by Bondwriter » Mon May 23, 2016 8:31 am
A Simon and Wilhelm adventure
A nasty prank
Part 1
Wilhelm and Simon were now prepared to leave the cottage and take a walk to the old quarry; this quarry was a large clearing at the bottom of a hill, a solid mile away from the cottage. It had poplar trees, it was in the shade and it bore an air of desolation as it looked abandoned. The quarry no longer was used for its extraction purposes, but Wilhelm had found out while running an errand that a lumberjack was working in this part of the woods.
Wilhelm ran lots of errands; he had to collect parcels with all the materials needed for making his restraining devices; he also was on the look-out for possible kidnap feasts, if he ever needed a supplementary source of income. Plus keeping up with the local gossip was a good way to identify sensitive times when there would be people around the lodge in which he kept Simon prisoner.
The lumberjack stored his equipment in a little shack that used to be part of the extraction outfit; he also was a simple soul, someone whom Wilhelm could easily fool. He’d spied on the man’s comings and goings; this wasn’t a man of surprises and extravaganza, as his routine was rigorously the same over a full week. His general demeanour could also be an asset for what Wilhelm had in mind.
He’d spied on the lumberjack a few times as the man was working on tree-cutting sites; knowing the whereabouts of people working in the forest was important, and it also offered a pleasant show; this lumberjack, for instance, tended to remove his clothes easily, leaving him in tight corduroy shorts, long woollen socks and a little scarf around the neck. Wilhelm noticed the way he ogled his best-looking co-workers; the man had interest in the same ones as the young kidnapper did, which was a clue that his scheme could work.
Wilhelm had managed to keep Simon incommunicado for months now; taking him close to people in the open could have been deemed careless, but it was all part of the fun of what Wilhelm had intended. The time had come for a plot Wilhelm had hatched for weeks. He would have Simon feel utter helplessness again, and his circumspectly thought-out plan had played out many times since he’d first thought about it, with more refined details coming in every time.
Wilhelm liked challenges, and it wouldn’t hurt to test Simon’s escape skills again in a different setting; Wilhelm would test his skills at keeping his prisoner bound and gagged, which he’d managed for the duration of Simon’s involuntary stay. As a captor, making up new situations justifying binding and gagging Simon was motivating; he’d give some hope to his prisoner, only to crush it by having the red-headed escape artist eventually realize he’d stay the guest of Wilhelm’s elaborate rope work and thoroughly silencing gags.
It was a bright Monday morning in April; the day would be warm for the season. There had been three days of rain; staying in the cottage with Simon was fun, but a little outdoor activity would provide the both of them with some change.
Wilhelm had relished getting Simon ready for his time outside. Taking care of Simon was fastidious, but Wilhelm didn’t grow tired of it. He did good, and at nine o’clock straight, just as planned, Wilhelm had his guest on a leash in the small entry hall of the cottage.
Weather and decency prevented Simon from going outside in his usual briefs. Wilhelm had chosen the inconspicuous look of an innocent cub scout for his captive. He’d worked on the “uniform” for a long time, and it had been fully ready for a few days now. Simon’s reaction to the costume was considered positive; Wilhelm enjoyed Simon not making a fuss while vibrating as he was put in the fancy clothing this new adventure required.
The fact that he was constantly gagged didn’t allow Simon to voice any concern, but Wilhelm could read the non-verbal signs his captive displayed throughout the dressing-up process; Simon was certainly very pleased to wear such a spiffy costume. He now looked very much the innocent Cub Scout.
Forest green silk shirt, custom-made flannel shorts and their matching underwear, long white silk stockings and patent black leather shoes: they were all cut just for Simon, and he looked very much the part. A blue silk triangle had been rolled ‘scout neckerchief style’, emphasizing the gleam of the yellow edging; its ends met in a leather ring in the middle of his chest. Wilhelm had thought of making Simon a deserving Cub, by embroidering badges to sew on his shirt. It had taken a few afternoons, but Wilhelm had become used to using the needle on a regular basis, and having developed his skills allowed him to make sure Simon always had nice things to wear.
Embroidering was another issue, but his artistic sense and his eagerness for success had pushed Wilhelm to start over three times, until it would look just right. From a distance, they looked genuine, with bright colours and what had to be stylized signs or symbols relating to the skill or achievement it was related. The small-sized art did depict clearly what areas Simon had graduated in under Wilhelm’s tutelage. Wilhelm had taken his time to explain what it all meant to his young apprentice, showing him the shirt before he’d put it on.
“As a Cub Scout in Wilhelm’s Very Special Troop, you’ve earned three badges. This one, the Square Knot badge, is obvious; it acknowledges your talent at looking good in ropes.”
The next badge had taken a while to design. It was Simon’s face, over a yellow background with a big white scarf tied across his lower face. Simon was amazed at the liking; this was no small feat to get a representation of his gagged face on a few square inches of material, and with a needle, not a pen!
“The gag badge means you’ve passed the gag test enough times. Passing the gag test means being unable to attract attention because you’re gagged skilfully. A badge I’ve helped you to earn many times…”
Not very much interested in Wilhelm’s twisted logic, equating failure with success, Simon could only admire even more the final badge. It looked like a tree at first glance, but there was a red-haired boy bound to it. The criss-cross of white ropes came out very well in its stylization, and the gag contrasted with the body and the trunk. What a masterful job.
“This Nature Lover badge rewards you for your love of trees and outdoors. I’m pleased to have you use these skills once again today.”
The dressing-up ended with headwear, it looked more like a jockey cap than a Cub Scout’s, with four blue and gold panels matching the scarf’s colour. It had a small peak across his forehead; it covered his red hair completely, and a chinstrap so it stayed on the head even when running.
The rucksack was the refined detail that had triggered Wilhelm’s choice. Starting from a conventional rucksack, he had inserted the cut-off bottom of a metal tank that was just the right size to line the bottom of the sack. He had sewn straps the same colour than the shirt on the sides and at the back of the rucksack. Eight straps total, four for each arm.
His arms were fixed at the shoulders and above his elbows; his forearms were strapped at the elbows and wrists. With the fifty-pound bag full, and the canvas stretched, there was no way to wiggle his arms out of the perfectly located sewn straps. The Cub Scout was prisoner of his rucksack.
There were white cuffs at his knees and ankles, blending in the stockings due to their similar colour, with a thin one-foot hobble between each pair.
“I’ll take you out so you benefit the brisk air today, but I don’t want you to start running once we’re outside,” Wilhelm had bluntly commented.
“Mmmph!”
This was very light bondage for Simon. Just the day before, there had been a pole tie-up, which had required ninety yards of clothesline, and he’d spent the evening in a ball tie, which required at least half of that.
The gag, on the other hand, was rather on the heavy side. Simon’s mouth was filled with a plaster casting Wilhelm had made some days after he’d snatched him. It was plaster cast in a balloon, left to dry out and harden within his mouth for twelve hours. It was Simon’s favourite, for it didn’t go too far down his throat, and once in, it didn’t allow nasty surprises as his inflatable gag did. It merely filled his mouth, blocking his tongue down to prevent him from shouting anything articulate. It kept his jaws slightly open, but it didn’t stretch them to the point of discomfort other techniques did.
“As I’m taking you out, you should be prevented from calling out for any help. Not that there is much available around these parts, but a mouth well filled and lips well sealed will prevent you from disturbing the wildlife, or annoy me with any complaints.”
Simon had been supplied with white tape that sealed his lips; his most elegant and effective half mask, a piece of kid leather -- with “stays” or “underwiring”, an invisible frame of thin metal strips underpinning the maintaining effect of the device over the lower face -- had been put on, clinging tightly to his lower face. Simon had been unable to ask Wilhelm, but it meant that there were some thin strips of metal or bone that framed the half-mask so it would cup the chin, preventing any unwanted opening of the jaws.
At nine o’clock sharp, then, they were on the cottage’s threshold, Simon the prim cub scout bound to his rucksack, hobbled and silenced. A tug on the leash and off they went. They headed towards the back of the yard, where a hidden path started, diving into the thick of the forest. Wilhelm had never met a soul as he’d explored the area over the last few months.
“I’ve decided to do without a mask or a cape, this time, Simon. It is highly unlikely we meet anyone on our way to the nice spot I’ve chosen for you. And there are plenty of hideouts if I suspected the least presence. The mask works really well; remember the last time, when I managed to take you to church as a grieving widow?”
The faint mmph in reply meant that Simon remembered very well, as he’d been utterly desperate: Wilhelm had never left him one chance to take the upper hand on the situation. He had packed Simon’s mouth with three sets of the escape artist’s blue briefs. The wide white tape locking his jaws and closing his mouth was covered with a flesh-coloured leather mask with holes for his eyes and nostrils. A patch of red-dyed leather cut in the shape of lips was sewn to give the illusion of a mouth. The black veil hanging down from Simon’s black hat hid his face, and it was impossible to tell he was so well gagged underneath. The long cape pulled over his shoulders concealed the intricate bondage that imprisoned his arms behind him.
Wilhelm and Simon had walked briskly through a noisy crowd before entering the church; Wilhelm looked like a perfect gentleman, his arm draped over the shoulders of the “lady” he was accompanying. None of the parishioners had noticed any of the muffled noises Simon managed to feebly make. The bells being tolled when they had accessed the church destroyed any hope of getting his distress across.
He had been whisked away in a small confession booth in a dark recess of the aisle; a few restraints for his legs, some more to prevent any motion or kick against the wooden shelter’s walls, and Wilhelm had stealthily exited to go and have a seat. “You’ll be able to listen to the service undisturbed, my sweet one. Think of your sins and repent!” As he closed the door, the faint mmph in protest was totally drowned out; Wilhelm beamed with pride at the ingenuity of the setup he’d designed. The confession booth being virtually sound-proof, Simon could try to yell all he wanted.
He had come to pick his captive up after the service, once everyone was gone; Simon was taken out from a reverie that had him trussed to a chair by unsavoury hoodlums as Wilhelm eventually unlocked the door of the stall. He had released his legs, only to hobble him. He had adjusted his cape and took him out of his cubby hole, still holding him in a most considerate manner for anyone looking at them from the outside, not knowing the cape hid arms roped to a bust, or that the veiled face was this of a thoroughly gagged young man.
They had taken a short walk throughout the busy crowds of the Sunday market, with no one the wiser as to Simon’s utter distress. The effective plug filling his mouth and the deceiving dress-up did not allow him to get anyone to have the faintest clue as to what was going on. On that Sunday, Wilhelm brought him back to the cottage without being worried of anybody finding out about his keeping a captive teenage boy in his household.
As he followed Wilhelm obediently, Simon was wondering what today would be all about. If he’d learned a thing over the last few months, it was that Wilhelm managed to surprise him on a daily basis. He let his mind wander, thinking of Wilhelm actually delivering him to a pack of cub scouts. He could pictures many different scenarios at the hands of the scouts, but Wilhelm’s blabber took him out from his reverie as the path started going slightly down.
“You’re right, Simon,” Wilhelm said, looking over his shoulder in reply to a grunt from Simon. This sound had nothing to do with Wilhelm’s narrative, Simon had reacted to the image he had created in his mind, this of a cub scout showing him the inside of his tent which rivalled with Wilhelm’s cottage for the amount of clothing and tie-up stuff. Simon started paying attention to what Wilhelm was saying.
“Cub scouts are usually a pain in the neck. Once, when I was on the run from the asylum, I’d found a fine hunting lodge in the woods where I could lay low for a while. I’d been there three or four days; I came back from getting wood one morning, and wouldn’t you know it, there were two cub scouts inside. They didn’t feel embarrassed at all, asking me all sorts of questions and threatening to call the police and all. I had a hard time getting both of them trussed up; one of them boys almost managed to escape. I finally got them, but it had been a close call. They kept on groaning and overall annoying me all afternoon, as I was getting prepared to leave. Even when I tied them to trees outside the nearby manor so someone would find them before they’d suffer from thirst or hunger, they kept on insulting me through the five hankies crammed in their mouths.”
Simon wondered whether it was five hankies for both or five each. He’d have bet on the latter.
Wilhelm could tell of his kidnapping feats for hours. Simon was now used to these tales, some of them being repeated more often than others. Details varied, and the more time went, the more Simon grew engrossed in Wilhelm’s tales.
Simon followed Wilhelm, all ears, and all eyes too, as he noticed how his captor’s buttocks tested the boundaries of his leather shorts. Wilhelm spent lots of time tailoring clothes and accessories for Simon, the finely crafted leather shorts he wore on that day were his first piece Simon saw him make for himself. They looked good; the thin, supple material clung to Wilhelm’s skin; the flesh in motion underneath the gleaming layer created reflections that hypnotized Simon. He started picturing the cub scouts he’d be prisoner of; it didn’t lower his excitement level.
The underwear and shorts he wore didn’t help to calm him down. His underwear was made of a pair of silk bloomers; a hole had been cut in front to accommodate his member and the foot of a silk stocking had been sewn to the hole, so there was a protuberance that would allow Simon’s now close to adulthood penis to expand. The shorts’ front was also wide. Though the flannel clung tight to Simon’s midsection, the triangular front was also very ample. The satin lining brushing against his stocking-covered sex provided intense stimulation as he moved around.
“Control yourself, Simon, we don’t want a messy accident today, do we?” Wilhelm had taunted as he’d fastened the belt of the shorts once everything underneath was well sorted out.
After half an hour of small steps, listening to Wilhelm’s peculiar fancies and having vivid pictures of a youthful gang of kidnappers having caught Simon, the planned destination was reached.
The quarry was a large clearing, with a path coming from the woods, where Wilhelm and his cub scout emerged. There might have been a road before, but it was gone. No vehicles could come, which had been one of the reasons for Wilhelm’s choice. To hone his kidnapping skills, he needed challenges; he still had to make sure he’d win the challenge, a failure meaning very dire consequences for him.
He pulled Simon behind him, and they moved further towards the cliff, a hundred yards away from them, following the edge. Thirty yards along, Wilhelm turned right, towards the woods again. Once they’d gone beyond the underbrush, Simon spotted straight away their destination.
A young poplar tree stood there, the ground cleared ten yards around.
“I did some gardening last week; I needed a clean playground for today’s game. Let’s play!”
Not explaining further, Wilhelm set to work. The tricky part was removing Simon’s rucksack and not letting him use his hands for too long, but thanks to his faithful leathers cuffs, and the steel handcuffs at hand in case of need, it went smoothly. From there, Wilhelm launched into the pole/ tree tie routine, which he could perform almost with eyes closed by now.
Loops of rope around the limbs were four turns, all at the end of a limb or a joint, keeping them linked to the tree.
The long rope folded in two, its middle cinching the ankles rope, was threaded carefully upwards, tightening the other turns and pulling them against the tree. This was a classic for Simon; it was how he’d been left by Stilo the first time he’d met Wilhelm, and it was the way Wilhelm had then stored him away in the garden shed, trussed up standing against a rake. He didn’t wriggle around too much; if Wilhelm intended to have him try and escape, he’d better not signal where Wilhelm had possibly left a rope loose.
“You wear this rope very smartly,” Wilhelm snarled, “let me get done with your head and I can be on my way.”
A foam rubber ring was first stuck between his head and the tree trunk. It looked like a big doughnut; it wasn’t edible, as it was made of dense foam rubber. With the back of the captive’s head resting on this soft rim, pressure would be spread a bit more and, just like an eggcup, it would wedge his head. Wilhelm fixed the foam rubber shape to the trunk with the two brown ribbons attached to it.
“This comes from a pet shop. It’s a toy for dogs, but I find it convenient to protect your skull from painful contact with the tree bark. Now, for more immobilization…”
Wilhelm took out a roll of 80-pound linen fishing line. At the very top of the cap, a very small and almost invisible wire ring emerged from the button, where the four parts met at the top of the skull. Wilhelm threaded a piece of fishing line in it, and tied its end with a square knot, leaving a good length flowing down. He then pulled the other end and threaded it to staples planted into the tree one foot above Simon’s head; he’d it had been one of his duties when he’d prepared the place. He threaded it back in the small hook on the cap’s button, and repeated this twice, before he tied both ends to the staples on the tree.
The fishing line was thin and transparent, but the three turns, tightened one after the other, were a formidable way to link the cap to the trunk sturdily. The cap had some padding, and Simon understood it wasn’t just for show.
Wilhelm added a similar line to the cap’s button ring; the staples it was attached to were planted lower on the trunk. It made a straight angle with the tree, making it impossible to move his head forward or downward.
“This works just as intended, Simon. Your head is stuck to the trunk; the foam ring prevents you from moving your head around almost perfectly but not completely. Don’t worry, I’ll see to it that it actually works.”
Simon could indeed faintly shake his head from left to right; more concealed features on the cap would help to make sure he wouldn’t be able to get any disagreement across with such motion. There were very small hooks sewn on the cap over the temples, and two pairs of staples nailed in the trunk straight behind his ears. He linked the hooks and the staples with three turns of fishing line; he then meticulously tightened each side so there would be equal tension on the right and on the left, until all Simon could do was look straight in front of him, not sideways or down.
“This should be tons of fun,” Wilhelm thought.
Wilhelm removed the cap’s chinstrap. He had a long white cotton scarf he had cut in white sheets; it was more oval than rectangle, and the part that would be over the wearer’s lower face was lined with an oval patch of rubber that had been glued on one side in his middle.
“A white scarf to cover your lower face, it goes better with the rest of the costume.”
A muffled sigh could have meant approval as well as despair. It got only a chuckle from Wilhelm. “Let me dress up your lower face with the colour of purity.”
Wilhelm tied this homemade scarf over his mouth and behind his head, as he intended to conceal the more suspicious half-mask: patent leather didn’t befit an innocent cub scout. The design of this scarf yielded a very satisfactory result; the rubber patch made it cling to Simon’s lower face and prevented an untimely removal even if he could break the pieces of fishing line holding his head against the trunk; it added slightly to the muffling effect. The German teen went behind the tree; he pulled the long lengths knotted over Simon’s neck around the trunk, and he tied them once more, making sure the knot held fast. It added one point to fasten Simon’s head to the tree.
“In case you still could move your head a bit…”
“Mmmm!”
“… All right, you couldn’t. But it’ll look good and it makes me feel good!”
Wilhelm couldn’t be seen by Simon where he stood; he pinned an envelope very casually just underneath the final knot; one small move of the wrist, and the thumbtack held the letter to the trunk without fear of wind. He did this with his developing sleight of hand for these stealthy tricks. He’d had to pick pockets on his worst days; he would have bet his life Simon hadn’t noticed anything.
He got back in front. He made sure the little strip of cotton on the edge of the scarf, free from the rubber glued in its centre, partially covered Simon’s nostrils. He wouldn’t be far away in case of breathing issues, and he knew that this wasn’t any real difficulty for Simon. It did hamper any attempt at sending continuous nasal sounds, as it required more controlled breath. Wilhelm tidied the cap; he tightened the chinstrap again, to tidy up the job. It followed the lower jaws and was one more way to hamper his opening his mouth. He fastened it solidly, before checking the whole scheme had gotten the desired effect.
“Your limbs are solidly united to this fine tree. Your head is also kept tightly against it. Your mouth is completely filled, and you can’t utter an intelligible word. I’m not going to bore you with lengthy instructions this time. I take you for a walk; I tie you to a tree, very well I should say, and I have you gagged so you can’t attract the attention of an unlikely passer-by; now you’ve got four hours to escape. More or less the usual, isn’t it?”
“Mmmpbblllmm…”
“Thanks for the praise, but I’ll be on my way.”
Simon expected more gloating, more taunts; but as his words died out in the wilderness, Wilhelm had disappeared from Simon’s sight.
Being tied on one’s own may be tedious. First the prisoner assessed the rope work. It was close to perfection, and Simon almost merged with the tree he was stood against. He couldn’t speak, his head couldn’t move a fraction of an inch and he had to breathe slowly.
Next, Simon checked on the ropes. There was some give in the right wrist, though, so that by lightly moving his thumb, he could make progress towards releasing the whole wrist. Once he’d determined he’d gotten it right, he repeated the movement; there would be hours before this would yield any result, so he let his wrist manage on automatic pilot as his mind drifted towards other thoughts.
Simon had developed a unique capability never to be bored while bound and gagged. His mind was full of sights, sounds and smells related to his adventures, and he had eventually acknowledged to himself, a few weeks after being made prisoner again by Wilhelm, that he liked being tied up. It dawned on him that he’d been sporting an erection since they’d left; he couldn’t look down, but he could feel his cock straining the thin front pouch of his underwear and rubbing against the satiny lining of the flannel shorts. Simon felt his engorged member was in a horizontal position. His further daydreaming about his Cub Scouts captors didn’t help him to hamper his excitement.
The wait started, Simon standing rigidly against the tree, the minimal motions from his thumb being imperceptible. He was certain no one would come. Wilhelm was no amateur, and the few times he’d been taken outside, his captor had made sure to take him to places he knew and controlled.
Wilhelm was also condemned to immobility, squatting down on a small stool behind a bush. He was a few yards away on Simon’s left. He couldn’t be seen from the path, and he had made a path the week before to escape into the woods. Just in case.
He was satisfied that he’d scheduled the whole operation correctly. A little less than half an hour later, steps could be heard from afar. They were following the path Wilhelm expected.
Simon saw who was coming first. He was genuinely surprised. He’d thought Wilhelm was back, which seemed awfully early for him, but when he saw the huge man, well over six feet and two-hundred pounds, with his red woollen shirt, his tight corduroy shorts and his axe over his shoulder, Simon’s whole world turned upside down. Wilhelm had made a mistake! At last! This was the biggest possible stroke of luck: having someone come to such a secluded part of the woods.
“MMMmmmmphhhhh!”
His own muffled screams sounded like roaring thunder to Simon, but had the passer-by not seen the boy standing against his tree from the edge of the clearing, he most likely wouldn’t have heard him. The gag did its job.
The lumberjack spotted Simon as he was twenty yards away. He stopped dead in his tracks. Even from such a distance, Simon could see his eyes opening wide. He didn’t rush towards him though. He approached slowly, looking around for the person who’d tied the boy to the tree. Once he’d approached enough so Simon could see his features, the captive boy noticed the man was frowning, looking quite puzzled.
Simon couldn’t help but notice how his tented shorts were the object of careful scrutiny. He blushed behind the gag, feeling exposed all of a sudden. He had grown used to strutting around Wilhelm’s cottage with clothing that emphasized his manhood; being visible in such a state to others was deeply embarrassing.
The lumberjack wasn’t over thirty, but the thick eyebrows, the thick brown beard, the rugged face; they all made him look older. He seemed awestruck by his find, and didn’t seem to get over it, certainly pondering over what he should do.
He didn’t seem in a rush to make a decision, and came in closer, taking in the show; bound and gagged posh boys weren’t daily occurrences in his line of work. Obviously, he had to untie him, but he couldn’t help looking Simon up and down, from the silly cap to the shiny Sunday shoes; the bulge in the shorts, the stockings, this was some posh boy playing some silly games as these people were rumoured to do. The prisoner’s passive demeanour intrigued the lumberjack: why would one stay so still if he hadn’t agreed with being bound and gagged?
“Mmmmbbbbllllmm!”
The boy was gagged, with a white scarf tied across his mouth, but he didn’t make noises the lumberjack would have expected in the case of a “real” kidnap. He was now close enough Simon could discern his breath; he didn’t seem to notice any of the limited vocal signals Simon was sending.
He did notice the badges, and as he saw what was drawn on them, the lumberjack just imagined it was a brand of boy scouts specialized into tying each other up. That and the hard-on meant he’d fallen on a case of upper class depravity that these posh people were famous for. There were rumours about a local landlord indulging into this sort of fun that had fascinated the lumberjack. Another thing that he was now sure of was this was no little kid, judging from the apparent size of his cock. He had to be five feet six or seven; the hairless legs and the outfit did make him look like a little boy, but the hard-on was this of a fully developed young man.
“Oh, my, it seems you lads train with ropes and gags. That’s something else…”
Simon’s desperate nasal plea could have been a slightly annoyed reply to the prompt. From behind the bush, Wilhelm didn’t lose a second of the show. The captor looked at his prisoner for a few seconds.
“Is Simon amused or annoyed?” Wilhelm wondered. The bulge tenting his shorts betrayed some appeal for the situation; he’d made sure that Simon would be an obscene display of teenage lust.
As for the man, his face was unreadable. He seemed very interested in Simon’s legs and crotch; was he biting the bait? He spoke for the first time, in a husky, playful voice.
“It seems you’ve gotten into quite a mess, lad. Let me remove your gag so I can hear what you’ve got to say.”
Simon used the millimetre of leeway left by the invisible fishing line threads to try and move his head; he also went into lengthy grateful and muffled thanks. Simon didn’t bother coaxing the man with gagged requests to go faster; he’d better wait patiently. He was trying to find something to say so there wouldn’t be any misunderstanding about his erectile state; nothing came to his mind just yet.
