WHO’S IN CHARGE? (1)
There are times when I don’t think that David really understands the role of the submissive in our relationship. There are times when that is no bad thing.
It was the Friday before a Bank Holiday weekend and, by the time I got home, I was knackered. I really did not fancy having to come up with any suggestions for our mutual entertainment. But, praise be, there he was.
I came home and there was David. I always like to see him in those polyester swim-briefs. He can arrange himself so that it hangs down impressively or, for at least a little while, so that it stands proud and displays his balls and shaft to best advantage before he relaxes and it just lies horizontally in comfort.
That Friday, though, he was obviously open for business. He was standing in our kitchen wearing just a white jockstrap and playing with a length of new red rope. I must admit, though, that the way the straps frame his cheeks is sexy enough even without the opening for obvious future entertainments and he certainly has no need for any padding, if you know what I mean.
For those readers who have never met either David or me, I probably ought to explain a few things. We are both a bit on the short-arsed side, both being not much more than 170 cm tall, and both have mousey hair but there the similarities end. I have always been the scrawny one but David still had that impressive figure that he had as a schoolboy, about ten years ago. He has broad shoulders, a deep chest and a narrow waist. Yes, he has good pecs, strong thighs, and reasonably impressive biceps (especially when they are bound to display them to their best advantage) but he isn’t over-developed and has none of the grotesque, prominent veins of a body-builder. I’ve got the better head of hair, though; David takes that as a signification of his greater level of testosterone. - - - In his dreams!
OK, so there he stood as I came through the door, looking casual and instantly placing unreasonable demands on my underpants. I reckon he still thinks that I believe that innocent look he was affecting as he looked over his shoulder while he continued to play with the rope. I approached him, kissed his turned head and clasped his pecs. I felt that wonderful reaction as they flexed, and I ran my hands down his abdomen as he stood taller and arched his back before my fingers even reached the waistband of his jockstrap. I felt a gratifying twitch as they just intruded between the bottom of the waistband and the support. He’d soon be ready.
“Ev’nin’, Darlin’”
“Watcha, mate.”
“Watcha doin’?”
“Makin’ something for you.”
Pleasantries over, I thought I had better back off and divest myself of my work clobber. (And, judging by the way things seemed to be going, the rest of my clothing as well!) Both parties all too evidently had parts that were straining for freedom as I went upstairs to make myself more comfortable. I did manage not to give myself relief then and there; David had obviously got something in mind that would make the denial worthwhile. I have known him of old and he has never been one to disappoint me in the past.
I really wanted to get back to David but he was obviously making an effort so I thought I would too. I found that pair of shorts, you know: the leather ones with all the locking posts. Yeah, yeah, I know: gay boy fashion victim, but they’re too small for David and, without the locks of course, they’re really ‘stimulating’ for me. I saw David’s eyebrows raise the first time he saw me in them as well!
By the time I had returned to the kitchen, David was still there, although he was not occupying quite as much space in his jockstrap as he was when I left him. I reckon that situation would not last long.
“OK, gorgeous, now tell me what you’re doing.” I could see that his jockstrap was in no way strong enough to hide his reaction when he saw me. (Or was it when he saw me in those shorts?)
“Oh, you know, just fiddlin’.”
I looked at the ropes he had laid out on the table. Just ropes. “What with?”
“Oh, this and that.” David indicated the items on the table. “Don’t you think they’re pretty? Red ones, black ones, even a few hemp ones. And how about this one?” Here he pointed to the red one that he had been working on when I came home.
“Ah, cut the crap, mate. Just get to the point.” Do you see what I mean about David not having quite the right idea about the role of the submissive partner?
“We’w,<sup>(1)</sup>,if you want me to shut up . . .” David picked up the red rope. He had tied a version of a hangman’s noose in the middle of it. He had manufactured a thickened helix with about seven coils from both ends of which the free ends protruded. “Come on. Like this.” David pushed the coil into his mouth and stretched the protruding sections of rope sideways. “Cuu waa woa.”
Even with the rope coil in his mouth I could understand the injunction to “Come on then.” You know, I thought I was supposed to give the orders.
He had judged the piece very carefully. The thickened coil forced his mouth open with the ends only just protruding past his teeth and, once it was tightened, it would probably protect the corners of his lips a bit.
“Cuu waa, kai i’.” Well I didn’t need another invitation. I took the ends of the rope gag, twined them, pulled tight and, in the absence of any protest, tied them as tightly as I could. The reef-knot inevitably slipped a bit while I was completing it but that was where the bindings of electrical tape (red, of course) round the ends of the rope came in. With each coil that I wrapped round the bindings, the gag became tighter. So did our clothing! A couple of simple knots finished the job.
“Comfy?”
