Randy knew it would likely be a long evening and perhaps even a long night, but sure as shooting even his father would be able to stand only so much. Those keys would be Randy’s before morning!

All through that long, hot afternoon Bob held out, yelling defiance through his hysterical laughter as his son continued to tickle torture him. He began to noticeably weaken come suppertime however, when Randy had a hot pizza delivered to the farmhouse (careful of course to keep dad gagged and hidden from sight in the barn during the delivery) and he slowly savored his meal in front of a mouth-watering dad. But he wouldn’t give his father a single bite of pizza; merely gave him some water to drink and some bread sticks that came free with the order. Randy savored every bite with exaggerated enjoyment, and smiled as he saw his father’s iron-will begin to rust slowly away from hunger.

This was, of course, considered a fair tactic. ANY torture that didn’t involve drawing blood or requiring the need of medical attention was fair. And so Randy continued to tease Bob with the intoxicating of fresh hot pizza (with Bob’s favorite toppings too – ground hamburger and mushrooms!) and slowly ate in plain sight of his father.

Randy was down to the last three slices when Bob finally gave in.

“All right, curse you!” Bob yelled, but with a jovial laugh that belied the harshness of his words. “I give in. Let me loose, and lay off that pizza! The car keys are yours!’

Randy gave a joyful yell as he set aside the uneaten slices and untied his father. Victory at last!

Bob looked at his son ruefully as he rubbed his wrists and ankles from where the ropes had been cutting into him, and then handed his son the precious car keys he had striven so hard for.

“All right, son; here are the keys. You take good care of that car now, you hear?” he told his son.

“I sure will, dad.” Randy replied happily as he accepted the keys. “After all, I want to still be driving it when I finish college.”

“Sure, if you can hold onto it for that long,” Bob said with a grim smile as he grabbed a slice of pizza and took a huge bite out of it.

“Uhhhh... what do you mean?” Randy asked a trifle doubtfully.

“Well, fair’s fair,” replied Bob as he opened a fresh can of soda, gulped it, belched, and gave his soon a cheerful and rather evil grin. “Now that you have the car, I’m going to have to win it back the same way you’ve won it! So someday soon, when you least expect it, I’m going to lay for you, lasso you, hogtie you good and tight, and tickle you into hysterics until you give the car keys back! And if I somehow fail the first time, why – I’ll just keep right on trying!”

Randy gulped nervously. Owning his own car just might prove to be harder than he’d thought!

Bob continued to eat his pizza and eyed his suddenly quiet son with obvious delight.

Randy was a rather nervous young man for the couple of weeks. At any moment he expected his dad to tackle him, tie him up, and tickle-torture him into hysterics until he gave the car keys he’d worked so hard for back to him. It certainly made the taste of having his own car to drive a bit less sweet than he’d anticipated. But at the same time Randy was no coward and as stubborn as his father; he refused to simply cave in and give the car keys back without a struggle.

However, he compromised. He had a spare set of keys made and gave those back to Bob; telling his father to feel free to drive it whenever he needed it. Judging by his father’s previous driving habits, this was likely to be very infrequently in any case. However, by giving Bob access to the car without denying it to himself, Randy hoped that Bob would be placated by this gesture and not seek to regain sole ownership of the car.

This ploy seemed to work. At least, Bob remained his usual affable self. Conversations remained as relaxed as the ever were before, and Bob never mentioned the car other than to casually inquire how well Randy enjoyed driving it. They ate their meals, watched T, and worked together as easily as ever. After a while Randy slowly began to relax and gradually lowered his guard when he and Bob were in the same room together.

This was of course what Bob was waiting for.

He waited for the perfect time as well. Randy had put in a hard day’s work digging post holes and inserting the posts for a new fence at a neighbor’s farm, and had just driven home. He was as hot, sweaty, and tired as a marathon runner, aching as if he’d been going ten rounds with the boxing heavyweight champion of the world, and as hungry as a bear awakening from hibernation. Strictly speaking, he was in no shape to take on Bart Simpson in a fair fight let alone a strong and fit older man like Bob; but then the informal rules between them never stated that the ambusher had to wait until conditions were perfect for the one being ambushed. All was fair in love and war – or in determining who owned the keys to the car.