The lumberjack kept pondering over the trussed up figure he’d found in the woods. He was very puzzled by his developing emotions as he was close to the bound and gagged teen. Eventually, he realized the fascinating show had to stop, as he’d just committed to release the boy scout. He went behind the tree to release Simon’s gag.
This was literally a life changer for Simon. Wilhelm had left him on his own, he’d been found, against all odds, and now he was seconds from being released.
The captive cub approved of his saviour’s resolve, uncomplainingly waiting for freedom; nevertheless, instead of hearing the sound of a scarf being unknotted, Simon heard paper being rustled and manipulated. He remained quiet, wondering what was going on.
There was silence for a long, long time. From the man, at least. Simon made a few ‘question marks’, short rising tones to express curiosity, Wilhelm understood better what his talk meant.
The man moved back in front of Simon, a piece of paper and an envelope in his right hand. He had a big grin on his face “So, my lad, it appears you’ve made some of your friends very mad. They didn’t go easy on you, but who lives by the sword, dies by the sword, if I may say.”
This time, Simon just wondered what Wilhelm could have written to have this man gloat over his helplessness. He kept making little inquisitive noises; from Wilhelm’s point of view, at no time had Simon actually looked or sounded like he was signalling distress, and his current cooing didn’t betray any emergency.
The lumberjack was trying to piece together the text he’d just read, the overgrown cub scout in his specific costume; all this had him really wonder hard what he should do.
Looking at the man’s hands, Simon saw the envelope. The written side was visible, with letters printed in red ink: “Important: DO NOT FREE SIMON BEFORE READING THIS!”
“Let’s see,” the man said, “I’d better read this aloud; you seem all surprised that I don’t free you. You shouldn’t be, considering what your friends have written.”
Simon grunted, loudly from his point of view, but to Wilhelm’s delight, a few yards away with a perfect angle on Simon’s face, this didn’t sound anything like a call for help. He pricked up his ears, listening proudly to his prose the lumberjack read.
“To whoever finds this. Please do not free Simon; he’s undergoing a fair and well-deserved punishment for not following the pack’s rules. He’s left the youngest member of the pack tied to a tree, without supervision AND gagged in a game of capture the flag. When his mistake was discussed in a Pack Council, he denied doing anything reckless, claiming he could stay up to twelve hours tied up and gagged as poor little Freddy was.
We’ve decided to take him to his word, so he’s staying tied to his tree from eight his morning until this evening. If he’s freed before then, he’ll have to start the punishment over another day anyway. Please do not warn anyone, we’ll come and pick him up this evening. And don’t feel bad about him; he’s used to being bound and gagged, and he doesn’t have an ounce of mercy when he comes to tying others. Little Freddy can testify to this.
Signed: Alistair, Alan & Andrew – The three As!”
It was a heavy turmoil in Simon’s head; being bound and gagged excited him, he could hardly deny it. Worse yet, it seemed that the mere idea of being the centre of Wilhelm’s devious plot had the very same effect. His inflating shorts proved it significantly.
He’d noticed earlier that the shorts and the underwear that he’d been put in this morning left ample room for his penis to grow. He realized that he’d been growing further since the man had approached, and that Wilhelm’s devious letter trick enhanced his desire.
“Oh, boy, this man is bound to find out about how I feel about being Wilhelm’s captive. What will he think, with this letter telling I love this?”
Wilhelm had picked up on the situation, and was positively beaming with his plan working smoothly. He knew the man would move on to the next phase soon. He didn’t think there would be any other lumberjack passing by today: this one would have to act as Wilhelm had planned if he wanted his efforts to bear their fruit. Wilhelm smiled looking at the tethered lamb left out for sacrifice. This would be one more great story he could tell Simon over and over to taunt him.
The man wasn’t leaving. Wilhelm’s lust detector started indicating proper levels of passion, from both Simon and his visitor. The general demeanour of the lumberjack meant his feelings were stirred, and his words soon confirmed Wilhelm’s suspicion.
“So your little three As friends are coming to free you tonight? They got you tied tight, didn’t they? They’ve done so because they know how much you like it, this seems obvious!”
His voice was now raspier, and Wilhelm knew what had seized him. It was the plan. The lumberjack was talking himself into action, heedless of Simon’s plight.
“And they left you here this morning. What should I do now, if I’m not to free you? Maybe I can release you anyway; no one would know, hey? I won’t tell your friends.”
Simon went into an indignant “Mmph”. It was misinterpreted:
“I understand. They would keep their word and do this to you another day anyway; that’s why you want me to leave you here, you want to clear the slate with your friends. I understand, I’m not going to touch this scarf gagging you or the ropes binding you. Maybe I can give you some other type of release, hey?”
He winked. Simon’s toned down pleas continued to no end. This man was in raptures over his bound and gagged form. He was getting closer to Simon, pointing out his aroused state.
“You definitely don’t want them to come and free you? Judging from the bulge in your shorts, it’s obvious you enjoy the ordeal they’ve put you through. I think I can really help you though, I’ve had some experience handling cases like you living in log cabins and being the young one for years.”
It was getting explicit. He still hesitated between Simon’s fleshy thighs and his boner-filled shorts; he felt like stroking them with his huge hand but didn’t know where to start. He then made up his mind in a flash.
The lumberjack dropped to his knees in front of Simon. His hands were surprisingly gentle as they removed his shorts’ button and zipper before moving the flaps apart. This left room for the member to develop and stretch further up and out; the big silk pouch made from a stocking’s foot sewn in front had room for well-sized cocks, and Simon’s needed the space.
The lumberjack didn’t bother with removing the sheath. Simon, still unable to look down, had to rely on his sense of touch to track what was happening. A pair of lips grabbed the very tip of his silk-covered cock. The tip of the man’s tongue touched Simon’s slit. Little by little, the lips moved further down the shaft; the man didn’t have time to finish what he’d planned, which was to take Simon’s whole length in his mouth, which his years in manly company had taught him. He’d barely gone down one third when he felt the vibrations announcing the coming earthquake.
Wilhelm was possibly the only person who could have told Simon was having an orgasm from his demeanour. He got the subtle moves and shakes other people would have missed. His boy was now coming down, but the lumberjack kept at it, his head still locked to the bound boy’s crotch. Little by little, he pulled back. Wilhelm approved of the hygiene concern the man voiced once his mouth was no longer full.
“This was release. And I’ve cleaned up your vigorous rod well.”
He pulled the sleeve of his shirt, and pressed it against the silk pouch, mopping the remaining saliva and sperm.
“It’s much softer; you needed this badly, boy. Let me get it tucked underneath the flannel again.”
He delicately zipped and buttoned the shorts again. Simon looked decent at last. Wilhelm triumphed. He’d thought Simon would have gotten a hand job; the lumberjack’s proclivities were a welcome surprise. Now, Wilhelm’s watching could come in handy; if he were right, the man would want to satisfy his own urges. Wilhelm had to act promptly; he didn’t want his prisoner to be snatched away by this lecherous man.
Keeping down on all fours, he crawled through the underbrush and shuffled towards the path. He stood up, unseen from the lumberjack, but not from Simon, who’d gone into another attempt at shouting; he saw Wilhelm, and even from this distance, Wilhelm felt a pang of either guilt or jealousy, or a mix of both, as Simon’s wide eyes did express his need for help. Far away enough, Wilhelm started running to rescue the prisoner at his torture pole. The lumberjack had plans for Simon indeed; he was back on his feet and beheld the fine piece of meat he’d found packaged in the woods.
“Yes, boy scout, I think I could keep you in the shack over there, and we could have fun together; it seems you’re already happy to see me again! Let me see how I could untie you.”
This was something Simon’s captor didn’t want to happen. Wilhelm made his appearance even more dramatic by shaking foliage around to make noise as he got a few yards away from the two antagonists.
“What’s going on?” panted Wilhelm, getting his breath back as if he’d run for miles.
The man stopped dead in his tracks: someone was behind him, he was half a foot away from a bound boy he’d pleasured with his mouth; he had a glimpse of how he facts could be misinterpreted. He also realized that once the boy would have his gag removed, he would be able to reveal what he’d been done, and… The lumberjack didn’t really fancy witnessing how it would go from there. A thought ran through his mind as he spun on his heel to see who was coming: “The posh boy wanted it very badly, I didn’t do anything wrong.”
The man stood with his mouth slightly gaping, taken aback; for the second time in less than an hour, the lumberjack got confronted with a very unusual display, this one even more maybe, our man having a keen heart for blondes. He took in everything he could about the young man who’d spoken. The newcomer was wearing a white shirt and some very tight and gleaming lederhosen; he had short blond hair, with a cute strand and big blue eyes; he had regular handsome features. This young man exuded an air of authority; he appeared in complete control, which got the lumberjack to remain quiet and wait for what was coming.
The lumberjack didn’t have to worry about being questioned right now. Wilhelm focused his attention on Simon. He looked at him, amused; his words let his audience he wasn’t the least surprised to find the daintily dressed-up scout in such a perilous position.
“Oh, Simon, you really are hopeless, aren’t you? You had to challenge the youngsters again; you’ll never learn that they’ve become real pros at binding you.”
“Mmmh?”
Before the lumberjack could ask a question, Wilhelm went on, having overtaken the clearing with his charismatic presence. He was assessing the rope network that bound Simon to the tree.
“Their knots are good, and I think you’re really stuck, this time.” He turned to the man at last, willing to explain him what peculiar jokes his little brother and his friends liked to play upon each other. “Yes, sir, this is Simon. He’s the assistant troop master of Alistair’s my little brother’s cub scouts’ troop. They like to play particular pranks on one another. Simon has bet he could stay tied to the tree all day with them.”
Wilhelm stepped closer, having a look at the ropes that imprisoned Simon. He discretely brushed over Simon’s lower face, making sure the white scarf was still partly obstructing his nostrils, which would keep any attempt at noise moot.
“They did a good job with the gag too, I must say. His head is kept against the pole so he can’t look around. They’ve been into torture pole tie-ups these last few months, and the practice starts showing. See, sir, this is the sort of challenges that they pick in this troop.”
The lumberjack nodded incredulously. It seemed the letter was actually telling the truth. He was facing weird posh boys. Seeing how little it had taken to have the captive boy spurt out his seed, he had to be no stranger to unnatural pleasures.
“From what I was told, Simon was a bit harsh with one the youngest boys during a game; as he didn’t want to acknowledge he was wrong, and since he’d bragged about being able to endure being tied up for a whole day,” he insisted on these last two words, “well, the little tykes had no choice but to capture him and bind him to his tree as he’d boasted he could stand much stricter tie-ups than little Freddy. I don’t think there’s more to explain to the man, Simon. Do you?”
“Mmm…” Simon equivocally stated.
The lumberjack spoke for the first time.
“So that’s why I just found this boy tied to a tree,” he said in a hesitating voice. He picked up the letter he’d dropped on the ground. “His friends had explained the joke in a letter, see?”
Wilhelm took the piece of paper, casting a discreet glance at Simon, whose muffled attempts at warning the man of his actual fate had been rekindled by Wilhelm’s arrival. Disturbingly for Simon, the meek noises he was able to emit coincided with another display of his aroused manhood, which didn’t tell of the real story.
“I’m Alistair’s brother,” Wilhelm repeated pointing to the first signature. “I’ve come to take care of Simon. My brother’s come to the house with his cub friends an hour ago, and I’ve overheard them talking about the punishment they were putting Simon through.”
“Mmmh…”
Wilhelm’s boldness got Simon to moan; it could be despair or delight. His captor went on.
“I’m afraid these kids know no limit. We’d never have been so reckless when I was a cub myself! They relished reliving the good prank they’d pulled on Simon, explaining how serious they had been. They had even designed some special badges for the occasion; it’s quite a good job they did,” he said pointing to Simon’s chest, “ it’s clearer now what Alistair and his friends have been conspiring about this last week or so. I confronted them about what they did to their troop master. I’m used to having them spill the beans easily, which they did. They insisted on Simon’s claims that had gotten him to be their target in the first place. Knowing of Simon’s plight I’ve run over here right away, to make sure nothing happens to him.”
The man saw an opportunity to get out of this sticky situation. This older kid would not undertake any untying right away. So, he had to get as far away as possible before the bound posh kid had his gag removed.
“If you’ve come to make sure nothing happens, that’s fine, I’ll leave you boys on your own. You’re going to free him, aren’t you?”
Simon realized that the opportunity to have someone find out about him being kidnapped was almost over, and his mmphing increased in volume, and he tried every trick in the book to have his mmph carry the message that he ACTUALLY was a prisoner. But to no avail: Wilhelm could notice the difference, he now had some experience, but the lumberjack didn’t pick up on the bound and gagged cub scout’s pleas.
“Eventually I will. But the decision they make at their cub scouts’ council are binding; Simon chose his own punishment, he should undergo most of his sentence. I’ve arranged things with my brother and his friends. They are cleaning up the house and doing my chores while I’ve offered to come check that Simon is doing well. I’ve had them cut his time to half what was planned too, so I’ll free him by noon, I guess.”
“Well, since I see you’re handling this properly,” the lumberjack said, reassured that he had quite a while before the bound cub scout could reveal he had molested him, and very happy the dreamlike episode finished so well for him, “I’ll let you lads have your fun. Do not do anything silly, boys…”
The lumberjack walked backwards, his gaze committing to memory the fleshy pair of trussed up gams and the impressive bulge that had risen again in the shorts . He then turned around and left for good.
Simon sighed. Once again, Wilhelm had managed to get away with keeping the escape artist his powerless captive.
Bondwriter : New Adventures of Simon: Riding in the Countryside (m/m)
Moderator: Archiver
Part 2
“Disappointing, isn’t it, my young prisoner?”
“Mmmmmph!!!!”
“You thought you could pull through this one; do you really think I want you to be taken from me? There is no way. You were trussed up too well; I had gagged you so you couldn’t even hope of getting this fine young man to understand what you were trying to say. Immobilizing your head was the cherry on the top in preventing any communication. I know you must have found the planted letter a clever trick also. It was somehow risky, but I’m a gambler. And I was there for you all along, ready to burst out if your lumberjack friend had felt like actually releasing you.”
“Mmmhmmphmmbbllm!” Simon complained, totally defeated.
“You did enjoy his ministrations, no need to apologize. I saw how you lured the man into pleasing you, you little flirt! You just bought yourself a night in the basement. In the gibbet cage, now that I have adjusted it to your measurements. But we’re still a long time from sunset, and I think I’m going to teach you more about trees that can welcome a bound prisoner. I know you will help me to try them out, no doubt; for now, we can have a little break here. This is a nice, peaceful place.”
The moan from the gagged boy went on.
Wilhelm waved the letter and the envelope.
“This was a good idea; it went fine, and just as I had planned. I think I need to get you to work harder at being a good captive. I’m going to offer you another deal. You’re going to have to demonstrate control before I give you something to eat. Are you willing to prove you can control yourself and be a nice little cub scout?”
“Mmm,” Simon answered, one ‘Mmm’ for yes being the rule when he couldn’t move his head.
“I’ve got another game for you, then. It’s called ‘the Flower and the Butterflies’. It’s fit for a day outdoors. First of all, the flower.”
Simon’s eyes followed his tormentor as he bent down to gather something from his rucksack. At first glance it bore similarities with some of the penis sheaths Wilhelm had tailored for him over the months. Some had a slit at the end so liquid could flow freely; it was a closed sheath this time.
“Isn’t this external layer a wonderful yellow? There are three layers this time, by the way, arranged so that the soft caress is maximal. I think that for this ‘stamen’ part, I’ve crafted something that fits your measurements. This is some flower, with one protruding stamen, but we’re not going to be fussy about biology. I’m sure that the shade of the satin petals ravishes you; a deep blue, bordering on purple, and just look at how thick and smooth the material I cut them in is!”
Simon was in awe of Wilhelm’s art.
“Who says flower says stem. Let’s find the stem, let’s see… I’d say they like damp places, where can there be one?”
He was obviously referring to the dark patch where the tip of his erect member kept the cloth the most inflated. Kneeling, Wilhelm pulled Simon’s zipper down. The silk stocking beneath was pushed forward through the opening. Fumbling inside, Wilhelm caught the waistband and pulled it down; once released from the silky underwear, Simon’s six and a half inches of manhood raised proudly.
“Oh, Simon, you’re walking around showing your willy again. What a naughty boy! Let me cover it…”
Wilhelm slid the sheath over the head and down. He did it swiftly, knowing Simon could burst out in an orgasm in seconds. He pulled a small lace, and wrapped Simon’s balls in one of the petals.
“You’re not allowed to let it fall.”
Simon hummed loudly. Wilhelm inspected the gagging apparatus, and saw the fishing line held fast. He undid the scarf, only to tighten it further. “No need for moving your little head around. No need to disturb the wildlife either. Talking of which, let me introduce to you the butterflies.”
He got yet another mysterious homemade object. Wilhelm had cut a thin switch made of hazel. It was just under two feet, quite thin and flexible. At its tips, he’d tied some thirty or forty butterflies. They were just pieces of fishing line of varying length, from a few inches to a foot, with a little bowtie made in silk tied at the end. There were many colours. With a quick flick of the wrist, Wilhelm got the pieces of material to come to life. By moving his arm, he gave the impression of a cloud of butterflies flying around.
“This is a control test, Simon, to see if you can resist the attack of the butterflies; I’ll set the timer at sixty seconds from the moment I say start. But before we get going, I’d better tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a very naughty cub scout called Simon. He’d tormented his little friends; what he liked best was to kidnap them and to take them to his hut in the woods, where he would bind them to chairs or beams; he was very fond of gagging them too, stuffing their mouths with all sorts of nasty stuff.”
Wilhelm looked at the effect his tale was producing. He had planned on some silly fairy tale with the King of the Butterflies, but he knew this story would be much more effective. The yellow stamen was turgid; could it become even more so?
“But one day, this evil Simon got caught by three friends who decided it was time he would get a taste of his own medicine. They lured him into the woods. Simon, not being too bright, agreed, and wouldn’t you know it, he’d hardly set foot into the forest that he was trussed to a tree. He couldn’t make a sound, he couldn’t move at all. They’d left him there so he could ponder over improving and becoming kinder, but soon, a lumberjack found Simon tied to his tree. START!”
Without interrupting his tale, Wilhelm had given life to the ‘butterflies’, setting them in motion with a jerky hand, and had them come closer to the flower. Tens of small pieces of satin and silk were now brushing over the sheath that his penis was stretching considerably.
“The lumberjack decided he would take Simon to his little house in the woods, where he would have fun in all sorts of ways. It is so much fun to fondle a bound and gagged boy’s butt…”
The spasms Simon went through echoed those of his whole body. His wail, some intense bellowing, was strong.
“Golly, Simon, you’re not getting any better. That’s barely five seconds!’
“Mmmm…”
His cock was deflating slightly, the end having been flooded, with some liquid already coming through to form a drop. Wilhelm looked miffed.
“All that work for this? I’ll give you another chance, so I get to improve on my puppeteer skills.”
Wilhelm got two other ‘flowers’ from his bag. One was red, the other was green. He laid them down over a patch of thick grass. Turning towards Simon’s wrapped member, he grabbed the ‘petals’ and pulled upwards cautiously. As he removed the silk sheath, he wiped Simon’s cock; he took his time once he’d reached the tip and collected all the liquid that had erupted from the ‘stamen’.
Once he’d thoroughly cleaned Simon’s sex, Wilhelm put the tainted sheath down and picked up the red one. He caressed the underside of Simon’s penis with the tip of his index finger. He tested out a story where Simon was released by boy scouts. Boy scouts worked better than lumberjacks when it came to arousing Simon.
“The lumberjack leaves this naughty Simon bound to a tree, so wild animals may have a go at it too. But it’s not a wolf or a tiger Simon sees coming. It’s three Cub Scouts, with a big grin on their faces. They release him from the tree, only to bind him in lots of rope and put him in a hogtie on the little cart they pull along.”
Wilhelm took his time, went for another ‘start!’, a flick of his wrist bringing the butterflies to life; it took fifty seconds of the silky caresses and of Wilhelm’s nasty story before he was shaking like a leaf and filling the second cock sheath with his seed again.
A third try could be attempted once the ‘flower’ had been changed. The story went on, with Simon staked out on the ground, and having the three younger boys sit on him and tease him with taunts and various ordeals. This time, Simon almost went beyond a minute.
“Tsk, tsk, Simon, you’re really hopeless. Fifty-eight seconds! You lose again. I guess I’ll let you rest a few minutes before lunch.”
Once he’d checked Simon was still properly restrained, his captor took his now empty rucksack and went to get the stuff he’d left a few feet away.
“Time for lunch,” Wilhelm cheered.
“Mmmph,” Simon approved.
His head was freed, the pieces of fishing line being swiftly cut with a knife. Wilhelm then removed the scarf and the half-mask. Before he removed the tape sealing his lips, Wilhelm took a water bottle. With one hand, he peeled off the tape, and presented the palm of his hand; Simon opened his mouth wide and after a little pushing with his tongue, the big block of rubber-covered casting plopped out and dropped into Wilhelm’s hands, with threads of saliva dribbling down.
Wilhelm didn’t wait to give Simon a drink, as the bottle was brought to his lips almost simultaneously. He didn’t tip the bottle too much, so Simon could take his time drinking. Once Simon had swallowed the water, Wilhelm clamped his left hand over the empty mouth.
“You’ve proved how little self-control you have. This tells me I have more work to do with you before you become perfectly obedient. For instance, let me pick you some nice dessert.”
Simon’s mouth was uncovered, but trying to call out for help was more likely to attract further punishment than help. It didn’t last long, Wilhelm having rushed to gather the three ‘flowers’ Simon had soaked with his seed. He took his time to pack them in his young prisoner’s mouth, filling every nook and cranny. The half-mask was added, ensuring Simon would keep chewing on the sperm-coated sheaths for a while.
The white scarf with the big oval rubber patch glued inside was plastered over Simon’s lower face to reinforce the set-up; it was tightly knotted at the nape of his neck, the ends being made into a flourishing bow rather than being tied to the trunk.
“Hmmmm!”
“I’d love to keep you trussed up to your tree, but I don’t think it’s very safe to stay here too long; I’d bet high on this man having left not to return, but let us not take any risk. And as good boy scouts, we will leave no sign of our coming.”
The process Wilhelm had followed one hour before was performed in reverse. It only took ten minutes before Simon could walk again: his rucksack was over his shoulders, his limbs were restrained; his gag had been left untouched, but for the big bow over his neck to prevent the long ends of the cotton bandage to trail on the ground.
“This is very cute. I wouldn’t want such a cute little cub scout to be abandoned, and I can think of tons of scout games that will be both entertaining and educational for such a pretty little poppet.”
Part 3
The little duo went on exploring the woods around the cottage Wilhelm kept Simon captive in. Simon sported a fancy cub scout uniform, his rucksack was a restraint for his arms and Wilhelm had kept him gagged with a huge shape of plaster filling his mouth and elaborate headgear to look like a rather prissy cub scout.
After ten minutes of walking in silence, Simon was completely lost. His captor had gotten to know the woods like the back of his hand; he had no choice but trust him for direction. He could also trust him to have something more in store. The hypnotic rhythm of Wilhelm’s pace soon had him drift away in his fantasy world again; he was at the hands of boy scouts again, and the one who was towering over him as he’d had his limbs staked to the ground started taunting him. Then it was Wilhelm as a boy scout telling him about an initiation, and wondering if he can get a badge for knot tying.
The spell was broken when the muscular buttocks stopped rolling under the thin layer of calfskin. They’d arrived at the planned destination. Time to find out what Wilhelm’s wickedly playful mind had cooked up.
Wilhelm bent down to tighten the knee hobble.
“You don’t need to walk around while I explain the rules. I thought we could play a typical cub scout game. So I’ve organized a scavenger hunt for you. I need to equip you with a collecting tool first.”
“A scavenger collects rubbish. A scavenger is also an animal who feeds on carrion. I like this definition better. Since I don’t have carrion around and don’t feel much like finding those that lie in these woods, I have replaced rotting flesh with the smelliest equivalent I could think of. You’re going to gather dirty laundry.”
Simon’s eyes opened wide.
“Yes, you now realize why you didn’t have laundry duty last Thursday. As I was saying, the collecting tool. I didn’t have to think too long to come up with an idea. For a cub, he should use his snout to find the treasures I leave him.”
The “snout” came up in Wilhelm’s hands. It was a triangular brown leather shape, with two big nostrils cut in the part that was below the nose, and a small hook sewn to it at the tip of the nose. The hook was round, with its end bent outside. Once this ‘snout’ had been put over Simon’s nose, the two grey laces attached to its sides were knotted behind his head. Wilhelm tested the set-up; it held fast. None of the items weighed much anyway.