“Eff.” David nodded contentedly. Did I tell you that David lies like a cheap Japanese watch? I could already see his cheeks and neck reddening. Oh well, there was always the safety signal if he needed it. We’ve been together officially for five years now and I’ve not known him to use it yet. I gave his exposed buttocks a good grope before leaving a hefty slap on each.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have chosen those shorts with the hard box in the front. Never mind, I could always undo the zips if Willie was so determined to gain release.
It was obvious what David wanted me to do next. (I really must tell the impudent pup that it’s time that I got round to making the decisions - but not on a Friday when I’m knackered!) There was a well-used black rope on the table. David had taken great care to display it so that I was left in no doubt about its intended purpose. I had a good mind not to use it.
No, you’re right: I did what he wanted. He had tied a simple handcuff knot in the middle of it and opened the loops wide leaving it on the table like some exotic butterfly with the “tails” on its wings hanging down to the floor. David turned his back to the table.
I fed his arms through the loops and tightened them until the knot formed between his shoulder blades and just two small loops were visible from the front coming over his shoulders and back tightly under his armpits. I love that look when the tie is completed: there is so little to spoil the view. A quick conversion to a fireman’s chair secured the loops in place and an overhand knot in both strands as close as possible to the existing knot brought both strands together. Now there was a decision to be made and I was not going to consult David on the matter as he worked his shoulders and thrust out his wonderful chest. He already had his hands behind him.
OK, I had to decide. Hands high? Hands low? Do I want him fiddling with me while I get into position? Do I want unimpeded access? Elbows together? Arms clamped to his torso? Etc, etc, etc . . . Life is full of decisions but the trials of the week’s work were already falling smoothly away.
“OK, gorgeous?” That nasal wheeze seemed to indicate the affirmative.
OK. I made a decision. I tied a loose blood bight in the descending cords not much more than ten centimetres below the overhand one. That’s a fiddly job but I don’t know a better way of hosting the free ends securely. I brought the free ends separately round David’s upper arms and threaded them through the bight. (It’s a good job my subject was being cooperative.) I then adjusted the double loop until it gripped what would be the arm-bindings quite firmly. I pulled the moving strands apart. It took several pulls as the rope threaded through the loops. David knew what was about to happen and that wheezing snort as his elbows were drawn towards one another seemed to indicate more than contentment.
I still had some decisions to make. The closer I drew his elbows together, the better it would display my lover’s physique but the more it would hurt him. I didn’t want to hurt him; I wanted him helpless to resist (not that that was likely) for quite some time. Like I said, it had been a stressful week. I stopped before, in my opinion, there should be too much stress and tied off around the vertical strands. I wasn’t quite sure whether that was a snort of satisfaction or of protest. If it was protest, he could stuff it; I knew what I wanted.
You know how it goes when you are used to each other’s ways; David raised his forearms behind him. He was still supple enough to be able to grab his opposite elbows in spite of his powerful physique. There was no way he would be able to separate his upper arms so there would be no need to bind his forearms too tightly. He might well have resented that somewhat but even he knows when safety overrides desire.
Forearms bound, the ends of the rope bound out of the way, and I thought I would add a little touch of my own. After all, wasn’t I supposed to take the lead in things? “Hang on a mo. Just goin’ to get something.”
“Nghh?” Dave looked round. I think he was getting quite impatient by that time.
He watched me leave and saw me return with the roll of gorilla tape. That snort again.
I know it wasn’t really necessary but . . . I wound the tape from his right elbow to the vertical ropes and back again. Just the physical manipulation of David’s arms during the process made me feel good and, by the time the job was complete, David was inescapably grasping his right arm with his left hand. The shiny tape looked good.
The repeat process completed the symmetry of the binding. “OK. Turn round. Time for inspection.” David turned round. His chest stood out, there was just that hint of rope between his shoulders and his armpits and that red coil forced his mouth wide open – and he was even drooling a little.
“Titties . . .”
“Ngnnn!”
“Yup. Nips seem to be firm enough. Dick . . .”
“Ngeee!” I don’t suppose I really had to give his scrote quite such a firm squeeze but – you know. That jockstrap was doing its best but it was certainly leaking a bit. Do you know: that bastard’s even got a better-looking dick than mine? I’m a lucky sod, really.
OK. It was time to go upstairs so I picked up the last of David’s prepared ropes. I know, I know, I shouldn’t let him dictate the agenda but it wouldn’t be right without a lead to guide him. The short hemp rope had been an inevitable part of our mutual entertainments from the outset when David had originally set it up. It was almost a family heirloom. He had formed an eye-splice in one end that was more than large enough for me to get my hand into and that night he had tied a loose blood bight in the other end.
I suppose I should have untied the non-slip knot and swapped it for a running loop, really, just to reassert my dominance but . . . I passed the loop over David’s head, adjusted the knot so that the loop could not slip off before tightening the knot safely. Stopping only to grab a couple of well-worn white ropes (Sacrifices should always be wrapped in all the magical colours) and the remains of the gorilla tape, I pulled my very cute package forwards.
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(1) “Well” David’s Southern accent is even heavier than mine.
TBC