And so it was that when Randy drove in, parked the pickup in its usual spot, and stepped out of the cab – shirtless of it was a hot day and he’d been working so hard – that he suddenly found himself lassoed from behind. He just had one moment to guess what was happening and try to prepare for the sudden onslaught when he was tackled from behind by Bob and borne to the ground.

Like Randy was himself, Bob wore snug fitting jeans with a black belt and wearing black leather cowboy boots. He was also shirtless, revealing a body that was every bit as muscular and fit as his son’s. Unlike his son however, Bob was fresh and tireless, whereas Randy had been worn out by a hard day’s work. Therefore Randy was unable to put up more than a token struggle as Bob forced him to sit up on the ground and, kneeling behind his son, wrapped several coils of rope around his wrists and then around his body as well – pinioning Randy’s wrists in front of himself. Several more coils of rope were looped around the middle of Randy’s arms and body as well, rendering him incapable of moving his arms more than very slightly.

Randy was too tired to offer much resistance as Bob then tied his feet and then his legs above and below the knees. He expected he would be hogtied next, but this did not happen. Instead Bob stood up, grabbed the ropes bound around Randy’s torso from behind, and literally dragged him semi-prone along the yard until they came to an old stump (with its top long ago worn smooth from frequent use as a makeshift seat) outside the main entrance to the barn.

“You know son, it’s been a long, long time since I laid a hand on you for disciplinary purposes,” Bob told his son amiably as he seated himself on the stump and forced his bound son to lie face down across his lap, with his tight jeans-covered hind end directly in front of him. “I think it’s high time that I’ve done some catching up; don’t you?”

“Wait a minute! Discipline me for what?” Randy wanted to know.

“Oh, all the various things that I didn’t have the heart to punish you for ever since your dear mom passed away when you were still in short pants!” Bob replied fondly. “Like the time you snitched apples from Old Man Fergusson’s orchard, or sassed Mrs. Richards when she caught you at it, or when you chucked rocks at Mr. Jensen’s mangy old dog, or…”

“Wait a minute! I was only nine when I did all those things!” Randy protested as he feebly but futilely struggled to get free. “That was nearly ten years ago! And besides, that rotten old dog had it coming! He was trying to bite my leg!”

“Be that as it may, there’s ten years’ worth of disciplining that I’ve got to catch up on,” Bob pointed out kindly. “That’s going to take quite a spell, so I reckon I’d better get started!”

“Wait! What are you going to do?” Randy asked in panic, but he got his answer before he finished asking the question when a huge hand gave his rear end a mighty swat.

“Owww! HEY! I’m too old to be spanked like a little kid!” Randy protested as he continued once again the vain struggle to get himself free.

“I held off until you was grown and you could take it like a man!” Bob pointed out before giving Randy another hard spank on the other ass cheek. “You ARE a man now, aren’t you?” Spank! “Can’t you take what Little Joey takes from *his* old man each and every day?” Spank! Spank!

Bob and Randy.jpg

“But Joey’s a damned snot-nosed brat! He deserves much worse than the lickings he gets from his pa,” Randy yelled. “Besides which, his pa can’t spank half as hard as you can! OWW!” he cried as another spank put emphasis to his last words. “He doesn’t get whupped like THIS! OWW!!!”

“I thought my son was tougher than this!” Bob said with a tone that implied more amusement than it did genuine disappointment. “I guess I’ll have to teach you to get through the rougher times in life without acting like a little girl whose doll has been run over!”

Spank! Spank! Spank! Determined to prove that he was as tough as Bob himself, Randy managed to hold back an outcry for the next three spanks. But then Bob showed that he’d been holding back some and walloped Randy’s behind with the full weight of his huge hand and the muscular arm behind it. “Nngghhh!” Randy groaned then. WHAP! “Urrrgghhh!” WHAP! “Arrgghh!” WHAP! “Aaahhhh!!! How many more times are you gonna whup me, anyway?”

“Oh, about ten thousand times should do it!” Bob replied casually as he delivered another WHAP!

At this Randy’s defiance and will to resist dissolved completely.