“So, it’s a very basic game. See the area in front of us? The playing field is all the way to this fallen tree over there on the left, and the big boulder, the lighter one, over there on the right. And the path back behind? These are the limits. I’m first going to blindfold you while I go set up the messages and the items to collect. I will leave five notes to be found in the perimeter, giving indications to find the clothing items. They won’t be particularly concealed. They all have a D-ring clipped on so you can pick them up with this fine snout of yours. Once you find a piece of clothing, you have to bring it back here and put it in one of two piles: my clothes and yours. You’ll have to use your nose too, for you might not have been aware, but I’ve worn some of your underwear last week. The ‘snout’ has been thought with such a mission in mind.”
Simon’s mind was reeling with the dullness and the complexity of the planned activity. Wilhelm had him sit on a log, swiftly tying up his ankles with a few turns of white rope. Jumping behind, he leaned over Simon’s shoulder and reached for the gold and blue silk triangle; he removed the leather ring, which he put in his pocket, and unfolded the scarf, only to fold it again into a thick 2-inch strip of silk. It was placed across his eyes, and as he gradually tightened it, Wilhelm whispered, “I won’t be long, just relax for a few minutes.”
That’s just how our young escape artist did, sitting on the log while he could hear Wilhelm running around. After ten or fifteen minutes trying to guess where Wilhelm actually was, he could smell his captor at his sides again. The blindfold was lifted, and one of its end stuck at the back of his shorts.
“A little bunny tail, hey?” Wilhelm smiled. “Before I give you the start, I’ll set the stakes. Not getting the dirty old man to free you has gotten you to face a night in the gibbet cage. You know me, inflicting such a lengthy and strenuous treatment hurts me more than it hurts you. I’ll be kind, once again, and make you an offer. This game is well within your grasp. There’s no trick, a little stamina and attention should allow you to win. If you win, then I’ll cut the sentence in half, and you’ll spend only two hours in the gibbet cage after dinner. In the unlikely case you lose, you won’t get out from the cage until noon tomorrow. You’ve got one hour to fulfil your mission. Have fun.”
Simon moaned. He wasn’t actually expected to agree with the offer. Wilhelm only made offers he couldn’t refuse anyway… He got to his feet, his ankles freed, and he got searching. Before he even found one of the clues, he spotted a woollen sock hung in a bush at chest level. He came close to it, the heavy load behind his back forcing him to move cautiously. He moved his neck until he’d gotten the hook of his snout through the ring Wilhelm had clipped at the toes of the sock solidly.
Once he had a good grasp of the smelly garment (definitely Wilhelm’s, Simon couldn’t mistake the smell), he tip-toed back to the “base”, where Wilhelm, sitting on the freed log had laid two big silk scarves on the ground. “My stuff goes on the left, on the red scarf, yours on the blue one.”
Simon came forward. He slowly kneeled, and let the sock drop; he had to shake his head a little, but the sock landed right in the middle of the red scarf.
“Good job, but there are more items to gather, so don’t lose any time.”
Simon went back to exploring the area in search of clues, socks and underwear.
He found one of the clues a few yards away from where the sock was. A note card was pinned to a tree. “Simon briefs grow on a holly bush.” He searched, and spotted the holly. There were two pairs of briefs in them, and he picked them up delicately with the tip of his little hook. He was glad he’d kept his balance and not landed head first in the thorny bush. The four minutes it took him to get back to base allowed him to enjoy his briefs smell. The clips were all fixed so the smelliest part of the garment would be just under the holes cut in the leather, and he breathed in his own briefs smells, which he didn’t mind this much. He shook his head merrily to drop the dirty underwear on his pile.
Simon got into the groove, but it wasn’t much fun. He spotted the “trick” items easily, some black nylon undies that he wore but that smelled of Wilhelm. One of the penis sheaths, too, could be his but had obviously been worn and soiled by his captor too.
The clues were not very useful, since the items weren’t really purloined; one of them stated that there were twenty-two items, which meant he would be done once he’d have brought a last sock, actually one of his he’d kept on for four days as he’d been kept in the hidden cellar ten days previous. It was hanging from a branch at face level; the most difficult part of the task was to stand the strong smell his feet had developed in the ankle boots Wilhelm had him wear most days since he’d arrived.
As he was fiddling around trying, and eventually succeeding in, picking up the cheesy sock with his snout, he noticed something he hadn’t noticed before. As he’d gone on his ‘scavenger hunt’, he’d noticed why Wilhelm had chosen this location as a playing field. There was a ditch surrounding two-thirds of the location, and thick underbrush blocked the way over the rest of the area that had been indicated. There was nowhere to escape. But… In this underbrush, ten feet away from where Simon’s stock hung, there seemed to be a way between two trees, leading outside the perimeter that he was supposed to stay in. Looking behind, he couldn’t see Simon sitting on his log. If he made up his mind, it had to be now.
He boldly stepped forward; he slipped between the trees; he was rewarded by the sight of a well-drawn path. He rejoiced, for this could make it easier to walk without stepping on a twig or breaking a branch. Right now, still preceded by his sock just in front of his face, spreading its rank fragrances an inch from his nostrils, he moved forward very cautiously, not wanting to make a noise. The path twisted around a bit, but he followed it anyway, casting frequent glances over his shoulder to see if Wilhelm had noticed he’d escaped and had gone after him. Step by step, little by little, he was making a successful escape.
“I have covered enough ground to have put some distance between Wilhelm and me. I should run now…”
His knees being hobbled with a chain a little over a foot between them, he could not really be considered running; but compared to his common immobility since he was with Wilhelm, he was breaking speed records. His lengthened steps slowly got him to realize that he could actually get free if he managed to find his way back to more crowded parts.
A hand grabbing his shoulder had any hope for freedom vanish instantly.
“Where were you, Simon? I’ve been waiting for you!”
As he looked around, Simon saw he was at the ‘base’. The winding path he’d found had taken him straight back to Wilhelm.
“Go and get this last sock over your pile…”
Simon did.
“Oh, shucks, Simon! I’m sorry, but you’re two minutes late. I can’t rule you the winner. It’s really too bad…”
“Mmmmphmmbbblll!!”
“No reason to get rude, I’m not the one who lost. It’s high time for lunch, let me make you comfortable so I can feed this little mouth of yours,” Wilhelm said as he dragged towards a tree. “A beech, not crooked, and look, it grows its own ropes!”
Eight ropes encircled the trunk; a clove hitch in the middle tied them to the trunk; the ends had been rolled and tied together so they wouldn’t get tangled. The prisoner was slightly more reluctant than in the morning, so the captor had to be more forceful. And eventually Simon, once rid of his rucksack, got the tree tie treatment.
The escape artist was confused by what was happening to him. He didn’t feel as desperate as he’d been before when being caught again. What had happened earlier on in the day should have made him feel like a helpless victim. Nevertheless, it made him feel like everything was customary. Being under Wilhelm’s supervision was his new normal. He tried to fight this feeling, and meekly writhed around to break free from his restraints.
“Do you really want to escape?” Wilhelm asked as he tightened the ropes. “This is useless, and you know it. I’m going to leave you tied to your tree for a couple hours so you may reflect on what disobedience entails. If you behave, you’ll get a very special hug this evening when I have you back to the lodge.”
As Wilhelm fixed his head to the tree trunk, Simon fantasized on what the hug entailed . His cock grew solid, as his mind drifted off to a strange world where what had happened to him on that day mixed with his most intimate fancies.
The end.
“Disappointing, isn’t it, my young prisoner?”
“Mmmmmph!!!!”
“You thought you could pull through this one; do you really think I want you to be taken from me? There is no way. You were trussed up too well; I had gagged you so you couldn’t even hope of getting this fine young man to understand what you were trying to say. Immobilizing your head was the cherry on the top in preventing any communication. I know you must have found the planted letter a clever trick also. It was somehow risky, but I’m a gambler. And I was there for you all along, ready to burst out if your lumberjack friend had felt like actually releasing you.”
“Mmmhmmphmmbbllm!” Simon complained, totally defeated.
“You did enjoy his ministrations, no need to apologize. I saw how you lured the man into pleasing you, you little flirt! You just bought yourself a night in the basement. In the gibbet cage, now that I have adjusted it to your measurements. But we’re still a long time from sunset, and I think I’m going to teach you more about trees that can welcome a bound prisoner. I know you will help me to try them out, no doubt; for now, we can have a little break here. This is a nice, peaceful place.”
The moan from the gagged boy went on.
Wilhelm waved the letter and the envelope.
“This was a good idea; it went fine, and just as I had planned. I think I need to get you to work harder at being a good captive. I’m going to offer you another deal. You’re going to have to demonstrate control before I give you something to eat. Are you willing to prove you can control yourself and be a nice little cub scout?”
“Mmm,” Simon answered, one ‘Mmm’ for yes being the rule when he couldn’t move his head.
“I’ve got another game for you, then. It’s called ‘the Flower and the Butterflies’. It’s fit for a day outdoors. First of all, the flower.”
Simon’s eyes followed his tormentor as he bent down to gather something from his rucksack. At first glance it bore similarities with some of the penis sheaths Wilhelm had tailored for him over the months. Some had a slit at the end so liquid could flow freely; it was a closed sheath this time.
“Isn’t this external layer a wonderful yellow? There are three layers this time, by the way, arranged so that the soft caress is maximal. I think that for this ‘stamen’ part, I’ve crafted something that fits your measurements. This is some flower, with one protruding stamen, but we’re not going to be fussy about biology. I’m sure that the shade of the satin petals ravishes you; a deep blue, bordering on purple, and just look at how thick and smooth the material I cut them in is!”
Simon was in awe of Wilhelm’s art.
“Who says flower says stem. Let’s find the stem, let’s see… I’d say they like damp places, where can there be one?”
He was obviously referring to the dark patch where the tip of his erect member kept the cloth the most inflated. Kneeling, Wilhelm pulled Simon’s zipper down. The silk stocking beneath was pushed forward through the opening. Fumbling inside, Wilhelm caught the waistband and pulled it down; once released from the silky underwear, Simon’s six and a half inches of manhood raised proudly.
“Oh, Simon, you’re walking around showing your willy again. What a naughty boy! Let me cover it…”
Wilhelm slid the sheath over the head and down. He did it swiftly, knowing Simon could burst out in an orgasm in seconds. He pulled a small lace, and wrapped Simon’s balls in one of the petals.
“You’re not allowed to let it fall.”
Simon hummed loudly. Wilhelm inspected the gagging apparatus, and saw the fishing line held fast. He undid the scarf, only to tighten it further. “No need for moving your little head around. No need to disturb the wildlife either. Talking of which, let me introduce to you the butterflies.”
He got yet another mysterious homemade object. Wilhelm had cut a thin switch made of hazel. It was just under two feet, quite thin and flexible. At its tips, he’d tied some thirty or forty butterflies. They were just pieces of fishing line of varying length, from a few inches to a foot, with a little bowtie made in silk tied at the end. There were many colours. With a quick flick of the wrist, Wilhelm got the pieces of material to come to life. By moving his arm, he gave the impression of a cloud of butterflies flying around.
“This is a control test, Simon, to see if you can resist the attack of the butterflies; I’ll set the timer at sixty seconds from the moment I say start. But before we get going, I’d better tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a very naughty cub scout called Simon. He’d tormented his little friends; what he liked best was to kidnap them and to take them to his hut in the woods, where he would bind them to chairs or beams; he was very fond of gagging them too, stuffing their mouths with all sorts of nasty stuff.”
Wilhelm looked at the effect his tale was producing. He had planned on some silly fairy tale with the King of the Butterflies, but he knew this story would be much more effective. The yellow stamen was turgid; could it become even more so?
“But one day, this evil Simon got caught by three friends who decided it was time he would get a taste of his own medicine. They lured him into the woods. Simon, not being too bright, agreed, and wouldn’t you know it, he’d hardly set foot into the forest that he was trussed to a tree. He couldn’t make a sound, he couldn’t move at all. They’d left him there so he could ponder over improving and becoming kinder, but soon, a lumberjack found Simon tied to his tree. START!”
Without interrupting his tale, Wilhelm had given life to the ‘butterflies’, setting them in motion with a jerky hand, and had them come closer to the flower. Tens of small pieces of satin and silk were now brushing over the sheath that his penis was stretching considerably.
“The lumberjack decided he would take Simon to his little house in the woods, where he would have fun in all sorts of ways. It is so much fun to fondle a bound and gagged boy’s butt…”
The spasms Simon went through echoed those of his whole body. His wail, some intense bellowing, was strong.
“Golly, Simon, you’re not getting any better. That’s barely five seconds!’
“Mmmm…”
His cock was deflating slightly, the end having been flooded, with some liquid already coming through to form a drop. Wilhelm looked miffed.
“All that work for this? I’ll give you another chance, so I get to improve on my puppeteer skills.”
Wilhelm got two other ‘flowers’ from his bag. One was red, the other was green. He laid them down over a patch of thick grass. Turning towards Simon’s wrapped member, he grabbed the ‘petals’ and pulled upwards cautiously. As he removed the silk sheath, he wiped Simon’s cock; he took his time once he’d reached the tip and collected all the liquid that had erupted from the ‘stamen’.
Once he’d thoroughly cleaned Simon’s sex, Wilhelm put the tainted sheath down and picked up the red one. He caressed the underside of Simon’s penis with the tip of his index finger. He tested out a story where Simon was released by boy scouts. Boy scouts worked better than lumberjacks when it came to arousing Simon.
“The lumberjack leaves this naughty Simon bound to a tree, so wild animals may have a go at it too. But it’s not a wolf or a tiger Simon sees coming. It’s three Cub Scouts, with a big grin on their faces. They release him from the tree, only to bind him in lots of rope and put him in a hogtie on the little cart they pull along.”
Wilhelm took his time, went for another ‘start!’, a flick of his wrist bringing the butterflies to life; it took fifty seconds of the silky caresses and of Wilhelm’s nasty story before he was shaking like a leaf and filling the second cock sheath with his seed again.
A third try could be attempted once the ‘flower’ had been changed. The story went on, with Simon staked out on the ground, and having the three younger boys sit on him and tease him with taunts and various ordeals. This time, Simon almost went beyond a minute.
“Tsk, tsk, Simon, you’re really hopeless. Fifty-eight seconds! You lose again. I guess I’ll let you rest a few minutes before lunch.”
Once he’d checked Simon was still properly restrained, his captor took his now empty rucksack and went to get the stuff he’d left a few feet away.
“Time for lunch,” Wilhelm cheered.
“Mmmph,” Simon approved.
His head was freed, the pieces of fishing line being swiftly cut with a knife. Wilhelm then removed the scarf and the half-mask. Before he removed the tape sealing his lips, Wilhelm took a water bottle. With one hand, he peeled off the tape, and presented the palm of his hand; Simon opened his mouth wide and after a little pushing with his tongue, the big block of rubber-covered casting plopped out and dropped into Wilhelm’s hands, with threads of saliva dribbling down.
Wilhelm didn’t wait to give Simon a drink, as the bottle was brought to his lips almost simultaneously. He didn’t tip the bottle too much, so Simon could take his time drinking. Once Simon had swallowed the water, Wilhelm clamped his left hand over the empty mouth.
“You’ve proved how little self-control you have. This tells me I have more work to do with you before you become perfectly obedient. For instance, let me pick you some nice dessert.”
Simon’s mouth was uncovered, but trying to call out for help was more likely to attract further punishment than help. It didn’t last long, Wilhelm having rushed to gather the three ‘flowers’ Simon had soaked with his seed. He took his time to pack them in his young prisoner’s mouth, filling every nook and cranny. The half-mask was added, ensuring Simon would keep chewing on the sperm-coated sheaths for a while.
The white scarf with the big oval rubber patch glued inside was plastered over Simon’s lower face to reinforce the set-up; it was tightly knotted at the nape of his neck, the ends being made into a flourishing bow rather than being tied to the trunk.
“Hmmmm!”
“I’d love to keep you trussed up to your tree, but I don’t think it’s very safe to stay here too long; I’d bet high on this man having left not to return, but let us not take any risk. And as good boy scouts, we will leave no sign of our coming.”
The process Wilhelm had followed one hour before was performed in reverse. It only took ten minutes before Simon could walk again: his rucksack was over his shoulders, his limbs were restrained; his gag had been left untouched, but for the big bow over his neck to prevent the long ends of the cotton bandage to trail on the ground.
“This is very cute. I wouldn’t want such a cute little cub scout to be abandoned, and I can think of tons of scout games that will be both entertaining and educational for such a pretty little poppet.”
Part 3
The little duo went on exploring the woods around the cottage Wilhelm kept Simon captive in. Simon sported a fancy cub scout uniform, his rucksack was a restraint for his arms and Wilhelm had kept him gagged with a huge shape of plaster filling his mouth and elaborate headgear to look like a rather prissy cub scout.
After ten minutes of walking in silence, Simon was completely lost. His captor had gotten to know the woods like the back of his hand; he had no choice but trust him for direction. He could also trust him to have something more in store. The hypnotic rhythm of Wilhelm’s pace soon had him drift away in his fantasy world again; he was at the hands of boy scouts again, and the one who was towering over him as he’d had his limbs staked to the ground started taunting him. Then it was Wilhelm as a boy scout telling him about an initiation, and wondering if he can get a badge for knot tying.
The spell was broken when the muscular buttocks stopped rolling under the thin layer of calfskin. They’d arrived at the planned destination. Time to find out what Wilhelm’s wickedly playful mind had cooked up.
Wilhelm bent down to tighten the knee hobble.
“You don’t need to walk around while I explain the rules. I thought we could play a typical cub scout game. So I’ve organized a scavenger hunt for you. I need to equip you with a collecting tool first.”
“A scavenger collects rubbish. A scavenger is also an animal who feeds on carrion. I like this definition better. Since I don’t have carrion around and don’t feel much like finding those that lie in these woods, I have replaced rotting flesh with the smelliest equivalent I could think of. You’re going to gather dirty laundry.”
Simon’s eyes opened wide.
“Yes, you now realize why you didn’t have laundry duty last Thursday. As I was saying, the collecting tool. I didn’t have to think too long to come up with an idea. For a cub, he should use his snout to find the treasures I leave him.”
The “snout” came up in Wilhelm’s hands. It was a triangular brown leather shape, with two big nostrils cut in the part that was below the nose, and a small hook sewn to it at the tip of the nose. The hook was round, with its end bent outside. Once this ‘snout’ had been put over Simon’s nose, the two grey laces attached to its sides were knotted behind his head. Wilhelm tested the set-up; it held fast. None of the items weighed much anyway.
“So, it’s a very basic game. See the area in front of us? The playing field is all the way to this fallen tree over there on the left, and the big boulder, the lighter one, over there on the right. And the path back behind? These are the limits. I’m first going to blindfold you while I go set up the messages and the items to collect. I will leave five notes to be found in the perimeter, giving indications to find the clothing items. They won’t be particularly concealed. They all have a D-ring clipped on so you can pick them up with this fine snout of yours. Once you find a piece of clothing, you have to bring it back here and put it in one of two piles: my clothes and yours. You’ll have to use your nose too, for you might not have been aware, but I’ve worn some of your underwear last week. The ‘snout’ has been thought with such a mission in mind.”
Simon’s mind was reeling with the dullness and the complexity of the planned activity. Wilhelm had him sit on a log, swiftly tying up his ankles with a few turns of white rope. Jumping behind, he leaned over Simon’s shoulder and reached for the gold and blue silk triangle; he removed the leather ring, which he put in his pocket, and unfolded the scarf, only to fold it again into a thick 2-inch strip of silk. It was placed across his eyes, and as he gradually tightened it, Wilhelm whispered, “I won’t be long, just relax for a few minutes.”
That’s just how our young escape artist did, sitting on the log while he could hear Wilhelm running around. After ten or fifteen minutes trying to guess where Wilhelm actually was, he could smell his captor at his sides again. The blindfold was lifted, and one of its end stuck at the back of his shorts.
“A little bunny tail, hey?” Wilhelm smiled. “Before I give you the start, I’ll set the stakes. Not getting the dirty old man to free you has gotten you to face a night in the gibbet cage. You know me, inflicting such a lengthy and strenuous treatment hurts me more than it hurts you. I’ll be kind, once again, and make you an offer. This game is well within your grasp. There’s no trick, a little stamina and attention should allow you to win. If you win, then I’ll cut the sentence in half, and you’ll spend only two hours in the gibbet cage after dinner. In the unlikely case you lose, you won’t get out from the cage until noon tomorrow. You’ve got one hour to fulfil your mission. Have fun.”
Simon moaned. He wasn’t actually expected to agree with the offer. Wilhelm only made offers he couldn’t refuse anyway… He got to his feet, his ankles freed, and he got searching. Before he even found one of the clues, he spotted a woollen sock hung in a bush at chest level. He came close to it, the heavy load behind his back forcing him to move cautiously. He moved his neck until he’d gotten the hook of his snout through the ring Wilhelm had clipped at the toes of the sock solidly.
Once he had a good grasp of the smelly garment (definitely Wilhelm’s, Simon couldn’t mistake the smell), he tip-toed back to the “base”, where Wilhelm, sitting on the freed log had laid two big silk scarves on the ground. “My stuff goes on the left, on the red scarf, yours on the blue one.”
Simon came forward. He slowly kneeled, and let the sock drop; he had to shake his head a little, but the sock landed right in the middle of the red scarf.
“Good job, but there are more items to gather, so don’t lose any time.”
Simon went back to exploring the area in search of clues, socks and underwear.
He found one of the clues a few yards away from where the sock was. A note card was pinned to a tree. “Simon briefs grow on a holly bush.” He searched, and spotted the holly. There were two pairs of briefs in them, and he picked them up delicately with the tip of his little hook. He was glad he’d kept his balance and not landed head first in the thorny bush. The four minutes it took him to get back to base allowed him to enjoy his briefs smell. The clips were all fixed so the smelliest part of the garment would be just under the holes cut in the leather, and he breathed in his own briefs smells, which he didn’t mind this much. He shook his head merrily to drop the dirty underwear on his pile.
Simon got into the groove, but it wasn’t much fun. He spotted the “trick” items easily, some black nylon undies that he wore but that smelled of Wilhelm. One of the penis sheaths, too, could be his but had obviously been worn and soiled by his captor too.
The clues were not very useful, since the items weren’t really purloined; one of them stated that there were twenty-two items, which meant he would be done once he’d have brought a last sock, actually one of his he’d kept on for four days as he’d been kept in the hidden cellar ten days previous. It was hanging from a branch at face level; the most difficult part of the task was to stand the strong smell his feet had developed in the ankle boots Wilhelm had him wear most days since he’d arrived.
As he was fiddling around trying, and eventually succeeding in, picking up the cheesy sock with his snout, he noticed something he hadn’t noticed before. As he’d gone on his ‘scavenger hunt’, he’d noticed why Wilhelm had chosen this location as a playing field. There was a ditch surrounding two-thirds of the location, and thick underbrush blocked the way over the rest of the area that had been indicated. There was nowhere to escape. But… In this underbrush, ten feet away from where Simon’s stock hung, there seemed to be a way between two trees, leading outside the perimeter that he was supposed to stay in. Looking behind, he couldn’t see Simon sitting on his log. If he made up his mind, it had to be now.
He boldly stepped forward; he slipped between the trees; he was rewarded by the sight of a well-drawn path. He rejoiced, for this could make it easier to walk without stepping on a twig or breaking a branch. Right now, still preceded by his sock just in front of his face, spreading its rank fragrances an inch from his nostrils, he moved forward very cautiously, not wanting to make a noise. The path twisted around a bit, but he followed it anyway, casting frequent glances over his shoulder to see if Wilhelm had noticed he’d escaped and had gone after him. Step by step, little by little, he was making a successful escape.
“I have covered enough ground to have put some distance between Wilhelm and me. I should run now…”
His knees being hobbled with a chain a little over a foot between them, he could not really be considered running; but compared to his common immobility since he was with Wilhelm, he was breaking speed records. His lengthened steps slowly got him to realize that he could actually get free if he managed to find his way back to more crowded parts.
A hand grabbing his shoulder had any hope for freedom vanish instantly.
“Where were you, Simon? I’ve been waiting for you!”
As he looked around, Simon saw he was at the ‘base’. The winding path he’d found had taken him straight back to Wilhelm.
“Go and get this last sock over your pile…”
Simon did.
“Oh, shucks, Simon! I’m sorry, but you’re two minutes late. I can’t rule you the winner. It’s really too bad…”
“Mmmmphmmbbblll!!”
“No reason to get rude, I’m not the one who lost. It’s high time for lunch, let me make you comfortable so I can feed this little mouth of yours,” Wilhelm said as he dragged towards a tree. “A beech, not crooked, and look, it grows its own ropes!”
Eight ropes encircled the trunk; a clove hitch in the middle tied them to the trunk; the ends had been rolled and tied together so they wouldn’t get tangled. The prisoner was slightly more reluctant than in the morning, so the captor had to be more forceful. And eventually Simon, once rid of his rucksack, got the tree tie treatment.
The escape artist was confused by what was happening to him. He didn’t feel as desperate as he’d been before when being caught again. What had happened earlier on in the day should have made him feel like a helpless victim. Nevertheless, it made him feel like everything was customary. Being under Wilhelm’s supervision was his new normal. He tried to fight this feeling, and meekly writhed around to break free from his restraints.
“Do you really want to escape?” Wilhelm asked as he tightened the ropes. “This is useless, and you know it. I’m going to leave you tied to your tree for a couple hours so you may reflect on what disobedience entails. If you behave, you’ll get a very special hug this evening when I have you back to the lodge.”
As Wilhelm fixed his head to the tree trunk, Simon fantasized on what the hug entailed . His cock grew solid, as his mind drifted off to a strange world where what had happened to him on that day mixed with his most intimate fancies.
The end.
Keeping the Birds at Bay
A Simon and Wilhelm Adventure
Part 1 – Orchard of Opportunities
Spring was slowly turning into a glorious summer. Simon didn’t get to enjoy much of the seasons changing; he’d been snatched from his caravan a few months previous. His old nemesis Wilhelm had hatched a Simon kidnapping plot for years, literally; he’d been intent to ‘acquire’ Simon for three years, ever since he’d met the young escape artist at his younger brother’s birthday party, back in Kansas. Stilo the Magician and his assistant Simon had been hired to perform for the tens of kids who had been invited in the large, expensive estate of Wilhelm’s family.
This had been the first real, long-term kidnapping of Wilhelm’s. The blonde, handsome boy of German descent was in fact obsessed with restraining and silencing boys, and keeping them under his strict supervision for days on end. The magician’s assistant also had an escape artistry number; Wilhelm had requested a demonstration after the show. Stilo was afflicted by a condition that had him go crazy when exposed to cigar smoke. This had been an extraordinary opportunity for Wilhelm. Stilo had had a breakdown while Simon was tightly trussed to a tree, and not with the tricked rope that had to be used for this number to work.
This is how the redheaded escape artist had spent three days and two nights in the teen’s claws. Hidden in a garden shed or in the attic, he’d had a demonstration of first-rate knotting skills. Eventually, Wilhelm’s misdeed had been noticed by his father. A rescue team had found Simon, at the very moment he’d been able to extract himself from a stringent ball-tie: Wilhelm had missed a knot so the young escape artist managed to extract himself from the large game bag Wilhelm had put him in, along with dirty laundry.
They weren’t in Kansas anymore; Wilhelm had been committed to a mental institution, from which he’d escaped after a few months. He had travelled east, getting quaint jobs and running the occasional low-key kidnapping here and there. He’d promised himself never to get caught again, and he always acted with utter care, targeting victims he knew would bring comfortable ransoms for minimum toil.
He was able to board a liner that went from New York to Southampton. A change of continent would diminish the risk of being caught and sent back to the loony bin again. The distance he put between himself and Simon didn’t cause Wilhelm’s obsession with the ginger Houdini to dwindle. Long nights were spent imagining Simon’s body under the constraint of his bonds, and he could hear in his head the droning sound of Simon’s attempts at calling for help, stifled by the mouth packing inside his mouth, his lips well sealed with tape.
When he’d read in papers that Simon would tour Europe, including England, his long-hatched plan had to be enacted. Wilhelm had done odd jobs for tailor, carpenters and leather craftsmen. Having also put his abductor talent to good use, he’d secured enough money to buy a little cottage in a secluded part of the countryside, in the woods, which he’d fitted out with Simon as a permanent guest in mind.
The cellar had been a major reason for his purchase, but he’d made sure he could keep Simon inside the house, so he would be his live-in maid also. He loved binding boys, but using them to be rid of chores had to be attempted, provided he restrained them well enough that all they could do was perform according to his will.
Abducting Simon had gone incredibly smoothly, and the months he had now spent with the fifteen-year-old entertainer had satisfied him beyond all expectations. Having a cute doll to bind and gag was a big thrill, and playing tricks on him was ever renewed fun. While keeping him trussed up most of the time, there were always these nice little intimate moments they shared, when he attended his most basic physiological needs, and it now went a little bit beyond this, with what Wilhelm deemed cuddling. He also loved getting his captive close to people while in tight bondage, getting him to believe he could be freed if he managed to alert them to his plea. Then Simon’s hopes were routinely crushed by the clever ways Wilhelm had to deceive.
Having pulled a few pranks that had been resounding successes in his eyes, Wilhelm had been concocting a new one that could be a lot of fun too.
The blonde young man spent some time outside the cottage; he kept a low profile, but he had to buy supplies, and he still was on the lookout for kidnapping opportunities. Trying to get a ransom for a local boy had to be done very cautiously, considering he was also a local now. Gathering information discreetly in pubs or at stores occupied him quite a bit.
A couple weeks earlier, as he was running errands, Wilhelm noticed scarecrows had been set up in a cherry tree orchard. As the cherries would ripen soon, they had to be protected from birds once they’d reach maturity. Three ten-foot high posts had been planted in the ground, with rather refined mannequins hung from the top; a horizontal bar was acting as spread arms, and they wore clothes that flapped in the wind.
There was a hedge, four to five feet high, and the scarecrows were ten yards away from the road at the most. Wilhelm passed his way, but the following day he made a detour when he came back from the store to assess if having Simon pose as one of the scarecrows could be done. He had obtained a crucial piece of information that made him want to pull his prank quite soon; there was a cross-country race on Saturday, ten days in the future. It was a traditional local event that had to do with some religious occasion; Wilhelm had been aware of it, as he was of all local festivities, so it was easier to blend in; he couldn’t believe it when he looked at the posted announcement in the post-office. The loop the racers had to run on passed on the very road from which he’d seen the scarecrows.
Wilhelm checked cautiously no one was near when he got to the orchard. He opened the gate and went to see one of the scarecrows from up close. The posts had been embedded in blocks of concrete, so they had maximum stability. There was a large hook planted on top of the posts to thread the rope that held the mannequins dangling down.
This was enough information for Wilhelm. His little plan could work with minimal effort, at least on the construction side. He had to time the event properly, and prepare one of his twists, quite well-known from Simon, that would make the whole endeavour worth the young abductor’s efforts.
Wilhelm had planned for five days. He had concealed some building material in the hawthorn hedge, on the orchard’s side. The farmer who owned it was rather old and didn’t have much help, so he felt quite sure no one would find them before he’d need them.
In the cottage, Wilhelm acted as casually as possible. He even relaxed the stringent discipline Simon was submitted to. The ginger was now a young man, and his habit of wearing skimpy briefs enabled Wilhelm to see how he physically displayed his taste for Wilhelm’s ministrations. This was one more weapon Wilhelm used; by now, Simon knew that obedience could yield some intimate caresses that got him hard as a rock until he spilled his juice.
The three days leading to the weekend were mild. Simon spent only three hours in the gibbet cage and eight bound to a post total. He was shackled to do chores most of the time. Truth be told, despite the humiliation at being treated as a servant, his domestic activities were usually a relief, both for body and mind.
He relished, to his utter shame, having to sexually service Wilhelm. He was made to kneel in front of his kidnapper, hands cuffed in front, and he had to pleasure him with his fingers. Sometimes Simon fantasized he would have his gag removed and he would be made to use his tongue, but Wilhelm remained inflexible on keeping him muzzled at all times.
On that Saturday morning, Simon was hogtied in Wilhelm’s bed. This had happened before, though it wasn’t this common; Simon had also been fondled and milked three times, which wasn’t usual. It was the middle of the night rather than the morning; as Wilhelm released his captive from his hogtie and shackled him, Simon saw it was still dark outside. Under this latitude and at this time of the year, dawn came early. He wondered what this could be about. Wilhelm liked staying in bed late, especially at weekends.
The routine feeding and hygiene activities were quickly performed. Then came the dressing up: this time, it would be minimal. The day was likely to be warm, so Wilhelm decided against too many layers. The skimpy blue silk briefs would be most adapted for his try-out. They were elegant, incredibly shiny so as to really display Simon’s toned body and enhance the round curves of his bum, and make the package in front quite telling of Simon having long ago entered puberty. He then put him in long white stockings that went above the knees, and his black leather shoes. For the walk, he had a black rubber cape that would make them difficult to spot in the dark, that he put on Simon once he’d set a rucksack over his shoulders.
Wilhelm was dressed in a dark tweed suit, and he had a dark hat that concealed his blond, fair hair. Simon knew something was up from the beginning, but having his collar and leash put on definitely meant they were going outside. Simon knew from his church outings to his being left trussed up to a tree to be found by a lecherous lumberjack, that there would be some more of Wilhelm’s shenanigans. Yet, it could also turn into an opportunity for escape. Wilhelm liked danger, and he would be overplaying his hand at some point, this Simon was sure of.
For now though, with his arms tightly bound behind his back, his forearms cruelly pulled against each other by ropes that united them from wrists to elbows, he would have to comply with Wilhelm’s demands.
Protesting was out of the question; his mouth was filled to the brim with a huge ball of silk that had gathered the semen from both young men many, many times. Tape sealed his lips, and a black silk scarf covered his lower face from under his eyes to well below his chin. He couldn’t help but try out how effective this was; once again, no word could be heard.
Once he was ensconced in the strong smelling rain garment, there was no way Simon could only hope to have a try at running away. Wilhelm had a complete mastery of walking his bound captive at the end of a leash, and his expert tugging prevented the boy from straying in the least.
Wilhelm knew the paths over a five-mile radius around the cottage like the back of his hand, and he could evolve in the quasi darkness. Simon followed him obediently. Wilhelm didn’t talk this time, as they had to walk near farms and houses and he didn’t want to be spotted. He kept the necessary amount of tension on the leash to guide his captive through the darkness.
After twenty minutes of this quiet progression, they got at the orchard’s gate. Wilhelm opened it. He had Simon move forward a few yards before he had him stop. He removed the cape and took of the rucksack off Simon’s back once he’d unbuckled the straps passing below Simon’s armpits.; He pulled a few pieces of his favourite white cotton rope to wrap Simon’s legs at knees, ankles and at the top of his thighs. Even with the faintest of glow from the moon and stars, and the very little light coming from the horizon, towards the east, Wilhelm could bind Simon’s legs tightly and without a single flaw in the tightening and the knots.
He stood up and headed to the hole in the hedge where he had carefully concealed his equipment. The closest object was a storm lantern, which he brought along with a large game bag and a pole. He lit up the lantern, turning towards his captive. He wasn’t tired of having a view of the helpless Simon, in nothing but his charming briefs, white socks and black shoes, wrapped in rope and heavily gagged, in a middle of a meadow at night.
“We’re a bit further from any human being here; it’s time you get to know what entertaining plans I have for you.”
“Mmph?”
After all these weeks, Simon still graced Wilhelm with gag talk.
“This little town –that has welcomed me as one of its new citizens– happens to have an annual race this week; it’s a tradition that dates back decades. The race happens to pass on the road we came by. I thought it would be nice if you could see it too. You don’t get much distraction, and being outdoors and getting to see people making efforts could be inspirational for you.”
Simon knew of his keeper’s treachery. He had to brace as he was to find out about some new scheme Wilhelm had in store.
“You’ll have a first class sight from where I am going to put you.”
Wilhelm grabbed a pole and a large bag; he had Simon hop towards the scarecrow that was in the middle. He brought the lantern with him. It cast its flickering flame’s faint light on the straw man hung to his pole.
“I think you’ll make a wonderful scarecrow, my sweet redhead. Rest assured I’ll try my best to have you look like a real scarecrow. Immobility is a key feature of these lifeless beings, so what about you emulating them. By the way, have you ever heard a scarecrow yell to get the birds to go away? You haven’t, have you? If you want to be like them, I need to gag you quite tightly so you’re as silent as these dummies.”
Simon had grown acquainted with Wilhelm’s twisted logic; he always had excellent reasons to bind and gag him tightly. And even when he had no cause to do so, he did it anyway.
“As you and I’ve more or less become pole-tie experts, Simon, we’ll rely on this well-mastered technique. Then I need to add arms, clothing and you will be the genuine thing!”
A Simon and Wilhelm Adventure
Part 1 – Orchard of Opportunities
Spring was slowly turning into a glorious summer. Simon didn’t get to enjoy much of the seasons changing; he’d been snatched from his caravan a few months previous. His old nemesis Wilhelm had hatched a Simon kidnapping plot for years, literally; he’d been intent to ‘acquire’ Simon for three years, ever since he’d met the young escape artist at his younger brother’s birthday party, back in Kansas. Stilo the Magician and his assistant Simon had been hired to perform for the tens of kids who had been invited in the large, expensive estate of Wilhelm’s family.
This had been the first real, long-term kidnapping of Wilhelm’s. The blonde, handsome boy of German descent was in fact obsessed with restraining and silencing boys, and keeping them under his strict supervision for days on end. The magician’s assistant also had an escape artistry number; Wilhelm had requested a demonstration after the show. Stilo was afflicted by a condition that had him go crazy when exposed to cigar smoke. This had been an extraordinary opportunity for Wilhelm. Stilo had had a breakdown while Simon was tightly trussed to a tree, and not with the tricked rope that had to be used for this number to work.
This is how the redheaded escape artist had spent three days and two nights in the teen’s claws. Hidden in a garden shed or in the attic, he’d had a demonstration of first-rate knotting skills. Eventually, Wilhelm’s misdeed had been noticed by his father. A rescue team had found Simon, at the very moment he’d been able to extract himself from a stringent ball-tie: Wilhelm had missed a knot so the young escape artist managed to extract himself from the large game bag Wilhelm had put him in, along with dirty laundry.
They weren’t in Kansas anymore; Wilhelm had been committed to a mental institution, from which he’d escaped after a few months. He had travelled east, getting quaint jobs and running the occasional low-key kidnapping here and there. He’d promised himself never to get caught again, and he always acted with utter care, targeting victims he knew would bring comfortable ransoms for minimum toil.
He was able to board a liner that went from New York to Southampton. A change of continent would diminish the risk of being caught and sent back to the loony bin again. The distance he put between himself and Simon didn’t cause Wilhelm’s obsession with the ginger Houdini to dwindle. Long nights were spent imagining Simon’s body under the constraint of his bonds, and he could hear in his head the droning sound of Simon’s attempts at calling for help, stifled by the mouth packing inside his mouth, his lips well sealed with tape.
When he’d read in papers that Simon would tour Europe, including England, his long-hatched plan had to be enacted. Wilhelm had done odd jobs for tailor, carpenters and leather craftsmen. Having also put his abductor talent to good use, he’d secured enough money to buy a little cottage in a secluded part of the countryside, in the woods, which he’d fitted out with Simon as a permanent guest in mind.
The cellar had been a major reason for his purchase, but he’d made sure he could keep Simon inside the house, so he would be his live-in maid also. He loved binding boys, but using them to be rid of chores had to be attempted, provided he restrained them well enough that all they could do was perform according to his will.
Abducting Simon had gone incredibly smoothly, and the months he had now spent with the fifteen-year-old entertainer had satisfied him beyond all expectations. Having a cute doll to bind and gag was a big thrill, and playing tricks on him was ever renewed fun. While keeping him trussed up most of the time, there were always these nice little intimate moments they shared, when he attended his most basic physiological needs, and it now went a little bit beyond this, with what Wilhelm deemed cuddling. He also loved getting his captive close to people while in tight bondage, getting him to believe he could be freed if he managed to alert them to his plea. Then Simon’s hopes were routinely crushed by the clever ways Wilhelm had to deceive.
Having pulled a few pranks that had been resounding successes in his eyes, Wilhelm had been concocting a new one that could be a lot of fun too.
The blonde young man spent some time outside the cottage; he kept a low profile, but he had to buy supplies, and he still was on the lookout for kidnapping opportunities. Trying to get a ransom for a local boy had to be done very cautiously, considering he was also a local now. Gathering information discreetly in pubs or at stores occupied him quite a bit.
A couple weeks earlier, as he was running errands, Wilhelm noticed scarecrows had been set up in a cherry tree orchard. As the cherries would ripen soon, they had to be protected from birds once they’d reach maturity. Three ten-foot high posts had been planted in the ground, with rather refined mannequins hung from the top; a horizontal bar was acting as spread arms, and they wore clothes that flapped in the wind.
There was a hedge, four to five feet high, and the scarecrows were ten yards away from the road at the most. Wilhelm passed his way, but the following day he made a detour when he came back from the store to assess if having Simon pose as one of the scarecrows could be done. He had obtained a crucial piece of information that made him want to pull his prank quite soon; there was a cross-country race on Saturday, ten days in the future. It was a traditional local event that had to do with some religious occasion; Wilhelm had been aware of it, as he was of all local festivities, so it was easier to blend in; he couldn’t believe it when he looked at the posted announcement in the post-office. The loop the racers had to run on passed on the very road from which he’d seen the scarecrows.
Wilhelm checked cautiously no one was near when he got to the orchard. He opened the gate and went to see one of the scarecrows from up close. The posts had been embedded in blocks of concrete, so they had maximum stability. There was a large hook planted on top of the posts to thread the rope that held the mannequins dangling down.
This was enough information for Wilhelm. His little plan could work with minimal effort, at least on the construction side. He had to time the event properly, and prepare one of his twists, quite well-known from Simon, that would make the whole endeavour worth the young abductor’s efforts.
Wilhelm had planned for five days. He had concealed some building material in the hawthorn hedge, on the orchard’s side. The farmer who owned it was rather old and didn’t have much help, so he felt quite sure no one would find them before he’d need them.
In the cottage, Wilhelm acted as casually as possible. He even relaxed the stringent discipline Simon was submitted to. The ginger was now a young man, and his habit of wearing skimpy briefs enabled Wilhelm to see how he physically displayed his taste for Wilhelm’s ministrations. This was one more weapon Wilhelm used; by now, Simon knew that obedience could yield some intimate caresses that got him hard as a rock until he spilled his juice.
The three days leading to the weekend were mild. Simon spent only three hours in the gibbet cage and eight bound to a post total. He was shackled to do chores most of the time. Truth be told, despite the humiliation at being treated as a servant, his domestic activities were usually a relief, both for body and mind.
He relished, to his utter shame, having to sexually service Wilhelm. He was made to kneel in front of his kidnapper, hands cuffed in front, and he had to pleasure him with his fingers. Sometimes Simon fantasized he would have his gag removed and he would be made to use his tongue, but Wilhelm remained inflexible on keeping him muzzled at all times.
On that Saturday morning, Simon was hogtied in Wilhelm’s bed. This had happened before, though it wasn’t this common; Simon had also been fondled and milked three times, which wasn’t usual. It was the middle of the night rather than the morning; as Wilhelm released his captive from his hogtie and shackled him, Simon saw it was still dark outside. Under this latitude and at this time of the year, dawn came early. He wondered what this could be about. Wilhelm liked staying in bed late, especially at weekends.
The routine feeding and hygiene activities were quickly performed. Then came the dressing up: this time, it would be minimal. The day was likely to be warm, so Wilhelm decided against too many layers. The skimpy blue silk briefs would be most adapted for his try-out. They were elegant, incredibly shiny so as to really display Simon’s toned body and enhance the round curves of his bum, and make the package in front quite telling of Simon having long ago entered puberty. He then put him in long white stockings that went above the knees, and his black leather shoes. For the walk, he had a black rubber cape that would make them difficult to spot in the dark, that he put on Simon once he’d set a rucksack over his shoulders.
Wilhelm was dressed in a dark tweed suit, and he had a dark hat that concealed his blond, fair hair. Simon knew something was up from the beginning, but having his collar and leash put on definitely meant they were going outside. Simon knew from his church outings to his being left trussed up to a tree to be found by a lecherous lumberjack, that there would be some more of Wilhelm’s shenanigans. Yet, it could also turn into an opportunity for escape. Wilhelm liked danger, and he would be overplaying his hand at some point, this Simon was sure of.
For now though, with his arms tightly bound behind his back, his forearms cruelly pulled against each other by ropes that united them from wrists to elbows, he would have to comply with Wilhelm’s demands.
Protesting was out of the question; his mouth was filled to the brim with a huge ball of silk that had gathered the semen from both young men many, many times. Tape sealed his lips, and a black silk scarf covered his lower face from under his eyes to well below his chin. He couldn’t help but try out how effective this was; once again, no word could be heard.
Once he was ensconced in the strong smelling rain garment, there was no way Simon could only hope to have a try at running away. Wilhelm had a complete mastery of walking his bound captive at the end of a leash, and his expert tugging prevented the boy from straying in the least.
Wilhelm knew the paths over a five-mile radius around the cottage like the back of his hand, and he could evolve in the quasi darkness. Simon followed him obediently. Wilhelm didn’t talk this time, as they had to walk near farms and houses and he didn’t want to be spotted. He kept the necessary amount of tension on the leash to guide his captive through the darkness.
After twenty minutes of this quiet progression, they got at the orchard’s gate. Wilhelm opened it. He had Simon move forward a few yards before he had him stop. He removed the cape and took of the rucksack off Simon’s back once he’d unbuckled the straps passing below Simon’s armpits.; He pulled a few pieces of his favourite white cotton rope to wrap Simon’s legs at knees, ankles and at the top of his thighs. Even with the faintest of glow from the moon and stars, and the very little light coming from the horizon, towards the east, Wilhelm could bind Simon’s legs tightly and without a single flaw in the tightening and the knots.
He stood up and headed to the hole in the hedge where he had carefully concealed his equipment. The closest object was a storm lantern, which he brought along with a large game bag and a pole. He lit up the lantern, turning towards his captive. He wasn’t tired of having a view of the helpless Simon, in nothing but his charming briefs, white socks and black shoes, wrapped in rope and heavily gagged, in a middle of a meadow at night.
“We’re a bit further from any human being here; it’s time you get to know what entertaining plans I have for you.”
“Mmph?”
After all these weeks, Simon still graced Wilhelm with gag talk.
“This little town –that has welcomed me as one of its new citizens– happens to have an annual race this week; it’s a tradition that dates back decades. The race happens to pass on the road we came by. I thought it would be nice if you could see it too. You don’t get much distraction, and being outdoors and getting to see people making efforts could be inspirational for you.”
Simon knew of his keeper’s treachery. He had to brace as he was to find out about some new scheme Wilhelm had in store.
“You’ll have a first class sight from where I am going to put you.”
Wilhelm grabbed a pole and a large bag; he had Simon hop towards the scarecrow that was in the middle. He brought the lantern with him. It cast its flickering flame’s faint light on the straw man hung to his pole.
“I think you’ll make a wonderful scarecrow, my sweet redhead. Rest assured I’ll try my best to have you look like a real scarecrow. Immobility is a key feature of these lifeless beings, so what about you emulating them. By the way, have you ever heard a scarecrow yell to get the birds to go away? You haven’t, have you? If you want to be like them, I need to gag you quite tightly so you’re as silent as these dummies.”
Simon had grown acquainted with Wilhelm’s twisted logic; he always had excellent reasons to bind and gag him tightly. And even when he had no cause to do so, he did it anyway.
“As you and I’ve more or less become pole-tie experts, Simon, we’ll rely on this well-mastered technique. Then I need to add arms, clothing and you will be the genuine thing!”
Part 2 – Pole Position
Simon didn’t see the entire scene quite clearly; he wondered how Wilhelm would get him as high as the mannequin, the feet of which arrived at Simon’s chest level. He soon had the answer to his untold question as Wilhelm fetched a ladder from the pile of things he had left in the hedge. He then pointed to the pole he’d first brought. There were ropes wrapped around it and coiled so as not to intertwine. They were at the strategic places not only to encircle Simon on one side; the ropes all had their shorter twin that would be used to fix the pole to the big scarecrow post. This had been the easiest way Wilhelm had thought he could do this.
“I’ll tie you to this piece of wood and then I’ll haul you up there. Let me start by bringing your new friend down from his observation post. Don’t worry; he won’t be jealous that you take his place…”
Wilhelm set the ladder against the pole and climbed with a knife and a piece of rope in hand. He cut the thin rope that was tied to the hook at the top of the post and the mass of straw crashed to the floor, sending straw flying all over. With Wilhelm busy on his ladder, it could have been an opportunity to escape; but in the dark and with his legs bound as they were, Simon would be caught back quite soon. Wilhelm was down and at his sides even before he’d made a decision, embracing him from behind.
“You were thinking of escaping, little devil, weren’t you? You made a smart choice not to even try. I had my eye on you the whole time, and I had set the penalty for trying at three days inside the gibbet cage.
He then seized the rod with its ropes. He put it behind Simon. The pole tie, whether to the dining room beam or to the stone pillar in the cellar was almost a daily occurrence at the cottage. There was no surprise from Wilhelm’s guest as to what would happen next.