“All right! OWW! I give up! OWW! You can have OWW! Have the car keys back! OWW!” Randy yelled a trifle hoarsely.

“Why son, weren’t you listening?” Bob asked kindly as he continued to relentlessly deliver spank after spank. "It's not about the car at all. It’s about taking responsibility for your own actions and taking the consequences for bad decisions like a man!”

“Bull!” Randy yelled. “The only decision I’m paying for here is taking the car away fair and square! You couldn’t handle being beaten by me, and so now you’re getting back at me when I’m too bushed to fight back! We both know it! So why don’t you admit it?”

“Well, at least you’re man enough to speak your mind honestly,” Bob replied without a trace of anger in his voice but continuing to pummel Randy’s behind nonetheless. “But sassing your father calls for special discipline.” He suddenly stopped spanking and picked up an object beside him that Randy had not noticed before. “I never had the heart to toss away your der departed mama’s personal belongings. Lord knows I never had much use for *this* until today. But it’ll come in handy now.”

Bob continued his spanks, but these were now delivered with more force than ever; instead of using his bare hand, he now used his departed wife’s personal hairbrush.

Randy’s yells were louder and more strenuous than ever. Too much so, Bob judged; they could probably be heard way over in the next county! So Bob grabbed the shirt he’d previously discarded on the bench and gagged Randy with it. It didn’t render him terribly incomprehensible but at least now his muffled yells were unlikely to be heard outside of their own yard. As the next farmhouse was a quarter of a mile distant, it should be satisfactory to keep Randy’s yells from reaching the ears of others – who might mistake them for the sounds of someone being killed with great violence – and bringing a response from the legal authorities that father and son alike might find not to their liking.

Of course, the continued piston-like noises of the blunt side of the hairbrush impacting against Randy’s defenseless hind end every one to two seconds made considerable noise of their own. But anyone who heard *that* would likely think he was just beating a carpet or something.

Randy was getting desperate. The seat of his britches was already so sore he doubted he could bear to sit down for the next week or so – even while driving his hard-won car. He’d have gladly given up all rights to the car forever after just to make Bob stop his punishment. But Bob would not relent. His father’s muscular spanking arm seemed to be tireless!

“Well, that’s an even one hundred spanks, son!” Bob told him when he suddenly paused in his spanking.
“I figure about nine thousand and nine hundred more ought to do it! Don’t you?”

Randy turned his head to look up with wide, pleading eyes to his father.

“Hmmm… then again, you were always a fast learner, son,” Bob continued. “Do you think you’ve already learned your lesson?”

Randy nodded his head rapidly; he wanted there to be no doubt in Bob’s mind about this.

“I don’t know though…” Bob continued with a doubtful tone in his voice, causing Randy to groan so piteously that it would have taken a heart of stone to ignore it. “I really think in the interests of discipline that you should face a stricter punishment.”

Randy began to whine like a dog; the gag giving him no other option.

“Hmmm… perhaps I should take away your car driving privileges for a while,” mused Bob. “Say, until you’re ready to earn them back again?”

Randy nodded again, if a trifle less enthusiastically. Suddenly having only the pick-up truck to drive even for social occasions didn’t seem like such a bad thing after all.

“All right, son. I take back the car keys for keeps and we call it even. Okay?” asked Bob.

Randy nodded his head again; anything to get out of THIS!

And so Bob untied his son and they went back into the house. Bob kindly took care of all of the cooking as his son seemed to be a little too stiff and sore to manage the task himself. However, the poor young man seemed to have less of an appetite than he’d had when he’d arrived home – and requested his father’s indulgence when he asked that he eat his dinner standing up. Being a kind and thoughtful man, Bob of course agreed to this without comment. He figured Randy had learned his lesson.

But Randy was after all his father’s son; he was already plotting how to win the car back again and this time keep it for good!

[wataru14]

Nice work! Thoroughly enjoyed!

[bondagefreak]

Nice work, Jason!
Absolutely enjoyed this playful father/son tale!

[Jason Toddman]

Thanks, guys.

[CowboyStud]

More?

[Jason Toddman]

More?

You mean of this story? Well, maybe someday... if I can think of anything good to add.