He first untied Simon’s arms, locking his wrists behind his back. Handcuffs weren’t much fun, but they were convenient when you were in a hurry to change your prisoner’s position. He slid the pole between Simon’s arms, having it rest from the back of his head to his ankles. He brought the longest coils of rope forward first, surrounding Simon at familiar heights. All his joints were concerned; once pulled back tightly against the pole, it became much more difficult to twitch and slide out of the bonds.
Wilhelm next reinforced the first turns of rope with more bits linking them; it made it even tighter. While weaving this criss-crossing, he managed to leave the shorter coils that had still not been unfolded accessible. Simon still had his pride, and he noticed that there was a chance to get the ropes around his chest to fall down after working them a little as he had been trained to do.
Wilhelm brought the storm lantern closer, casting a clearer glow over the binding scene; he could almost have done this in the dark, as he kneaded and prodded here and there to feel if everything was fine, not relying much on his sense of sight. He went over the ropes and tightened two of them. The flaw Simon had identified had been corrected.
Wilhelm grabbed Simon from the front in a big hug and lifted him a few feet behind so the pole he had been trussed up to rested against the bigger post that had been rid of his original inhabitant. Picking up the rope dangling from above, he threaded it in a similar hook over the smaller pole. Simon couldn’t quite figure out what was taking place above his head; when all was done and Wilhelm started pulling he understood the general principle even if he couldn’t say much about the details.
Simon’s feet were off the floor as he began his ascension. When his toes were four feet in the air, Wilhelm attached the rope to a hook at the bottom of the scarecrow pole. Wilhelm climbed the ladder to get at Simon’s face level. Dawn had come and shades could be discerned. Wilhelm continued his project by linking closely the two poles and Simon. He laid his hand over the front of the escape artist’s briefs.
“It seems you enjoy being a scarecrow already. Let me make sure you don’t fall.”
The trussing up went on, with Wilhelm using the shorter lengths that had been clove-hitched to the pole to fix it to the bigger post.
Wilhelm jumped to the ground and got an important accessory: Simon’s scarecrow head, which he’d designed himself. It was a big ball made to look like a scarecrow’s stuffed head. There was a large hole cut in front, but a thin layer of muslin was wrapped all around the head; it allowed its wearer to see through the thin material, though obviously it made the sight a bit blurry. Wilhelm showed it to Simon.
“You’re going to look just like a scarecrow. I just wonder if the screen does much for muffling boys trying to call for help, so let me fit you with a better gag.”
He climbed the ladder again, this time with the inflatable rubber pear and the kid leather half mask Simon had worn countless times. These would limit the sounds the gagged boy could produce. It was also part of the challenge. Wilhelm didn’t mind a faint hum to be heard from a few feet away.
Wilhelm fetched the fake head. He had used wire to make the head’s frame. Once he’d slid it over Simon’s skull, the cute ginger’s handsome features were concealed.
“You look great like this, but don’t worry: I like your real face better. At least it’ll protect you from the sun. Now for some clothing, I don’t want you to catch a cold.”
He went down again to get a large, old rain coat the same colour as those of the three scarecrows. He passed a long broom handle through the sleeves and went back to his elevated prisoner. The bar went behind the pole at Simon’s shoulders’ height. Once he’d closed the coat in front, it wrapped Simon’s body loosely. Wilhelm had large canvas rectangles that he then used to wrap Simon’s legs in, so it looked just like he was wearing trousers under the coat.
Wilhelm stepped down; he had to wait until it was light enough for him to make another inspection. The bulk of the job had been performed; with Simon, it was always good to check twice; he had ways to wriggle out of bonds that few other humans shared.
In the meantime, he had a rather one-sided conversation with his captive.
“There are eighty people taking part in the race, quite a crowd. Who knows? You could get one of them to see you’re my prisoner. But I highly doubt it. You’re too well gagged. And even if you can get the post to shake a little, they’ll think it’s just the wind blowing in the cherry trees.”
He went on in one of his long conversations with Simon, who didn’t object to what he was told. It had been at least half an hour of the kidnapper’s ramblings when he decided he could see well enough to make his final inspection. Once upon the ladder, Wilhelm went over the whole set of bonds. He even slid a hand under the coat to test Simon’s gag’s effectiveness by twitching his nipples. He had to surprise him to get good results; Simon balked at making much noise, for fear that his gag would be made even heftier if the noise was deemed too loud.
Content with his initial work, Wilhelm stepped down and removed the ladder this time.
“The first passing of runners should be in five to six hours; you have all time to think of a way to have them notice you’re here.”
The wait was long as the sun rose in the sky. It had been a bit chilly, being almost naked under the coat; but soon he was sweating as hours passed and the sunlight relentlessly hit his thick canvas clothing. It had to be mid-morning when he felt sweat trickling down his legs. Simon had once again shifted to ‘total immobility mode’, as he was able to endure the lengthiest and harshest tie-ups thanks to the power of his mind.
Eventually a first group of runners ran by Simon; he saw them coming from afar, blurbs of colour behind the muslin veiling his sight; the small dots grew bigger, now sporting colours and more defined shapes. Simon knew that unless his nose was plugged, he could still make some noise through it. He realized the wind was blowing towards him, as the sight of people approaching got him back to his sense.
The runners passed, by groups of three or four, the sound of steps resounding in the meadow. Yet none of them seemed to have any clue that there was a kidnap victim hidden in plain sight. Simon was at an angle that allowed him to spot them from quite a long distance through the hole in the dummy head. But despite all this observation and careful timing to try to scream at the top of his lungs, Simon saw several groups go by without paying the least attention to him.
Wilhelm had told of eighty runners; soon Simon realized they were doing a loop; he was counting them as they went by, and he was above eighty really soon. The distances between the runners increased as laps went by. At some point, a man stopped in front of the orchard’s gate. Simon could see him tie his shoe laces, crouching down. He gathered as much air as he could in his lungs and yelled all he could. The man seemed startled and turned towards Simon. Simon kept on calling. The man looked in his direction for three seconds; he spun his heel and set in motion again, his steps increasing in speed as they faded away.
There was no other opportunity to try his luck. Simon had stopped counting long ago, and it had to be mid-afternoon when the last of the racers passed in front of him. This was when he heard Wilhelm approaching from behind.
“I came to check on you, Simon, I hope you enjoyed the show? Men freely exercising their bodies, sweating and making big efforts.”
Wilhelm had put the ladder back against the back of the post.
“It seems you’ve been sweating. You might have made efforts too, but then it didn’t pay much…”
Wilhelm lifted the dummy head and hung it to the top of the pole. The leather mask and rubber plug were removed and a canteen was brought to Simon’s lips. This didn’t bode well. Had Wilhelm planned to take him back to the cottage, he wouldn’t have removed his gag. He gulped a quart of lukewarm water from the canteen before Wilhelm took it away.
“Help_ Someone, heeeelpmmmmphmrgmmm…”
“I’m surprised of this little outburst,” Wilhelm said as he shoved the rubber bladder inside Simon’s mouth and pressed on the pump nine times before he removed the nozzle. It started being uncomfortable at seven times. Eight or nine was punishment.
Yet Wilhelm started fondling him through the coat. The effect was immediate.
“The tighter you’re bound, the more cruelly you’re gagged, the harder you get. That’s why I like you, I guess…”
He stopped briefly, to put the dummy head back onto Simon’s.
“This will protect your creamy fair skin from the sun,” he whispered in a tone that was almost friendly. “A last little favour before I let you enjoy the rest of the day here.”
Wilhelm scanned the horizon, to see if anyone was coming; but now the race was over, the traffic was much reduced. Wilhelm seldom met people on that road. The coast was clear. He could unbutton the coat, pull the tails apart to expose Simon’s belly and legs, while pulling down the briefs with his thumbs. Simon’s semi-hard cock hung there, uncertain of its fate.
“As you’re going to be here for a little longer, I’ll let you relieve your bladder. Hurry up, I don’t have all day.”
This wasn’t entirely true, as Wilhelm had stayed very close to Simon the whole time, in case his initial plan had a flaw. Simon knew he had to seize the opportunity; his self-control extended to such matters, and within three seconds a stream of urine was flying down to the meadow’s ground.
“This reminds me of a famous statue there is in Belgium, the Manneken Pis, the little boy who pisses. Except that he’s able to hold his tiny penis, and you aren’t.”
Wilhelm was willing to help out; he reached for Simon’s deflating cock, dripping a few last drops.
“Let me shake it a bit so there’s no pee stain on your high-class underwear.”
The fifth flick of Wilhelm’s wrist caused the penis to straighten up and rise again. In his mind, Wilhelm had bet seven would be needed. He knew he should not underestimate his prisoner…
The hold he had over Simon’s now fully erect cock tightened a little; while keeping an eye on the road to prevent having to handle an unpleasant situation, the pace of Wilhelm’s move increased. He didn’t have his stopwatch, but he was quite certain that it was well under one minute that gobs of semen flew into the wind. The unmistakable wail of Simon reaching orgasm was so deafened by the gag and head gear that Wilhelm himself was extremely aroused. He would save his enthusiasm for the evening, once he’d have Simon back to the cottage.
He pulled the briefs back up, not too worried about the stains this time, as Simon would certainly spend a couple hours prewashing the dainty material with saliva. He buttoned the coat down and stepped down the ladder. He stepped in front of the scarecrow, at a distance where he was certain to be seen.
“I’ll let you fully enjoy this beautiful day, my sweet one. You’ll be more in the shade this afternoon, so you might even enjoy a restful day up your pole.”
He walked away, making sure he was quite well seen exiting the gate. As soon as he was certain Simon could no longer see him, he jumped nimbly over the hawthorn hedge between the road and the orchard, and gained his observation post, fifteen yards to the left of Simon.
Simon didn’t see the entire scene quite clearly; he wondered how Wilhelm would get him as high as the mannequin, the feet of which arrived at Simon’s chest level. He soon had the answer to his untold question as Wilhelm fetched a ladder from the pile of things he had left in the hedge. He then pointed to the pole he’d first brought. There were ropes wrapped around it and coiled so as not to intertwine. They were at the strategic places not only to encircle Simon on one side; the ropes all had their shorter twin that would be used to fix the pole to the big scarecrow post. This had been the easiest way Wilhelm had thought he could do this.
“I’ll tie you to this piece of wood and then I’ll haul you up there. Let me start by bringing your new friend down from his observation post. Don’t worry; he won’t be jealous that you take his place…”
Wilhelm set the ladder against the pole and climbed with a knife and a piece of rope in hand. He cut the thin rope that was tied to the hook at the top of the post and the mass of straw crashed to the floor, sending straw flying all over. With Wilhelm busy on his ladder, it could have been an opportunity to escape; but in the dark and with his legs bound as they were, Simon would be caught back quite soon. Wilhelm was down and at his sides even before he’d made a decision, embracing him from behind.
“You were thinking of escaping, little devil, weren’t you? You made a smart choice not to even try. I had my eye on you the whole time, and I had set the penalty for trying at three days inside the gibbet cage.
He then seized the rod with its ropes. He put it behind Simon. The pole tie, whether to the dining room beam or to the stone pillar in the cellar was almost a daily occurrence at the cottage. There was no surprise from Wilhelm’s guest as to what would happen next.
He first untied Simon’s arms, locking his wrists behind his back. Handcuffs weren’t much fun, but they were convenient when you were in a hurry to change your prisoner’s position. He slid the pole between Simon’s arms, having it rest from the back of his head to his ankles. He brought the longest coils of rope forward first, surrounding Simon at familiar heights. All his joints were concerned; once pulled back tightly against the pole, it became much more difficult to twitch and slide out of the bonds.
Wilhelm next reinforced the first turns of rope with more bits linking them; it made it even tighter. While weaving this criss-crossing, he managed to leave the shorter coils that had still not been unfolded accessible. Simon still had his pride, and he noticed that there was a chance to get the ropes around his chest to fall down after working them a little as he had been trained to do.
Wilhelm brought the storm lantern closer, casting a clearer glow over the binding scene; he could almost have done this in the dark, as he kneaded and prodded here and there to feel if everything was fine, not relying much on his sense of sight. He went over the ropes and tightened two of them. The flaw Simon had identified had been corrected.
Wilhelm grabbed Simon from the front in a big hug and lifted him a few feet behind so the pole he had been trussed up to rested against the bigger post that had been rid of his original inhabitant. Picking up the rope dangling from above, he threaded it in a similar hook over the smaller pole. Simon couldn’t quite figure out what was taking place above his head; when all was done and Wilhelm started pulling he understood the general principle even if he couldn’t say much about the details.
Simon’s feet were off the floor as he began his ascension. When his toes were four feet in the air, Wilhelm attached the rope to a hook at the bottom of the scarecrow pole. Wilhelm climbed the ladder to get at Simon’s face level. Dawn had come and shades could be discerned. Wilhelm continued his project by linking closely the two poles and Simon. He laid his hand over the front of the escape artist’s briefs.
“It seems you enjoy being a scarecrow already. Let me make sure you don’t fall.”
The trussing up went on, with Wilhelm using the shorter lengths that had been clove-hitched to the pole to fix it to the bigger post.
Wilhelm jumped to the ground and got an important accessory: Simon’s scarecrow head, which he’d designed himself. It was a big ball made to look like a scarecrow’s stuffed head. There was a large hole cut in front, but a thin layer of muslin was wrapped all around the head; it allowed its wearer to see through the thin material, though obviously it made the sight a bit blurry. Wilhelm showed it to Simon.
“You’re going to look just like a scarecrow. I just wonder if the screen does much for muffling boys trying to call for help, so let me fit you with a better gag.”
He climbed the ladder again, this time with the inflatable rubber pear and the kid leather half mask Simon had worn countless times. These would limit the sounds the gagged boy could produce. It was also part of the challenge. Wilhelm didn’t mind a faint hum to be heard from a few feet away.
Wilhelm fetched the fake head. He had used wire to make the head’s frame. Once he’d slid it over Simon’s skull, the cute ginger’s handsome features were concealed.
“You look great like this, but don’t worry: I like your real face better. At least it’ll protect you from the sun. Now for some clothing, I don’t want you to catch a cold.”
He went down again to get a large, old rain coat the same colour as those of the three scarecrows. He passed a long broom handle through the sleeves and went back to his elevated prisoner. The bar went behind the pole at Simon’s shoulders’ height. Once he’d closed the coat in front, it wrapped Simon’s body loosely. Wilhelm had large canvas rectangles that he then used to wrap Simon’s legs in, so it looked just like he was wearing trousers under the coat.
Wilhelm stepped down; he had to wait until it was light enough for him to make another inspection. The bulk of the job had been performed; with Simon, it was always good to check twice; he had ways to wriggle out of bonds that few other humans shared.
In the meantime, he had a rather one-sided conversation with his captive.
“There are eighty people taking part in the race, quite a crowd. Who knows? You could get one of them to see you’re my prisoner. But I highly doubt it. You’re too well gagged. And even if you can get the post to shake a little, they’ll think it’s just the wind blowing in the cherry trees.”
He went on in one of his long conversations with Simon, who didn’t object to what he was told. It had been at least half an hour of the kidnapper’s ramblings when he decided he could see well enough to make his final inspection. Once upon the ladder, Wilhelm went over the whole set of bonds. He even slid a hand under the coat to test Simon’s gag’s effectiveness by twitching his nipples. He had to surprise him to get good results; Simon balked at making much noise, for fear that his gag would be made even heftier if the noise was deemed too loud.
Content with his initial work, Wilhelm stepped down and removed the ladder this time.
“The first passing of runners should be in five to six hours; you have all time to think of a way to have them notice you’re here.”
The wait was long as the sun rose in the sky. It had been a bit chilly, being almost naked under the coat; but soon he was sweating as hours passed and the sunlight relentlessly hit his thick canvas clothing. It had to be mid-morning when he felt sweat trickling down his legs. Simon had once again shifted to ‘total immobility mode’, as he was able to endure the lengthiest and harshest tie-ups thanks to the power of his mind.
Eventually a first group of runners ran by Simon; he saw them coming from afar, blurbs of colour behind the muslin veiling his sight; the small dots grew bigger, now sporting colours and more defined shapes. Simon knew that unless his nose was plugged, he could still make some noise through it. He realized the wind was blowing towards him, as the sight of people approaching got him back to his sense.
The runners passed, by groups of three or four, the sound of steps resounding in the meadow. Yet none of them seemed to have any clue that there was a kidnap victim hidden in plain sight. Simon was at an angle that allowed him to spot them from quite a long distance through the hole in the dummy head. But despite all this observation and careful timing to try to scream at the top of his lungs, Simon saw several groups go by without paying the least attention to him.
Wilhelm had told of eighty runners; soon Simon realized they were doing a loop; he was counting them as they went by, and he was above eighty really soon. The distances between the runners increased as laps went by. At some point, a man stopped in front of the orchard’s gate. Simon could see him tie his shoe laces, crouching down. He gathered as much air as he could in his lungs and yelled all he could. The man seemed startled and turned towards Simon. Simon kept on calling. The man looked in his direction for three seconds; he spun his heel and set in motion again, his steps increasing in speed as they faded away.
There was no other opportunity to try his luck. Simon had stopped counting long ago, and it had to be mid-afternoon when the last of the racers passed in front of him. This was when he heard Wilhelm approaching from behind.
“I came to check on you, Simon, I hope you enjoyed the show? Men freely exercising their bodies, sweating and making big efforts.”
Wilhelm had put the ladder back against the back of the post.
“It seems you’ve been sweating. You might have made efforts too, but then it didn’t pay much…”
Wilhelm lifted the dummy head and hung it to the top of the pole. The leather mask and rubber plug were removed and a canteen was brought to Simon’s lips. This didn’t bode well. Had Wilhelm planned to take him back to the cottage, he wouldn’t have removed his gag. He gulped a quart of lukewarm water from the canteen before Wilhelm took it away.
“Help_ Someone, heeeelpmmmmphmrgmmm…”
“I’m surprised of this little outburst,” Wilhelm said as he shoved the rubber bladder inside Simon’s mouth and pressed on the pump nine times before he removed the nozzle. It started being uncomfortable at seven times. Eight or nine was punishment.
Yet Wilhelm started fondling him through the coat. The effect was immediate.
“The tighter you’re bound, the more cruelly you’re gagged, the harder you get. That’s why I like you, I guess…”
He stopped briefly, to put the dummy head back onto Simon’s.
“This will protect your creamy fair skin from the sun,” he whispered in a tone that was almost friendly. “A last little favour before I let you enjoy the rest of the day here.”
Wilhelm scanned the horizon, to see if anyone was coming; but now the race was over, the traffic was much reduced. Wilhelm seldom met people on that road. The coast was clear. He could unbutton the coat, pull the tails apart to expose Simon’s belly and legs, while pulling down the briefs with his thumbs. Simon’s semi-hard cock hung there, uncertain of its fate.
“As you’re going to be here for a little longer, I’ll let you relieve your bladder. Hurry up, I don’t have all day.”
This wasn’t entirely true, as Wilhelm had stayed very close to Simon the whole time, in case his initial plan had a flaw. Simon knew he had to seize the opportunity; his self-control extended to such matters, and within three seconds a stream of urine was flying down to the meadow’s ground.
“This reminds me of a famous statue there is in Belgium, the Manneken Pis, the little boy who pisses. Except that he’s able to hold his tiny penis, and you aren’t.”
Wilhelm was willing to help out; he reached for Simon’s deflating cock, dripping a few last drops.
“Let me shake it a bit so there’s no pee stain on your high-class underwear.”
The fifth flick of Wilhelm’s wrist caused the penis to straighten up and rise again. In his mind, Wilhelm had bet seven would be needed. He knew he should not underestimate his prisoner…
The hold he had over Simon’s now fully erect cock tightened a little; while keeping an eye on the road to prevent having to handle an unpleasant situation, the pace of Wilhelm’s move increased. He didn’t have his stopwatch, but he was quite certain that it was well under one minute that gobs of semen flew into the wind. The unmistakable wail of Simon reaching orgasm was so deafened by the gag and head gear that Wilhelm himself was extremely aroused. He would save his enthusiasm for the evening, once he’d have Simon back to the cottage.
He pulled the briefs back up, not too worried about the stains this time, as Simon would certainly spend a couple hours prewashing the dainty material with saliva. He buttoned the coat down and stepped down the ladder. He stepped in front of the scarecrow, at a distance where he was certain to be seen.
“I’ll let you fully enjoy this beautiful day, my sweet one. You’ll be more in the shade this afternoon, so you might even enjoy a restful day up your pole.”
He walked away, making sure he was quite well seen exiting the gate. As soon as he was certain Simon could no longer see him, he jumped nimbly over the hawthorn hedge between the road and the orchard, and gained his observation post, fifteen yards to the left of Simon.
Part 3 – Rescue at Hand
There had been much mirth from the teenage kidnapper when he’d found out, three days previous, that not only was there a race in the early afternoon that would pass in front of the orchard. The local festivities also included a scavenger hunt for children at the end of the afternoon; cautious inquiries had yielded the list of items to collect from the previous year, and it included cherry tree leaves, with actual cherries gaining extra points. From the village’s commons where the hunt started, the cherry orchard was the closest place where they could be collected.
The local children did think of the orchard first when they saw the list indeed. John, James and Joseph, all three twelve-years-old, had decided that they would win the hunt; one year ago, they were still little kids and that now that they were older –and wiser– they were certain to win.
The orchard was the second location they’d visit, after old Davison’s sheep farm from where they would get some wool. They had politely asked a farmhand who had quite willingly let them have a handful of raw wool.
For the cherries, it was a bit trickier. Old O’Hara was infamous throughout the county for being a skinflint, and scary stories were told about how he handled the boys he caught scrumping his cherries. John, James and Joseph were polite, but eager to win, and they soon had gotten quite worked up; James’ mother was a nurse, and she went three times a week to care for old O’Hara; from James’ information, the old man was too ill to be looking over his orchard.
There had been discussion of the scarecrows that had been set up; to James, it proved he could no longer do the job himself, to Joseph it was evidence that he cared and that he had goons to do the dirty job. John solved the issue by offering a challenge: James would go in, and if he gathered the five leaves and the five cherries without any trouble, he would pay Joseph a forfeit, and if he got caught or couldn’t get them, he would owe Joe a forfeit. The nature of the forfeit wasn’t discussed, but it was now impossible to back down.
Simon saw them coming from the same point where the runners had appeared. The group was marching briskly, and he soon could see these were boys a few years younger than he was. As these didn’t have a race to run, maybe they would pay more attention to what was going on outside. There was still hope.
He didn’t waste precious breath, and waited until he would hear them at least. He thought the wind had turned slightly; were it the case, there was a chance he would be heard.
The boys were now in front of the fence. Simon tried a first wail, but they kept on chatting among themselves; it seemed two of them were cheering up the other, or challenging him to open the gate and enter. The taunts had the expected stimulating effect on the twelve-years-old; Simon heard the creaking sound of the gate’s hinges.
“Go, James! Go!”
Under his friends’ encouragements, the boy entered, he headed to the closest cherry tree, which was some twenty feet behind Simon. The boy brushed against the post.
“Mmmm… Mmmmm…”
No articulate sounds could be uttered, and it was just a hum. The boy moved on forward to the tree, ignorant of the plea expressed by the helpless boy a few feet above his head. James swiftly jumped to pick the required leaves and cherries, which were a pale pink and a couple weeks away from ripeness. He turned to his friends at the gate, brandishing his trophy with an air of triumph.
“Sorry, Joe, but I think you’ll have to pay a forfeit.”
Simon thought he was paying a particularly heavy one himself; he hoped the boy would not rush to the gate and that he would hear him this time. The two other boys were busy talking to each other, so at least they were not shouting; this would have made it impossible for Simon to be noticed.
“Mmmmm… Mmm… Mmm… Mmm…”
From his hiding place, Wilhelm could barely hear the hum, and he even wondered if he wasn’t imagining it. If the hum wasn’t a figment of his fancy, Simon was trying his old Morse trick, which he kept on trying on people who had no clue of the telegraphers’ language. He had to watch this time; to the kidnapper, a trio of resourceful country boys could be a threat. Adrenalin was kicking in as what happened next was his fantasy becoming reality.
James stopped two feet ahead of the post. He turned towards the scarecrow.
“Good job you did, Mr. Scarecrow, you really protected Stingy O’Hara’s trees quite well, ha! Ha!”
Simon was going on with his calling out; too bad for him, the three boys were resourceful indeed; they were no boy scouts, though. They could tie knots, of course, because they poached rabbits now and then but Morse code wasn’t part of their knowledge.
James stepped closer. This time, he’d heard something. He looked inquisitively at the shapeless form hanging to the pole.
“Come here, mates, it seems our scarecrow makes noise,” he said, turning to his friends.
It was another minute of bickering about who was brave enough, or of James having a tendency to make things up. Meanwhile, Simon didn’t stop, but the variations in volume he managed were too faint that James could even hear this was a noise caused by a human being.
“… Like the time you said these were ghosts in Mrs. Gillingham’s house! We were lucky not to get caught when you got us to hide in her garden shed to check on the house at night.”
“Joe, you owe me a forfeit, and it’ll be to pass the gate and join me.”
This settled the issue, as Joseph thought it was a good way to get rid of this forfeit; James could have him do his chores, as he’d himself required two weeks previous, except that James lived on a farm and his chores were much more demanding than Joe’s.
He entered, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was in sight. John followed.
“I can’t hear anything,” he said as he stood by James.
“Shh… Listen well…”
The three boys stood still; Simon was looking into their eyes, but his immobilized head was veiled, preventing his eyes from being seen. He was having more and more trouble renewing the air in his lungs and emitting noise at the same time. He tensed up, trying to move his head at least a little bit, but the frame covering it was well fixed to the post.
It seemed to last forever. Joseph broke the silence.
“Yes, there’s some sort of noise, like an electrical motor or something. But this could be the wind… We can go now, if we want to win the scavenger hunt.”
“I’ve got to find out,” James replied, “If O’Hara has some trick in store with his scarecrows, we’ve got to know.”
He didn’t leave his acolytes time to object that knowing of O’Hara’s devious ways wouldn’t be of much importance to them. There was a ladder against the post; he could get behind the straw man and see, or hear for himself.
“Mmm… Mmmm… Mmmmm…”
“It hums quite loud, actually,” he was telling his friends when Wilhelm decided to appear, before the boy would enquire further and he’d have a closer look under the layers concealing the bound and gagged Simon.
“What are you doing in Mr. O’Hara’s orchard, boys?”
His voice was firm, but not aggressive, yet the trio was startled.
“I told you this was a dumb idea,” Joseph whispered to James who had frozen, clutching to the ladder strongly.
“Get down from this ladder, boy,” Wilhelm advised more than he ordered, “You don’t want to get injured on other people’s property. They would be the ones who’d be blamed if you did.”
Wilhelm approached as James stepped down and joined his friends. Simon was now frantic, but the three lads had no interest in the mannequin anymore. They watched the young man, clad in an elegant tweed suit; James faintly remembered having seen him at the grocer’s once.
“It seems to me you are from the village. Are you playing the scavenger hunt?”
There was an almost benevolent tone.
“Yes, Sir, we are,” John politely replied, thinking this might go fine after all.
“Then maybe I won’t report you. Let me introduce myself, my name is William and I’m an engineer. I build machines to help farming. I’m part of the team that has installed these state-of-the-art electrical scarecrows.”
James had seen men like this one when the new milking facilities had been installed at his father’s farm.
“Oh, I see, Sir, my father has a farm and…”
Wilhelm interrupted; while he would have loved to have a lengthy discussion just under Simon’s nose, this also increased the risk of the witnesses detecting foul play significantly.
“They’re actually at the experimental stage. They could make lots of money if the experiments turn out well. You must have spoken a bit loud as you entered. You lads have heard of sound waves and radio waves?”
They nodded; they went to school and were not backwards.
“Well, there is a detector in the scarecrow’s head and when it picks some cackling then it starts vibrating to emit a sound that only birds can hear.”
“Like a dog whistle?”
“Yes, this is a similar idea. Now, lads, this is all very hush-hush. So I’ll make you a deal: you get out of here with your leaves and cherries, I won’t tell anyone about you. I know how Mr. O’Hara deals with scrumpers, and all the stories you’ve heard about this are true, I’m afraid. In exchange for my silence, you won’t say a word about this experiment.”
“Of course, Sir,” John eagerly agreed, “I promise I won’t tell a word about your experiment!”
His friends made similar pleas.
“Mmmmmmmmmmm… Mmmmmmmmmm…”
“It seems your voice triggered another reaction from the automaton. This will be our little secret, then. Good luck for the scavenger hunt.”
The boys were happy to oblige. They had what they’d come for, they were safe from trouble, and they now were in the know for super secret agricultural research experiments. They had barely walked fifty yards on the road that they were already planning how to collect the next item and win the scavenger hunt.
Wilhelm climbed back to the ladder, leaning forward to whisper to Simon’s ear.
“You’d have liked being rescued by this young boy, I’m sure. Knowing of the rustic ways these people have, I can’t guarantee that he wouldn’t have taken the opportunity to take him to a barn or a stable and treat you in much more undignified manners than I do.”
“Mbbmmm?”
“Yes, I saved you from an extreme peril, Simon. We should head back home, you never know the dangers we face in this wild environment.”
Wilhelm repeated his actions from the morning, albeit in reverse this time. It went faster this way, and fifteen minutes later Simon was standing in the meadow, bound and gagged under his cape; Wilhelm put the equipment back in the hole in the hedge. He would come and pick it up later on, or actually keep it there so he could repeat his little feat another day.
He linked the leash to the collar he’d put back on Simon and with a soft tug indicated they were off. The walk was uneventful. There was still daylight, but it was dusk: colours and shapes were dimmer, so there was little risk of being seen well enough that any body language Simon could muster could be interpreted correctly by people seen from afar. Wilhelm felt relaxed; he kept his voice low, but he couldn’t help blabbering to Simon about how pleased he was with his scheme.
“It was close this time. I must say this guy who redid his shoe lace got me sweating for five seconds. I really thought he’d heard you. He looked really puzzled. I was glad to see him resume his race. What a great day it was. Thanks for providing me with so much entertainment, my handsome redhead.”
Wilhelm pulled Simon to his right side and wrapped his shoulders with his arm. As they moved along the path, he lowered his hand along Simon’s flank to end on the rubber garment, above Simon’s dick.
“You’ve grown stiff again! Well, you had your turn this afternoon, now you may recover from it for a while. I’ll need you to reciprocate, as I’m getting quite a strong urge to be relieved.”
They soon were back at the cottage, in the main room.
“This is a very special occasion, Simon. I’m proud of the way you behaved. I’m going to grant you a favour, then. You will have your gag removed.”
There was a glint of relief in Simon’s eye.
“Yes, I’d love you to use these soft lips of yours to pleasure me. Your fingers are supple and skilled, but it is time you also learn to have your mouth filled with something else than a gag.”
The captive opened his eyes yet wider; his hope for less stringent bondage was gone, but he’d been thinking of this for a few weeks now, and he was most eager to try.
“No need to release your arms, then,” Wilhelm said; sitting in his armchair, he took Simon by the shoulders and made him kneel between his spread legs.
“You know what sucking cock is like, Simon. You’re going to do just as the nice lumberjack did to you when he found you in the woods.”
He unbuttoned his trousers and opened them, letting some thin grey silk briefs appear. The lump that tented the fabric caught Simon’s eye immediately. He was made to lean forward; he could see but also smell the lust that animated Wilhelm at this moment.
His minder didn’t pull these down; he’d referenced the lumberjack who’d sucked Simon’s hard prick through his underwear. The briefs stayed on but the gag was removed.
“Don’t make me regret my decision, my attractive prisoner. I don’t want to hear a word. Your mouth isn’t gagged for my pleasure only.”
Wilhelm deflated the bladder to free Simon’s mouth. The young escape artist didn’t wait for a start signal, and he puckered his lips before he touched the knob with them underneath the silk. He opened his mouth a little and pushed with the tip of his tongue. The smell was great and the taste was even greater.
He made little circles with his tongue while sucking the knob with his lips. Simon knew of Wilhelm’s sensitive spots from his manual ministrations; no one could please Wilhelm as well as him. The blond abductor had managed to keep chaste all day, though he’d been tempted to get self-release as he was in his hide-out; Simon’s willingness made short work of his lust and he soon was the one who creamed his silk garments.
Simon licked the seeping whitish liquid until there was just saliva covering the underwear.
“Fine performance, Simon. I think you may start over, there’s more where it comes from.”
The rest of the evening was spent with Simon trying out these newfound talents. After a sixth orgasm, he was gagged anew to be transported to the bedroom. He was spread-eagled over Wilhelm’s bed to continue overnight the display of these talents. He got his gag removed four times throughout the night.
Both slept late the following morning, having vivid dreams of what could next happen at the cottage.
The End
There had been much mirth from the teenage kidnapper when he’d found out, three days previous, that not only was there a race in the early afternoon that would pass in front of the orchard. The local festivities also included a scavenger hunt for children at the end of the afternoon; cautious inquiries had yielded the list of items to collect from the previous year, and it included cherry tree leaves, with actual cherries gaining extra points. From the village’s commons where the hunt started, the cherry orchard was the closest place where they could be collected.
The local children did think of the orchard first when they saw the list indeed. John, James and Joseph, all three twelve-years-old, had decided that they would win the hunt; one year ago, they were still little kids and that now that they were older –and wiser– they were certain to win.
The orchard was the second location they’d visit, after old Davison’s sheep farm from where they would get some wool. They had politely asked a farmhand who had quite willingly let them have a handful of raw wool.
For the cherries, it was a bit trickier. Old O’Hara was infamous throughout the county for being a skinflint, and scary stories were told about how he handled the boys he caught scrumping his cherries. John, James and Joseph were polite, but eager to win, and they soon had gotten quite worked up; James’ mother was a nurse, and she went three times a week to care for old O’Hara; from James’ information, the old man was too ill to be looking over his orchard.
There had been discussion of the scarecrows that had been set up; to James, it proved he could no longer do the job himself, to Joseph it was evidence that he cared and that he had goons to do the dirty job. John solved the issue by offering a challenge: James would go in, and if he gathered the five leaves and the five cherries without any trouble, he would pay Joseph a forfeit, and if he got caught or couldn’t get them, he would owe Joe a forfeit. The nature of the forfeit wasn’t discussed, but it was now impossible to back down.
Simon saw them coming from the same point where the runners had appeared. The group was marching briskly, and he soon could see these were boys a few years younger than he was. As these didn’t have a race to run, maybe they would pay more attention to what was going on outside. There was still hope.
He didn’t waste precious breath, and waited until he would hear them at least. He thought the wind had turned slightly; were it the case, there was a chance he would be heard.
The boys were now in front of the fence. Simon tried a first wail, but they kept on chatting among themselves; it seemed two of them were cheering up the other, or challenging him to open the gate and enter. The taunts had the expected stimulating effect on the twelve-years-old; Simon heard the creaking sound of the gate’s hinges.
“Go, James! Go!”
Under his friends’ encouragements, the boy entered, he headed to the closest cherry tree, which was some twenty feet behind Simon. The boy brushed against the post.
“Mmmm… Mmmmm…”
No articulate sounds could be uttered, and it was just a hum. The boy moved on forward to the tree, ignorant of the plea expressed by the helpless boy a few feet above his head. James swiftly jumped to pick the required leaves and cherries, which were a pale pink and a couple weeks away from ripeness. He turned to his friends at the gate, brandishing his trophy with an air of triumph.
“Sorry, Joe, but I think you’ll have to pay a forfeit.”
Simon thought he was paying a particularly heavy one himself; he hoped the boy would not rush to the gate and that he would hear him this time. The two other boys were busy talking to each other, so at least they were not shouting; this would have made it impossible for Simon to be noticed.
“Mmmmm… Mmm… Mmm… Mmm…”
From his hiding place, Wilhelm could barely hear the hum, and he even wondered if he wasn’t imagining it. If the hum wasn’t a figment of his fancy, Simon was trying his old Morse trick, which he kept on trying on people who had no clue of the telegraphers’ language. He had to watch this time; to the kidnapper, a trio of resourceful country boys could be a threat. Adrenalin was kicking in as what happened next was his fantasy becoming reality.
James stopped two feet ahead of the post. He turned towards the scarecrow.
“Good job you did, Mr. Scarecrow, you really protected Stingy O’Hara’s trees quite well, ha! Ha!”
Simon was going on with his calling out; too bad for him, the three boys were resourceful indeed; they were no boy scouts, though. They could tie knots, of course, because they poached rabbits now and then but Morse code wasn’t part of their knowledge.
James stepped closer. This time, he’d heard something. He looked inquisitively at the shapeless form hanging to the pole.
“Come here, mates, it seems our scarecrow makes noise,” he said, turning to his friends.
It was another minute of bickering about who was brave enough, or of James having a tendency to make things up. Meanwhile, Simon didn’t stop, but the variations in volume he managed were too faint that James could even hear this was a noise caused by a human being.
“… Like the time you said these were ghosts in Mrs. Gillingham’s house! We were lucky not to get caught when you got us to hide in her garden shed to check on the house at night.”
“Joe, you owe me a forfeit, and it’ll be to pass the gate and join me.”
This settled the issue, as Joseph thought it was a good way to get rid of this forfeit; James could have him do his chores, as he’d himself required two weeks previous, except that James lived on a farm and his chores were much more demanding than Joe’s.
He entered, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was in sight. John followed.
“I can’t hear anything,” he said as he stood by James.
“Shh… Listen well…”
The three boys stood still; Simon was looking into their eyes, but his immobilized head was veiled, preventing his eyes from being seen. He was having more and more trouble renewing the air in his lungs and emitting noise at the same time. He tensed up, trying to move his head at least a little bit, but the frame covering it was well fixed to the post.
It seemed to last forever. Joseph broke the silence.
“Yes, there’s some sort of noise, like an electrical motor or something. But this could be the wind… We can go now, if we want to win the scavenger hunt.”
“I’ve got to find out,” James replied, “If O’Hara has some trick in store with his scarecrows, we’ve got to know.”
He didn’t leave his acolytes time to object that knowing of O’Hara’s devious ways wouldn’t be of much importance to them. There was a ladder against the post; he could get behind the straw man and see, or hear for himself.
“Mmm… Mmmm… Mmmmm…”
“It hums quite loud, actually,” he was telling his friends when Wilhelm decided to appear, before the boy would enquire further and he’d have a closer look under the layers concealing the bound and gagged Simon.
“What are you doing in Mr. O’Hara’s orchard, boys?”
His voice was firm, but not aggressive, yet the trio was startled.
“I told you this was a dumb idea,” Joseph whispered to James who had frozen, clutching to the ladder strongly.
“Get down from this ladder, boy,” Wilhelm advised more than he ordered, “You don’t want to get injured on other people’s property. They would be the ones who’d be blamed if you did.”
Wilhelm approached as James stepped down and joined his friends. Simon was now frantic, but the three lads had no interest in the mannequin anymore. They watched the young man, clad in an elegant tweed suit; James faintly remembered having seen him at the grocer’s once.
“It seems to me you are from the village. Are you playing the scavenger hunt?”
There was an almost benevolent tone.
“Yes, Sir, we are,” John politely replied, thinking this might go fine after all.
“Then maybe I won’t report you. Let me introduce myself, my name is William and I’m an engineer. I build machines to help farming. I’m part of the team that has installed these state-of-the-art electrical scarecrows.”
James had seen men like this one when the new milking facilities had been installed at his father’s farm.
“Oh, I see, Sir, my father has a farm and…”
Wilhelm interrupted; while he would have loved to have a lengthy discussion just under Simon’s nose, this also increased the risk of the witnesses detecting foul play significantly.
“They’re actually at the experimental stage. They could make lots of money if the experiments turn out well. You must have spoken a bit loud as you entered. You lads have heard of sound waves and radio waves?”
They nodded; they went to school and were not backwards.
“Well, there is a detector in the scarecrow’s head and when it picks some cackling then it starts vibrating to emit a sound that only birds can hear.”
“Like a dog whistle?”
“Yes, this is a similar idea. Now, lads, this is all very hush-hush. So I’ll make you a deal: you get out of here with your leaves and cherries, I won’t tell anyone about you. I know how Mr. O’Hara deals with scrumpers, and all the stories you’ve heard about this are true, I’m afraid. In exchange for my silence, you won’t say a word about this experiment.”
“Of course, Sir,” John eagerly agreed, “I promise I won’t tell a word about your experiment!”
His friends made similar pleas.
“Mmmmmmmmmmm… Mmmmmmmmmm…”
“It seems your voice triggered another reaction from the automaton. This will be our little secret, then. Good luck for the scavenger hunt.”
The boys were happy to oblige. They had what they’d come for, they were safe from trouble, and they now were in the know for super secret agricultural research experiments. They had barely walked fifty yards on the road that they were already planning how to collect the next item and win the scavenger hunt.
Wilhelm climbed back to the ladder, leaning forward to whisper to Simon’s ear.
“You’d have liked being rescued by this young boy, I’m sure. Knowing of the rustic ways these people have, I can’t guarantee that he wouldn’t have taken the opportunity to take him to a barn or a stable and treat you in much more undignified manners than I do.”
“Mbbmmm?”
“Yes, I saved you from an extreme peril, Simon. We should head back home, you never know the dangers we face in this wild environment.”
Wilhelm repeated his actions from the morning, albeit in reverse this time. It went faster this way, and fifteen minutes later Simon was standing in the meadow, bound and gagged under his cape; Wilhelm put the equipment back in the hole in the hedge. He would come and pick it up later on, or actually keep it there so he could repeat his little feat another day.
He linked the leash to the collar he’d put back on Simon and with a soft tug indicated they were off. The walk was uneventful. There was still daylight, but it was dusk: colours and shapes were dimmer, so there was little risk of being seen well enough that any body language Simon could muster could be interpreted correctly by people seen from afar. Wilhelm felt relaxed; he kept his voice low, but he couldn’t help blabbering to Simon about how pleased he was with his scheme.
“It was close this time. I must say this guy who redid his shoe lace got me sweating for five seconds. I really thought he’d heard you. He looked really puzzled. I was glad to see him resume his race. What a great day it was. Thanks for providing me with so much entertainment, my handsome redhead.”
Wilhelm pulled Simon to his right side and wrapped his shoulders with his arm. As they moved along the path, he lowered his hand along Simon’s flank to end on the rubber garment, above Simon’s dick.
“You’ve grown stiff again! Well, you had your turn this afternoon, now you may recover from it for a while. I’ll need you to reciprocate, as I’m getting quite a strong urge to be relieved.”
They soon were back at the cottage, in the main room.
“This is a very special occasion, Simon. I’m proud of the way you behaved. I’m going to grant you a favour, then. You will have your gag removed.”
There was a glint of relief in Simon’s eye.
“Yes, I’d love you to use these soft lips of yours to pleasure me. Your fingers are supple and skilled, but it is time you also learn to have your mouth filled with something else than a gag.”
The captive opened his eyes yet wider; his hope for less stringent bondage was gone, but he’d been thinking of this for a few weeks now, and he was most eager to try.
“No need to release your arms, then,” Wilhelm said; sitting in his armchair, he took Simon by the shoulders and made him kneel between his spread legs.
“You know what sucking cock is like, Simon. You’re going to do just as the nice lumberjack did to you when he found you in the woods.”
He unbuttoned his trousers and opened them, letting some thin grey silk briefs appear. The lump that tented the fabric caught Simon’s eye immediately. He was made to lean forward; he could see but also smell the lust that animated Wilhelm at this moment.
His minder didn’t pull these down; he’d referenced the lumberjack who’d sucked Simon’s hard prick through his underwear. The briefs stayed on but the gag was removed.
“Don’t make me regret my decision, my attractive prisoner. I don’t want to hear a word. Your mouth isn’t gagged for my pleasure only.”
Wilhelm deflated the bladder to free Simon’s mouth. The young escape artist didn’t wait for a start signal, and he puckered his lips before he touched the knob with them underneath the silk. He opened his mouth a little and pushed with the tip of his tongue. The smell was great and the taste was even greater.
He made little circles with his tongue while sucking the knob with his lips. Simon knew of Wilhelm’s sensitive spots from his manual ministrations; no one could please Wilhelm as well as him. The blond abductor had managed to keep chaste all day, though he’d been tempted to get self-release as he was in his hide-out; Simon’s willingness made short work of his lust and he soon was the one who creamed his silk garments.
Simon licked the seeping whitish liquid until there was just saliva covering the underwear.
“Fine performance, Simon. I think you may start over, there’s more where it comes from.”
The rest of the evening was spent with Simon trying out these newfound talents. After a sixth orgasm, he was gagged anew to be transported to the bedroom. He was spread-eagled over Wilhelm’s bed to continue overnight the display of these talents. He got his gag removed four times throughout the night.
Both slept late the following morning, having vivid dreams of what could next happen at the cottage.
The End
Riding through the Countryside
Chapter 1
One of the things Wilhelm loved about living in the British countryside was the quaint and interesting people he got to meet. He wasn’t very outgoing, but his looks and poise usually got the attention of the people he met.
He made acquaintances in pubs. He was always very cautious not to say too much about himself, but his company was sought by many patrons. That’s how he met Lord Montcastre, a local landowner who had stables and liked horse-riding or fox hunting. Lord Montcastre was old Norman nobility, and he was well respected. He was the last in the line; Wilhelm thought that there was little chance he would get an heir. The way he looked at him meant that his leanings wouldn’t lead him into a woman’s bed.
Lord Montcastre, or Alistair as he liked Wilhelm to call him better, had taken Wilhelm horse-riding a few mornings in the brisk air, with talks over a glass of cherry in the great lounge afterwards. A week ago, Lord Montcastre was going away to the Riviera for the summer and he tried to lure Wilhelm with the prospect of long nights in Monte-Carlo.
Wilhelm could leave his young prisoner Simon for a few hours, but he wouldn’t spend a day without the little ginger close by and accessible for some tie-up fun. He politely declined Alistair’s offer. The man had noticed Wilhelm rode well and proposed Wilhelm to come and ride whenever he wanted while he was gone.
Having a big beast to control between his thighs was something Wilhelm enjoyed, so he accepted enthusiastically. The first morning he rode all by himself and then went back to the cottage. He fetched Simon, whom he’d left strapped to his wheelchair, and showed him the horse outside.
“You’re good with animals, Simon! You did well with these bunnies and doves of yours. I’m sure you’d love to ride this horse with me.”
Simon, with his head pinned to the chair and his mouth filled with its plaster cast didn’t reply; yet Wilhelm had heard something.
“What? You don’t want to share with me? You want your own? Maybe I can arrange this for you, if you wish.”
He got Simon inside, rode to the stables and walked back, thinking of how he could manage to get Simon to share his interest in a way that would be both fun and safe. Safe so Simon wouldn’t fall and fun so he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone he was the victim of a kidnapping for months.
“Good, my cute little redhead, you’ve stayed where I left you. You’ve become a bit predictable but I’m still quite touched to find you so cutely sitting in your chair.”
“MMMgrmph.”
The grunt was required; Simon would have done without, but his abductor loved hearing him try to make noise through the gag.
“I think it would be a good idea to have you riding horses with me. There are lots of nice places to explore in the area; they’re just a bit far away if we go by foot.”
There were more moaned questions on these locations where Simon would be taken to, but there wouldn’t be an answer today.
“Never mind. I’ll find a way, rest assured. You like going out so much, I think this afternoon I‘ll have you outside on a leash so you get some exercise. We don’t want you to lose your shape. Or your shapes, for that matter,” he said fondling Simon’s briefs-covered bum.
A collar, a leash, a bag filled with ropes and Wilhelm could go for a full afternoon of fun with his captive.
Three weeks later, early in the morning as the sun was darting its first rays over the lush landscape, two horses rode from the east to the village. Both were elegant young men, sitting quite straight over two fine horses. Their expensive red riding jackets, white jodhpurs, along with the black riding boots and hat fitted them well.
The two horses walked through the village’s main gathering spot, the commons. The church was at little distance, and stores and pubs were installed on the side of the road facing a large grassy area.
Mrs. Gillingham was going to the grocer’s and she couldn’t help but look at the two young gentlemen perched haughtily over their mounts. One seemed taller and lankier than the other one; he held a riding whip, and held his reins tight with one hand. The other rider sat quite straight; he seemed to be a bit stiffer. From what she saw through his trousers, he had much fleshier thighs. At fifty, she didn’t feel ashamed of watching handsome young men. Even their legs…
The one with the whip greeted her, removing his hat to reveal bright yellow hair. The other one looked at her but didn’t say anything. His coat’s collar climbed quite high over his face, so she couldn’t see his mouth. She blushed and managed a ‘thank you, young man’, but the riders were already too far to hear her.
The blond one went on greeting the two groups of people he crossed, while the other one kept his head straight like a posh young man looking down on the commoners. They left the village and took the road to the old quarry.
The blond young man addressed his companion after they’d gone a few tens of yards.
“Well, Simon, it went just as planned.”
If one listened really close, a humming sound could be heard, as the wind had stopped blowing completely. It didn’t sound human, though.
“You must be loving this. I mean the outdoors, the feeling of the wind blowing on your face, and the wonderful point of view you have from riding this beautiful beast. Granted, I got you the tamest and slowest one in the stables. Still, do you feel his flesh between your legs? Do you like his muscles rippling under his hide? Too bad you need this saddle I got you, it kills the feel you have riding bareback.”
“Mmmmmmm…”
“You like your riding hat too? No wonder, it’s a fine piece that I made for you. Your skull is protected, of course, and the metal chin strap does lock your jaws well. I’m afraid without this you could spit out the cast filling your mouth .”
They kept on riding in silence along a path that went down through the quarry. Simon had been there before, when he’d been staked out to be found by the lecherous lumberjack. They passed the clearing where he’d been kept and went further down.
The lumberjack’s shed, where he’d threatened to take Simon, was some distance ahead on the left of the road. As they reached it, they saw the lumberjack sharpening his axe on a grindstone. Wilhelm pulled his reins and the horses stopped.
“Good morning to you, Sir.”
Chapter 2
The lumberjack looked at the two outstanding pieces of elegantly dressed male handsomeness. The one on his left removed his riding hat, venting his face with moves of his hand. The lumberjack had seen him before —the young man who’d come to rescue the ginger he’d found trussed up to a tree.
He addressed the men cautiously. “Good morning, milord.”
Looking at the other rider, the man also recognized him. It was the ginger in question. His riding hat and his coat buttoned all the way up hid most of his face, but he couldn’t forget the wide blue eyes.
“I was wondering, we were told that there were a few spots for bird watching a little further down this path. Is it still far away, and can we ride there?”
The lumberjack envied these idle young men who had nothing else to do but go on rides all day. The other rider looked at him intently, but the wood worker averted his eyes, remembering how he’d sucked off the young man trussed up to a tree a couple months before. The blue-eyed gaze was insistent and it put the lumberjack ill at ease. He focused on the blond one instead.
“Yes, there’s a pond two miles down where there is a bird watching spot. The path is cleared all the way, so your horses can take you there.”
Simon had caught a glimpse of the man’s eyes, meaning he had recognized him. His attempts at warning the man of his continuing captivity seemed in vain; Wilhelm had made a new thicker plaster cast of his mouth. It forced his jaws open a bit more and the rubber mask that was plastered over his face made sure his gob would remain tightly sealed.
He tried twisting and squirming, but the concealed frame that immobilized him over his horse allowed no significant motion.
“Well, thank you very much for the information.”
Wilhelm paused briefly.
“Aren’t you the man who found Simon here when my brother played a prank on him?”
The man looked down at his feet; Simon’s muffled grunts didn’t come across, apparently.
“Mmmm…”
“Yes, I’m the one. He’s not playing with the little boys today, then?”
“Oh, no. Simon has been recovering from a sore throat, and the doctor has advised some fresh air for his nose and a warm collar. He can’t speak for a few days, hence he didn’t greet you. He’s not this rude or haughty. Though that time you met him, the tykes had gagged him rather well.”
“Mmmm.”
The lumberjack chuckled, totally unaware of Simon’s desperate attempts at warning him against Wilhelm’s lies.
“Yes, the boy scouts had done a good job at tricking their troop master.”
“My brother is a little devil indeed. We’ll be on our way, Sir. Have a nice day.”
The young man put his riding hat back on and the two horses were off again, the redhead’s magically drawn into following the other. When they reached a safe distance from the man, Wilhelm turned to Simon, beaming.
“Oh, Simon, thank you so much for keeping on trying after all these times! This is the best thank you I can get. I might even reward us when we’re on our own. I’ve spotted some location where we should be at peace and maybe I can give you one of the treats you enjoy…”
The horses treaded slowly along the path until Wilhelm averted them to get over a narrower one. The branches brushed against the riders but they held steady.
They emerged in what could not really be called a clearing; there were four huge and old trees about forty feet from each other in a square pattern. Throughout the years, they had prevented light reaching the ground, so the floor was mostly bare save for a thin layer of dead leaves.
Simon spotted Wilhelm’s target as he was pulling the reins from both horses and leading them under what had to be an oak aged of several centuries. His abductor seized the pulley attached to the lowest branch with a canvas strap that Simon had seen when they’d entered this space. A coil of rope lay on the branch.
Wilhelm took it and fiddled with Simon’s jacket. There was a button between his shoulder blades that he unhooked to reveal a large steel ring under the red satin. He threaded an end of the rope through it and tied a solid square knot before getting the other end around the pulley. Wilhelm supply jumped down from his ride and attached its reins to a tree stump. He did the same with Simon’s horse; he’d picked the least mettlesome of the stable but he didn’t want his perfect plan to go awry just when the fun had started. He then went to Simon’s stirrups and unscrewed some wing nut that was bolted in it.
“One foot free, one to go,” Wilhelm said, bending over to pass under the horse’s reins. He grabbed the rope dangling from the pulley and removed the other nut. He put it inside his jacket pocket with the other one and he pulled on the rope. He got it taut; he pulled it a bit more, leaning towards the tree. Simon’s bum rose one inch above the saddle. His legs remained in the position, with more of his weight put on the rod riding between his buttocks. Wilhelm yanked the rope a couple more times and Simon was five inches above the horse; he turned its end around the tree under a lower branch, with a clove hitch so Simon would stay up in the air. Wilhelm untied the horse’s reins and made it go backwards, which the animal did very obediently.
“Mmmm!”
Simon’s faint call for help was mocked by his captor.
“Quit worrying, my young friend. You’ve never gotten hurt by me so far, have you? I have no will to begin today. I’ll bring you down very soon. Just hold your breeches for now.”
Simon was playing the Christmas bauble once more. He thought he heard the branch creak. Wilhelm tethered the horse to another tree and he was back to Simon hanging in the air. The sight made Wilhelm think of a frog. Simon’s thighs were spread open, the tight jodhpurs showing all their muscles, and his spine remained incredibly straight despite being dangling from the rope.
Simon’s crotch was straight in front of Wilhelm’s eyes. Simon’s special jodhpurs had some space in front that Simon’s uncontrollable excitement fully filled. Wilhelm patted it tenderly; he then stroked the young rider’s thighs before he reached for the calves.
Chapter 1
One of the things Wilhelm loved about living in the British countryside was the quaint and interesting people he got to meet. He wasn’t very outgoing, but his looks and poise usually got the attention of the people he met.
He made acquaintances in pubs. He was always very cautious not to say too much about himself, but his company was sought by many patrons. That’s how he met Lord Montcastre, a local landowner who had stables and liked horse-riding or fox hunting. Lord Montcastre was old Norman nobility, and he was well respected. He was the last in the line; Wilhelm thought that there was little chance he would get an heir. The way he looked at him meant that his leanings wouldn’t lead him into a woman’s bed.
Lord Montcastre, or Alistair as he liked Wilhelm to call him better, had taken Wilhelm horse-riding a few mornings in the brisk air, with talks over a glass of cherry in the great lounge afterwards. A week ago, Lord Montcastre was going away to the Riviera for the summer and he tried to lure Wilhelm with the prospect of long nights in Monte-Carlo.
Wilhelm could leave his young prisoner Simon for a few hours, but he wouldn’t spend a day without the little ginger close by and accessible for some tie-up fun. He politely declined Alistair’s offer. The man had noticed Wilhelm rode well and proposed Wilhelm to come and ride whenever he wanted while he was gone.
Having a big beast to control between his thighs was something Wilhelm enjoyed, so he accepted enthusiastically. The first morning he rode all by himself and then went back to the cottage. He fetched Simon, whom he’d left strapped to his wheelchair, and showed him the horse outside.
“You’re good with animals, Simon! You did well with these bunnies and doves of yours. I’m sure you’d love to ride this horse with me.”
Simon, with his head pinned to the chair and his mouth filled with its plaster cast didn’t reply; yet Wilhelm had heard something.
“What? You don’t want to share with me? You want your own? Maybe I can arrange this for you, if you wish.”
He got Simon inside, rode to the stables and walked back, thinking of how he could manage to get Simon to share his interest in a way that would be both fun and safe. Safe so Simon wouldn’t fall and fun so he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone he was the victim of a kidnapping for months.
“Good, my cute little redhead, you’ve stayed where I left you. You’ve become a bit predictable but I’m still quite touched to find you so cutely sitting in your chair.”
“MMMgrmph.”
The grunt was required; Simon would have done without, but his abductor loved hearing him try to make noise through the gag.
“I think it would be a good idea to have you riding horses with me. There are lots of nice places to explore in the area; they’re just a bit far away if we go by foot.”
There were more moaned questions on these locations where Simon would be taken to, but there wouldn’t be an answer today.
“Never mind. I’ll find a way, rest assured. You like going out so much, I think this afternoon I‘ll have you outside on a leash so you get some exercise. We don’t want you to lose your shape. Or your shapes, for that matter,” he said fondling Simon’s briefs-covered bum.
A collar, a leash, a bag filled with ropes and Wilhelm could go for a full afternoon of fun with his captive.
Three weeks later, early in the morning as the sun was darting its first rays over the lush landscape, two horses rode from the east to the village. Both were elegant young men, sitting quite straight over two fine horses. Their expensive red riding jackets, white jodhpurs, along with the black riding boots and hat fitted them well.
The two horses walked through the village’s main gathering spot, the commons. The church was at little distance, and stores and pubs were installed on the side of the road facing a large grassy area.
Mrs. Gillingham was going to the grocer’s and she couldn’t help but look at the two young gentlemen perched haughtily over their mounts. One seemed taller and lankier than the other one; he held a riding whip, and held his reins tight with one hand. The other rider sat quite straight; he seemed to be a bit stiffer. From what she saw through his trousers, he had much fleshier thighs. At fifty, she didn’t feel ashamed of watching handsome young men. Even their legs…
The one with the whip greeted her, removing his hat to reveal bright yellow hair. The other one looked at her but didn’t say anything. His coat’s collar climbed quite high over his face, so she couldn’t see his mouth. She blushed and managed a ‘thank you, young man’, but the riders were already too far to hear her.
The blond one went on greeting the two groups of people he crossed, while the other one kept his head straight like a posh young man looking down on the commoners. They left the village and took the road to the old quarry.
The blond young man addressed his companion after they’d gone a few tens of yards.
“Well, Simon, it went just as planned.”
If one listened really close, a humming sound could be heard, as the wind had stopped blowing completely. It didn’t sound human, though.
“You must be loving this. I mean the outdoors, the feeling of the wind blowing on your face, and the wonderful point of view you have from riding this beautiful beast. Granted, I got you the tamest and slowest one in the stables. Still, do you feel his flesh between your legs? Do you like his muscles rippling under his hide? Too bad you need this saddle I got you, it kills the feel you have riding bareback.”
“Mmmmmmm…”
“You like your riding hat too? No wonder, it’s a fine piece that I made for you. Your skull is protected, of course, and the metal chin strap does lock your jaws well. I’m afraid without this you could spit out the cast filling your mouth .”
They kept on riding in silence along a path that went down through the quarry. Simon had been there before, when he’d been staked out to be found by the lecherous lumberjack. They passed the clearing where he’d been kept and went further down.
The lumberjack’s shed, where he’d threatened to take Simon, was some distance ahead on the left of the road. As they reached it, they saw the lumberjack sharpening his axe on a grindstone. Wilhelm pulled his reins and the horses stopped.
“Good morning to you, Sir.”
Chapter 2
The lumberjack looked at the two outstanding pieces of elegantly dressed male handsomeness. The one on his left removed his riding hat, venting his face with moves of his hand. The lumberjack had seen him before —the young man who’d come to rescue the ginger he’d found trussed up to a tree.
He addressed the men cautiously. “Good morning, milord.”
Looking at the other rider, the man also recognized him. It was the ginger in question. His riding hat and his coat buttoned all the way up hid most of his face, but he couldn’t forget the wide blue eyes.
“I was wondering, we were told that there were a few spots for bird watching a little further down this path. Is it still far away, and can we ride there?”
The lumberjack envied these idle young men who had nothing else to do but go on rides all day. The other rider looked at him intently, but the wood worker averted his eyes, remembering how he’d sucked off the young man trussed up to a tree a couple months before. The blue-eyed gaze was insistent and it put the lumberjack ill at ease. He focused on the blond one instead.
“Yes, there’s a pond two miles down where there is a bird watching spot. The path is cleared all the way, so your horses can take you there.”
Simon had caught a glimpse of the man’s eyes, meaning he had recognized him. His attempts at warning the man of his continuing captivity seemed in vain; Wilhelm had made a new thicker plaster cast of his mouth. It forced his jaws open a bit more and the rubber mask that was plastered over his face made sure his gob would remain tightly sealed.
He tried twisting and squirming, but the concealed frame that immobilized him over his horse allowed no significant motion.
“Well, thank you very much for the information.”
Wilhelm paused briefly.
“Aren’t you the man who found Simon here when my brother played a prank on him?”
The man looked down at his feet; Simon’s muffled grunts didn’t come across, apparently.
“Mmmm…”
“Yes, I’m the one. He’s not playing with the little boys today, then?”
“Oh, no. Simon has been recovering from a sore throat, and the doctor has advised some fresh air for his nose and a warm collar. He can’t speak for a few days, hence he didn’t greet you. He’s not this rude or haughty. Though that time you met him, the tykes had gagged him rather well.”
“Mmmm.”
The lumberjack chuckled, totally unaware of Simon’s desperate attempts at warning him against Wilhelm’s lies.
“Yes, the boy scouts had done a good job at tricking their troop master.”
“My brother is a little devil indeed. We’ll be on our way, Sir. Have a nice day.”
The young man put his riding hat back on and the two horses were off again, the redhead’s magically drawn into following the other. When they reached a safe distance from the man, Wilhelm turned to Simon, beaming.
“Oh, Simon, thank you so much for keeping on trying after all these times! This is the best thank you I can get. I might even reward us when we’re on our own. I’ve spotted some location where we should be at peace and maybe I can give you one of the treats you enjoy…”
The horses treaded slowly along the path until Wilhelm averted them to get over a narrower one. The branches brushed against the riders but they held steady.
They emerged in what could not really be called a clearing; there were four huge and old trees about forty feet from each other in a square pattern. Throughout the years, they had prevented light reaching the ground, so the floor was mostly bare save for a thin layer of dead leaves.
Simon spotted Wilhelm’s target as he was pulling the reins from both horses and leading them under what had to be an oak aged of several centuries. His abductor seized the pulley attached to the lowest branch with a canvas strap that Simon had seen when they’d entered this space. A coil of rope lay on the branch.
Wilhelm took it and fiddled with Simon’s jacket. There was a button between his shoulder blades that he unhooked to reveal a large steel ring under the red satin. He threaded an end of the rope through it and tied a solid square knot before getting the other end around the pulley. Wilhelm supply jumped down from his ride and attached its reins to a tree stump. He did the same with Simon’s horse; he’d picked the least mettlesome of the stable but he didn’t want his perfect plan to go awry just when the fun had started. He then went to Simon’s stirrups and unscrewed some wing nut that was bolted in it.
“One foot free, one to go,” Wilhelm said, bending over to pass under the horse’s reins. He grabbed the rope dangling from the pulley and removed the other nut. He put it inside his jacket pocket with the other one and he pulled on the rope. He got it taut; he pulled it a bit more, leaning towards the tree. Simon’s bum rose one inch above the saddle. His legs remained in the position, with more of his weight put on the rod riding between his buttocks. Wilhelm yanked the rope a couple more times and Simon was five inches above the horse; he turned its end around the tree under a lower branch, with a clove hitch so Simon would stay up in the air. Wilhelm untied the horse’s reins and made it go backwards, which the animal did very obediently.
“Mmmm!”
Simon’s faint call for help was mocked by his captor.
“Quit worrying, my young friend. You’ve never gotten hurt by me so far, have you? I have no will to begin today. I’ll bring you down very soon. Just hold your breeches for now.”
Simon was playing the Christmas bauble once more. He thought he heard the branch creak. Wilhelm tethered the horse to another tree and he was back to Simon hanging in the air. The sight made Wilhelm think of a frog. Simon’s thighs were spread open, the tight jodhpurs showing all their muscles, and his spine remained incredibly straight despite being dangling from the rope.
Simon’s crotch was straight in front of Wilhelm’s eyes. Simon’s special jodhpurs had some space in front that Simon’s uncontrollable excitement fully filled. Wilhelm patted it tenderly; he then stroked the young rider’s thighs before he reached for the calves.
Chapter 3
“All right, my ginger prisoner. It’s nice having you up there, but let’s get you back down to earth.”
He loosened the noose holding the rope to the tree and slowly let it go, until Simon’s feet touched the ground. Wilhelm kept the rope and let it slip inch by inch. Simon tipped towards the back, completely unable to prevent falling backwards. Wilhelm had him land softly over his back until Simon couldn’t go any lower. The dismounted rider was lying over his back, his thighs still bent over a bit at the hips, as if his limbs refused to quit the sitting position Simon had held riding the horse.
“I’ll confess I’m quite proud of what I achieved with this new riding outfit, Simon. You’ll have to wear it on the way back, but for now we’ll remove it, for there are a few things planned that require you to be a bit less tightly restrained.”
He removed buttons and zippers and quickly pulled out flaps and straps concealed underneath. Once he was done, he pulled softly the legs of the outfit, which he peeled away, leaving Simon in his traditional blue briefs. He picked up the costume, still in awe of its clever design. It was sewn to form one piece and meant to be put on its wearer once he’d be framed in metal. It also featured fake arms that swung naturally as those of an experienced horse rider, or at least so thought Wilhelm.
Simon’s actual arms remained along his flanks, trapped in bands of metal which were part of a contraption that imprisoned him from his neck to his knees, with a Y at the bottom of his spine so his thighs formed the inverted V that allowed sitting over the horse. There was a long band running along Simon’s spine. It was wrought iron, and it had been forged to follow the exact curve of a sitting Simon’s back and hips. The other part was welded to this first one-and-a-half inch wide band; it looked like an inverted Y seen from the front; its leg curled along Simon’s butt crack as the two branches went down below his thighs and curled again at the knees, to end at mid-calves.
There were bands encircling the helpless rider’s torso and arms from below his shoulders to his waist. Simon was really well held. The rigid straps with metal in them linking the stirrups to the saddle made the whole contraption a very safe way to walk Simon around on horseback.
“I’m happy with the frame. I wasn’t sure it would work so well. You looked upright, but never did you look stiff.”
Wilhelm fetched two large bags that he had hidden in the bushes the day before. He took out cuffs and straps and tackled freeing Simon from the metal frame while getting him cuffed and hobbled. He stood his prisoner up when he was done.
“I won’t let you stretch too much, but take a couple minutes. I’ll go get something to drink.”
He fetched a canteen from his bag and gulped some down.
The large ring around Simon’s neck gave away the fact that there had to be a muzzle of some kind; but as long as he’d been collared, it would have been impossible for anyone to spot something was wrong. Wilhelm removed the chin-strap. It was not a mere leather strap. It was steel painted black, which he removed by unscrewing nuts from bolts that were concealed by a chin cup. He lifted the riding hat, which was padded with lining.
He then removed the rubber mask with holes for his eyes and nostrils, and the fake rubber lips glued in front, which endowed Simon with some rather enigmatic smile. Once this final layer was removed, the more familiar sight of a taped-up lower face was visible at last. The prisoner let out a sigh of relief as the pressure around his head lessened.
“You’re cooing, you like it when I’m nice, don’t you? This worked well, but I may imagine it was a bit difficult to handle. Let me finish so you can have a sip of water. It’s been five hours since you last had some.”
This had started very early indeed; Wilhelm had dressed him up in the fiendish costume before he fetched the horse at the stables. He had a pulley set up at the back of the house, which was used to lift bags of grain in the attic, and he’d used it to ‘store’ Simon during the hour he’d been away to get to the stables, saddle the horses and ride back to the cottage.
Simon had felt the horse’s head go between his thighs. He was familiar with horses, and he’d learned to ride the ponies at the circus. This wasn’t a pony, though, but a large beast, and being thus imprisoned in the frame, he had no way to exert any control over his ride. His feet were locked into the stirrups, which would prevent him from falling at least, if they were resistant enough.
Wilhelm rode pillion, and sitting comfortably enough on the horse behind Simon, he started setting up then the fiendish contraption that was meant to thwart any attempt at trying to attract attention from people they would be bound to meet.
He’d been wearing his lower face mask overnight; it was removed and so was the soggy fabric filling his mouth. He could drink from the canteen Wilhelm brought up to his lips. No chance was taken as they were outside, and the captor plastered his hand over Simon’s face when the he took the water away.
Simon was then treated to an experience similar to those he’d endured so many times over the last few months. The plaster cast Wilhelm had made for him had been slid between his lips; this latest version was slightly bigger and didn’t allow for the teeth to touch when he closed his mouth.
Then tape had sealed his lips and trapped the bulky and perfectly fitting shape inside. Two turns went around the head, and as other layers were added, the tightness and force of the gagging apparatus became painfully clear to the poor kidnapped escape artist.
“Back to simplicity for this one. You’ll be unable to make enough noise to warn anyone of what’s going on, won’t you?” Wilhelm whispered as he leaned into Simon and set his right hand over the red riding jacket, effectively kneading his nipple.
“MMmmm!”
Wilhelm heard some rebellion in the nasal sound.
“I doubt you can now, but you sound quite feisty and incensed, I’d better make sure you don’t try anything funny. And to make sure no one can notice these finely filled cheeks of yours and see your expertly sealed lips, let me add a few layers.”
“All right, my ginger prisoner. It’s nice having you up there, but let’s get you back down to earth.”
He loosened the noose holding the rope to the tree and slowly let it go, until Simon’s feet touched the ground. Wilhelm kept the rope and let it slip inch by inch. Simon tipped towards the back, completely unable to prevent falling backwards. Wilhelm had him land softly over his back until Simon couldn’t go any lower. The dismounted rider was lying over his back, his thighs still bent over a bit at the hips, as if his limbs refused to quit the sitting position Simon had held riding the horse.
“I’ll confess I’m quite proud of what I achieved with this new riding outfit, Simon. You’ll have to wear it on the way back, but for now we’ll remove it, for there are a few things planned that require you to be a bit less tightly restrained.”
He removed buttons and zippers and quickly pulled out flaps and straps concealed underneath. Once he was done, he pulled softly the legs of the outfit, which he peeled away, leaving Simon in his traditional blue briefs. He picked up the costume, still in awe of its clever design. It was sewn to form one piece and meant to be put on its wearer once he’d be framed in metal. It also featured fake arms that swung naturally as those of an experienced horse rider, or at least so thought Wilhelm.
Simon’s actual arms remained along his flanks, trapped in bands of metal which were part of a contraption that imprisoned him from his neck to his knees, with a Y at the bottom of his spine so his thighs formed the inverted V that allowed sitting over the horse. There was a long band running along Simon’s spine. It was wrought iron, and it had been forged to follow the exact curve of a sitting Simon’s back and hips. The other part was welded to this first one-and-a-half inch wide band; it looked like an inverted Y seen from the front; its leg curled along Simon’s butt crack as the two branches went down below his thighs and curled again at the knees, to end at mid-calves.
There were bands encircling the helpless rider’s torso and arms from below his shoulders to his waist. Simon was really well held. The rigid straps with metal in them linking the stirrups to the saddle made the whole contraption a very safe way to walk Simon around on horseback.
“I’m happy with the frame. I wasn’t sure it would work so well. You looked upright, but never did you look stiff.”
Wilhelm fetched two large bags that he had hidden in the bushes the day before. He took out cuffs and straps and tackled freeing Simon from the metal frame while getting him cuffed and hobbled. He stood his prisoner up when he was done.
“I won’t let you stretch too much, but take a couple minutes. I’ll go get something to drink.”
He fetched a canteen from his bag and gulped some down.
The large ring around Simon’s neck gave away the fact that there had to be a muzzle of some kind; but as long as he’d been collared, it would have been impossible for anyone to spot something was wrong. Wilhelm removed the chin-strap. It was not a mere leather strap. It was steel painted black, which he removed by unscrewing nuts from bolts that were concealed by a chin cup. He lifted the riding hat, which was padded with lining.
He then removed the rubber mask with holes for his eyes and nostrils, and the fake rubber lips glued in front, which endowed Simon with some rather enigmatic smile. Once this final layer was removed, the more familiar sight of a taped-up lower face was visible at last. The prisoner let out a sigh of relief as the pressure around his head lessened.
“You’re cooing, you like it when I’m nice, don’t you? This worked well, but I may imagine it was a bit difficult to handle. Let me finish so you can have a sip of water. It’s been five hours since you last had some.”
This had started very early indeed; Wilhelm had dressed him up in the fiendish costume before he fetched the horse at the stables. He had a pulley set up at the back of the house, which was used to lift bags of grain in the attic, and he’d used it to ‘store’ Simon during the hour he’d been away to get to the stables, saddle the horses and ride back to the cottage.
Simon had felt the horse’s head go between his thighs. He was familiar with horses, and he’d learned to ride the ponies at the circus. This wasn’t a pony, though, but a large beast, and being thus imprisoned in the frame, he had no way to exert any control over his ride. His feet were locked into the stirrups, which would prevent him from falling at least, if they were resistant enough.
Wilhelm rode pillion, and sitting comfortably enough on the horse behind Simon, he started setting up then the fiendish contraption that was meant to thwart any attempt at trying to attract attention from people they would be bound to meet.
He’d been wearing his lower face mask overnight; it was removed and so was the soggy fabric filling his mouth. He could drink from the canteen Wilhelm brought up to his lips. No chance was taken as they were outside, and the captor plastered his hand over Simon’s face when the he took the water away.
Simon was then treated to an experience similar to those he’d endured so many times over the last few months. The plaster cast Wilhelm had made for him had been slid between his lips; this latest version was slightly bigger and didn’t allow for the teeth to touch when he closed his mouth.
Then tape had sealed his lips and trapped the bulky and perfectly fitting shape inside. Two turns went around the head, and as other layers were added, the tightness and force of the gagging apparatus became painfully clear to the poor kidnapped escape artist.
“Back to simplicity for this one. You’ll be unable to make enough noise to warn anyone of what’s going on, won’t you?” Wilhelm whispered as he leaned into Simon and set his right hand over the red riding jacket, effectively kneading his nipple.
“MMmmm!”
Wilhelm heard some rebellion in the nasal sound.
“I doubt you can now, but you sound quite feisty and incensed, I’d better make sure you don’t try anything funny. And to make sure no one can notice these finely filled cheeks of yours and see your expertly sealed lips, let me add a few layers.”
Chapter 4
Wilhelm had set the mask over the boy’s gagged face, and had finished by putting Simon’s riding hat on. Wilhelm had made a shape of Simon’s skull shortly after he’d arrived, precisely so that he could design and craft proper head gear. For this adventure, he had modified a riding hat, replacing the filling with metal and leather straps to make it a proper muzzle.
Once he’d rid the hat of anything but the outside shell, he’d put a one-inch wide metal band that went inside, sticking out perpendicularly from where the ears would be, and fixed to the top of the hat and the side with small rivets. Then he’d stuck wide leather straps of various thicknesses to adapt closely to Simon’s cranial morphology.
The two metal bands made a chin strap. He slid two leather strips sewn together over the metal so the gleam of the metal wouldn’t be seen. He had a buckle and strap with an actual chin piece that was used to fasten the two strips of metal together and allow for some high tightening.
This is why Wilhelm had once again managed to show his captive around to an incredible number of witnesses, none of which had seen anything other than some haughty idle horse rider looking down on peasants. Even the lumberjack had been fooled.
And now he was lying over his back inside the woods, in a remote and inaccessible place, with Wilhelm still intent on keeping him under his strict control. The packing was removed; Wilhelm grabbed Simon’s head by his nape and lifted it; he brought the canteen to the prisoner’s lips and some water flowed into Simon’s mouth. He avidly emptied the canteen, and Wilhelm didn’t refrain him. Simon braced for what would come next, as a hand was clamped over his mouth.
“I hope the water and the less strenuous position you’re in revive you a bit. I feel like having some rope fun. Are you up to a challenge? No chains or locks, just ropes. You’ll get a treat if you manage to get out. I’ll tie you again immediately afterwards, but you know I play fair.”
This wasn’t exactly Simon’s opinion, but the hand forbade him any curt retort.
“I’ll gag you with something simple yet elegant to reflect the simplicity of this outdoors setting. Scarves and white cotton hankies could be a way.”
A ball of white hankies coming out from one of Wilhelm’s pocket was stuffed inside Simon’s mouth. The blond captor then used no less than six silk scarves to gag Simon: a cleave, an over the mouth scarf, one going under his chin and tied to the top of his head, another one reinforcing the jaws locking and making it more difficult to slip, another over the mouth one and a final over the nose one. This final scarf featured four layers of thin silk only, but it hampered breathing sufficiently to thwart any hope of being heard by someone more than a few feet away.
“Good, less trouble on this end. Now for some inventive and creative rope fun.”
Wilhelm left the cuffs on while he started his job. He went to get another bag and a small crate he’d brought the day before on foot. He got white cotton rope out of the bag. Coils were wrapped around Simon at the usual places from shoulders to ankles (wherever there was a joint, actually.) There were four or six turns and it felt rather loose, but Simon knew the slack wouldn’t last.
A first pass was made to straighten and tighten these loops encircling Simon’s body. Wilhelm then grabbed a first doubled-up coil of rope, the middle of which he threaded through Simon’s thighs at their top. He let a finger glide over the briefs as he pushed the end between the boy’s genitals and the first coil of rope encircling his thighs quite high.
The two ends were threaded through the loop that stuck out in front and pulled. Once Wilhelm had pulled them all the way through, they tightened the loop they were coiled around, making it a set of rope manacles. He knotted the lashing but left the loose ends on the ground.
He repeated the procedure above and below the knees, and at the ankles. Then he did the arms, with lashings at the armpits and elbows, pinning his arms to the sides. The cuffs and straps were finally removed, and another rope pass over the existing bonds took another ten minutes.
“It seems everything’s in order, so it should work like a charm.”
He pulled the rope ends coming through the ankles and pulled on it, folding his legs back at the knees. He pushed them through the thighs and then turned them around the thighs three times, removing any slack with every turn.
He used all the ends of the lashing ingeniously. He’d made sketches before, and this made for an inescapable ball-tie. The entertaining aspect of playing with Simon is that there was an actual chance he could escape and also that he was trained to endure very restricting positions.
The various ropes pulled his calves against his thighs; his knees touched his chest and his hands were locked in rope at the small of his back, with ropes pulling them up from one end and down from the other. Wilhelm reckoned this was fast to finish up the ball-tie. He stood and took a couple steps back to have a better look at the final result.
“I must say this looks really good. But it could look better.”
Simon had ended up on his side. Wilhelm crouched next to him and grabbed his shoulder and his hip and lifted him so he’d rest on his shins.
“Please keep the position, Simon. This might be a bit difficult, but I need to set up the camera to document my handiwork. Keep the pose for a moment; it shouldn’t last over twenty minutes…”
Sustaining a face-down position when ball-tied so tightly was tough. Simon managed quite well, but he didn’t know how long he would last. He could hear Wilhelm opening the crate, which held his camera, his lenses and his tripod. There had been a few times when Simon had been photographed. He’d even been taught to process film and photographs, chained in the lab in the basement. Wilhelm loved these photo-albums, naturally, but also the process and having something he did along with Simon .
Wilhelm was efficient and soon had everything set up. He took a series of pictures of Simon in his ball-tie. The need to ensure Simon could keep the pose for a little longer arose; Wilhelm was spotting more and more interesting angles to get close-ups of his redheaded captive who kept falling on his side.
“You’re incorrigible, Simon! You need a little help, I guess. This ball-tie is rather immobilizing, I may admit. Nevertheless you should be more eager to satisfy my artistic needs. Let’s see what we can do.”
Wilhelm had set the mask over the boy’s gagged face, and had finished by putting Simon’s riding hat on. Wilhelm had made a shape of Simon’s skull shortly after he’d arrived, precisely so that he could design and craft proper head gear. For this adventure, he had modified a riding hat, replacing the filling with metal and leather straps to make it a proper muzzle.
Once he’d rid the hat of anything but the outside shell, he’d put a one-inch wide metal band that went inside, sticking out perpendicularly from where the ears would be, and fixed to the top of the hat and the side with small rivets. Then he’d stuck wide leather straps of various thicknesses to adapt closely to Simon’s cranial morphology.
The two metal bands made a chin strap. He slid two leather strips sewn together over the metal so the gleam of the metal wouldn’t be seen. He had a buckle and strap with an actual chin piece that was used to fasten the two strips of metal together and allow for some high tightening.
This is why Wilhelm had once again managed to show his captive around to an incredible number of witnesses, none of which had seen anything other than some haughty idle horse rider looking down on peasants. Even the lumberjack had been fooled.
And now he was lying over his back inside the woods, in a remote and inaccessible place, with Wilhelm still intent on keeping him under his strict control. The packing was removed; Wilhelm grabbed Simon’s head by his nape and lifted it; he brought the canteen to the prisoner’s lips and some water flowed into Simon’s mouth. He avidly emptied the canteen, and Wilhelm didn’t refrain him. Simon braced for what would come next, as a hand was clamped over his mouth.
“I hope the water and the less strenuous position you’re in revive you a bit. I feel like having some rope fun. Are you up to a challenge? No chains or locks, just ropes. You’ll get a treat if you manage to get out. I’ll tie you again immediately afterwards, but you know I play fair.”
This wasn’t exactly Simon’s opinion, but the hand forbade him any curt retort.
“I’ll gag you with something simple yet elegant to reflect the simplicity of this outdoors setting. Scarves and white cotton hankies could be a way.”
A ball of white hankies coming out from one of Wilhelm’s pocket was stuffed inside Simon’s mouth. The blond captor then used no less than six silk scarves to gag Simon: a cleave, an over the mouth scarf, one going under his chin and tied to the top of his head, another one reinforcing the jaws locking and making it more difficult to slip, another over the mouth one and a final over the nose one. This final scarf featured four layers of thin silk only, but it hampered breathing sufficiently to thwart any hope of being heard by someone more than a few feet away.
“Good, less trouble on this end. Now for some inventive and creative rope fun.”
Wilhelm left the cuffs on while he started his job. He went to get another bag and a small crate he’d brought the day before on foot. He got white cotton rope out of the bag. Coils were wrapped around Simon at the usual places from shoulders to ankles (wherever there was a joint, actually.) There were four or six turns and it felt rather loose, but Simon knew the slack wouldn’t last.
A first pass was made to straighten and tighten these loops encircling Simon’s body. Wilhelm then grabbed a first doubled-up coil of rope, the middle of which he threaded through Simon’s thighs at their top. He let a finger glide over the briefs as he pushed the end between the boy’s genitals and the first coil of rope encircling his thighs quite high.
The two ends were threaded through the loop that stuck out in front and pulled. Once Wilhelm had pulled them all the way through, they tightened the loop they were coiled around, making it a set of rope manacles. He knotted the lashing but left the loose ends on the ground.
He repeated the procedure above and below the knees, and at the ankles. Then he did the arms, with lashings at the armpits and elbows, pinning his arms to the sides. The cuffs and straps were finally removed, and another rope pass over the existing bonds took another ten minutes.
“It seems everything’s in order, so it should work like a charm.”
He pulled the rope ends coming through the ankles and pulled on it, folding his legs back at the knees. He pushed them through the thighs and then turned them around the thighs three times, removing any slack with every turn.
He used all the ends of the lashing ingeniously. He’d made sketches before, and this made for an inescapable ball-tie. The entertaining aspect of playing with Simon is that there was an actual chance he could escape and also that he was trained to endure very restricting positions.
The various ropes pulled his calves against his thighs; his knees touched his chest and his hands were locked in rope at the small of his back, with ropes pulling them up from one end and down from the other. Wilhelm reckoned this was fast to finish up the ball-tie. He stood and took a couple steps back to have a better look at the final result.
“I must say this looks really good. But it could look better.”
Simon had ended up on his side. Wilhelm crouched next to him and grabbed his shoulder and his hip and lifted him so he’d rest on his shins.
“Please keep the position, Simon. This might be a bit difficult, but I need to set up the camera to document my handiwork. Keep the pose for a moment; it shouldn’t last over twenty minutes…”
Sustaining a face-down position when ball-tied so tightly was tough. Simon managed quite well, but he didn’t know how long he would last. He could hear Wilhelm opening the crate, which held his camera, his lenses and his tripod. There had been a few times when Simon had been photographed. He’d even been taught to process film and photographs, chained in the lab in the basement. Wilhelm loved these photo-albums, naturally, but also the process and having something he did along with Simon .
Wilhelm was efficient and soon had everything set up. He took a series of pictures of Simon in his ball-tie. The need to ensure Simon could keep the pose for a little longer arose; Wilhelm was spotting more and more interesting angles to get close-ups of his redheaded captive who kept falling on his side.
“You’re incorrigible, Simon! You need a little help, I guess. This ball-tie is rather immobilizing, I may admit. Nevertheless you should be more eager to satisfy my artistic needs. Let’s see what we can do.”
Chapter 5
Wilhelm always had solutions to this type of issues. He picked up a long coil of rope; he threw it to a big and solid branch eight feet above the ground and used both ends on Simon. When Wilhelm was done threading the rope through those already binding the poor young man, he was kept lying on his knees with his bum sticking up, the rope pulling him up to the branch running along his crack and drawing the briefs’ fabric tight against it.
“You’re in a perfect position, Simon. These will be some amazing photographs.”
Simon had to kneel still like this for a very long time, with Wilhelm holding his camera or putting it over the tripod with its legs lowered. He pushed on the button only when everything was fine, and he used savant settings to get the most out of the daylight in the woods. It took a while between photographs, which seemed a long time even to Simon. Eventually, after much praise and cheers throughout the shooting session, Wilhelm announced it was over.
“Perfect, Simon, twenty-eight shots in the can. I think I will have another series. What do you think posing riding the horse?”
There was a grunt in response to this purely rhetorical question.
“Great, I knew you’d agree. And yes, you will remain gagged of course.”
Silence ensued, Simon having gotten used to submitting to Wilhelm’s taunts and his misinterpretation of any attempt at intelligible speech the gagged boy made. Only the noise of ropes swishing from Wilhelm unknotting and removing them could be heard in the forlorn clearing.
Soon Simon was standing with his arms held in a tight rope harness; he was fully in the nude. Simon didn’t know it, but Wilhelm had managed to find a few wealthy amateurs of explicit photographs of young men bound and gagged.
He was working this time for an old industrialist who’d become a widower in his early forties; this had turned out to be a new beginning for him after a very brief period of mourning. He had since dedicated his leisure time to the pursuit of dominating young men, and he was willing to spend outrageous amounts on art and literature that documented his little hobby.
He’d made a request to Wilhelm for pictures of his young model in the nude, arms bound behind his back riding a horse bareback. So Wilhelm complied; he tied his arms together with his hands palm to palm. Simon’s hands lined over his crack.
He put Simon in well-polished riding boots next; these featured the necessary fixtures to be tied to be screwed to the stirrups, but for now Simon would wear them for their amazing sheen. It enhanced Simon’s plump but muscular calves, which would make Wilhelm’s patron faint with lust, as the man had a serious leather fetish.
There would be no stirrups: Wilhelm removed the saddle from Simon’s horse. He then tied a temporary harness around the boy’s torso so he could lift him up on the horse as he’d done the times before. Simon was soon sitting on the horse, feeling the warmth of the animal under him. Wilhelm took a long belt. There were eye-holes at each end; he threaded these to the small curved hooks sticking out the inside of the boots above the ankles where it clicked shut.
The belt went below the horse’s belly and kept Simon pinned to the horse. He stood still and got his proper balance; Wilhelm was removing the rope harness; the arms wrapped in yards of rope remained as stringently bound, with Simon’s fingers pressing up his bum as he was sitting on them riding the horse.
The tripod was used extensively over the next two hours and a half. The horse was placid and calm, so it could be easily moved around to change the background for the photographs. Wilhelm knew that diversity of the shots would please his customer, who paid a high price that would ensure some financial comfort for the months to come. If the German teen wanted to pull a kidnapping that would bring in major money, he would need some finance to rent places and vehicles, and the income from the pictures could provide for this.
Simon naked riding the horse looked really good. Wilhelm climbed and rode pillion a few times to change Simon’s gag. This also was something that would make the old man come back with more money for what was a rather easy job, considering he had a perfect model to accommodate the man’s tastes. Simon got to wear his half-mask, his hood with the triangular opening for the eyes and nose and various scarves combined in intricate and tight multi-layered gags.
“I really like the fact that a new gag means you having a raging erection for half an hour, Simon. With your vigorous willy fully visible, the pictures will look much more impressive. Smile!”
Every time several shots were made. The film had to be changed every so often as Wilhelm was less shy to click than in the previous series.
There had been over sixty shots when it was over. Wilhelm was putting away his camera and equipment; they were done for the day and now the time to process the film and get the prints had come. This would be for the next day anyway, as they still had a busy schedule before they’d be back to Wilhelm’s cottage.
The blond kidnapper was checking he had not forgotten anything when he heard whinnying. He hadn’t tied the horse’s reins. He intended to get Simon back on the ground so he could get him back in the frame and costume before they’d leave.
A bee had landed on the horse’s flank, and the tail trying to brush it off had triggered the bee into stinging. The horse was docile and peaceful, but it wasn’t used to pain and the fierceness of the stinger planting itself in its skin sent him kicking out before it started running.
Simon held on and anticipated the horse’s move; he kept his balance, and the path the horse was taking was left unencumbered of branches as the one they’d taken to reach the clearing. They were actually soon on what could have been a riding alley. The horse was apparently releasing some pent-up energy it had accumulated. As soon as the pain subsided, its true nature took over. It was now trotting, which triggered some strange vibrations throughout Simon’s body.
The horse now walked; Wilhelm’s own ride caught up with it. The German teen caught its reins and had the animal stop.
“All safe with your cousin Wilhelm now, Simon.”
He reached for the boner and kneaded it softly, keeping the two sets of reins in his other hand to prevent any other surprise. His palm closed over Simon’s dick; it remained even more turgid and started being slightly slippery.
Wilhelm challenged himself to wank Simon as they rode back to the clearing. His control of the horses allowed for focus on mastering the young ginger beast riding at his side. And the lively snake that stuck out of his pubis.
There were muffled groans warning Wilhelm of the imminent outburst of lust and the cock twitched and writhed in his hand before spurting out copious amounts of semen that fell on the horse’s mane. The post-orgasm wail told of some impressive orgasm.
“You’ve had your small break, Simon, but we don’t have time to frolic. The horses have to be back in the stables at five. I’ll get you dressed up to ride through the village again.”
Wilhelm put all his equipment under a tarp, safe from any unwanted eyes at the back of a bush; he would drive later on to get them back. He then had to perform the process of taking his captive down from the horse, locking him to his metal frame with the deceptive chic riding costume.
Wilhelm was just done lowering Simon over the horse when he heard voices in the distance. He quickly removed the rope and the pulley and went to put them with the rest of the equipment. He took a few steps back to make sure it couldn’t be seen. He was about to get on his horse when voices could be heard behind him.
“Oh, hi, Sir!”
He turned around, getting his foot of the stirrup, looking slightly annoyed at being interrupted in what he was doing.
“Hello, young man,” he replied to one of the three boys who’d burst into the clearing. It was Joseph, one of the boys who’d seen Simon in his scarecrow outfit. Of course, the lads had had no inkling of Simon being under the costume, securely bound and gagged and unable to attract their attention to his woes. Wilhelm didn’t intent to make it any easier for his captive to warn the boys this time .
Joseph was with his friends John and James. The three boys were once again in search of cases to solve; they read dime novels and fiction with detectives and young reporters who always go into trouble. The boys longed for some similar adventures, at least one of them having a specific interest in being the victim of villains who would restrain him to prevent him from alerting anyone on their misdeeds; he would certainly be gagged also to avoid his calling for help.
But as they got into the clearing, they were more curious about who the riders were. Wilhelm saw the way they looked at him; he removed his riding hat so they would recognize him from the time at the cherry orchard.
“Joseph, John and James! Glad to see you!”
His remembering their names got Wilhelm to score a big point.
“Oh, it’s you. We’re doing fine, thank you.”
“mmmmmmmm…”
The faint droning sound was gone with the wind, which blew towards Wilhelm and Simon. The bound rider tried to twist around, and possibly make his horse react. But it was in vain, the frame allowed for almost no motion. He had to witness once more that Wilhelm’s favourite defence was attack.
“Having fun exploring again? Well, it’s been quite a full day for me. But we’re now running a new experiment with a different prototype. Please meet B-69, the latest of our specimens of human-like machines. This one is particularly designed to ride horses. The funders who back our projects envision the use of such automatons in armed conflict.”
“You mean war, Sir?” James asked.
“Shh! Don’t say the word. Yes, but maybe I’ve told you too much already.”
“Oh, no, Sir, we never told anyone about your electrical scarecrow. Your secret is safe with us.”
“Good, glad to see there are still brave and patriotic young men to protect the kingdom.”
The boys were beaming with pride at being thus deemed worthy of confidences. Simon couldn’t believe they couldn’t spot anything awkward with his rigid posture and that none of his calls reached their ears. Wilhelm didn’t feel like he could really risk a longer meeting; he’d better take his leave and get Simon back to the cottage safely.
“I’ll let you check there are no poachers or any such criminals in the woods, lads. I have more experiments to run on B-69, to tune it so it may keep its balance better and be better at making noise. A speaking automaton would sure frighten enemies, but we have a long way to go before a machine is capable of speech. It’s quite gruelling work testing B-69’s abilities. The results are due next month, so there’s no time to lose,” he said with a sly smile, “but I didn’t tell you anything about it.”
“Don’t worry, Sir,” John said, “our lips are sealed.”
“Mmmm.”
This remark triggered a last reaction from Simon, but his horse was already leaving, following Wilhelm’s who held both sets of reins to prevent any new escapade of the supposedly peaceful horse. The ride was uneventful, but for the taunts and gloating Simon was submitted to.
“Their lips are sealed! It seems theirs are not the only ones. But yours have been so a bit more permanently. I wasn’t amused by you trying to warn them, by the way. Such a behaviour calls for some time in the gibbet cage, don’t you think?”
This went on until they were in sight of the horse stables. Wilhelm veered to the right inside a coppice. He had spotted a branch at the proper height. He had the pulley and rope at hand; soon the white cotton dangled from the pulley that was solidly fixed to the branch.
The routine to get Simon off his horse was getting familiar; the redheaded Houdini landed on the ground three minutes later. He was unable to keep his balance and had to wait until Wilhelm let him slip all the way on the back. His limbs were held rigidly in the metal frame.
Wilhelm climbed back over his ride once Simon was lying on the ground. The young rider removed the rope and pulley and dropped them next to the Y shape Simon made.
“Stay here while I get the horses to their stables. Then I’ll come to get you.
Simon didn’t bother replying as the sound of hooves on the road faded away. Here he was, stuck in a very restricting trap and yet deeply aroused by Wilhelm’s games; the photography session had been somewhat pleasant, which made him wonder about his confused feelings towards Wilhelm. He realized with horror that he longed for some sexual games at the hands of his captor.
He couldn’t get out of the frame and costume, no matter how hard he tried; when Wilhelm’s lorry’s engine roared half an hour later, Simon was virtually at the same place he’d been when Wilhelm left. The driver’s door slammed shut.
“Back, my sweet redhead. Oh my!” Wilhelm said as he leaned over Simon and patted the front of well-filled jodhpurs, “I love to see how much you display that you enjoy being my guest. But I don’t have time for an amorous moment right now. I’ll get you in your crate and we can be on our way. I just need to get my camera and all the rest of our equipment but it’s on the way home.”
He lifted the ‘rider’ and dragged him to the back of the lorry. He climbed in and pulled Simon inside. There was a big crate open. It was huge and it could accommodate Simon with his spread legs easily. There were cushions located at all the right places so once lying inside, Simon was held perfectly still.
There were of course straps to hold him within the crate and ensure he couldn’t move and get his presence known this way. The gag he wore would muffle his screams and the thick walls of the crate wouldn’t help to be heard outside.
“Yet another clever way to transport you without any risk of an escape,” Wilhelm said as he slowly closed the lid of the crate. Simon heard the click of padlocks being shut and laid in the dark. The lorry started; Simon calmed down and gathered himself. He actually fell asleep, hence he had no idea how long he’d been in the crate when it eventually opened.
He was back at the cottage, with Wilhelm standing over him, the lid of the crate freshly opened.
“We’re home, Simon. Since you’ve being doing rather well on your horse today, I was thinking that maybe we could try how you handle the pommel horse in the basement this evening? Unless you’d rather spend the night in the gibbet cage, of course!”
Simon was home indeed.
End of the episode
Wilhelm always had solutions to this type of issues. He picked up a long coil of rope; he threw it to a big and solid branch eight feet above the ground and used both ends on Simon. When Wilhelm was done threading the rope through those already binding the poor young man, he was kept lying on his knees with his bum sticking up, the rope pulling him up to the branch running along his crack and drawing the briefs’ fabric tight against it.
“You’re in a perfect position, Simon. These will be some amazing photographs.”
Simon had to kneel still like this for a very long time, with Wilhelm holding his camera or putting it over the tripod with its legs lowered. He pushed on the button only when everything was fine, and he used savant settings to get the most out of the daylight in the woods. It took a while between photographs, which seemed a long time even to Simon. Eventually, after much praise and cheers throughout the shooting session, Wilhelm announced it was over.
“Perfect, Simon, twenty-eight shots in the can. I think I will have another series. What do you think posing riding the horse?”
There was a grunt in response to this purely rhetorical question.
“Great, I knew you’d agree. And yes, you will remain gagged of course.”
Silence ensued, Simon having gotten used to submitting to Wilhelm’s taunts and his misinterpretation of any attempt at intelligible speech the gagged boy made. Only the noise of ropes swishing from Wilhelm unknotting and removing them could be heard in the forlorn clearing.
Soon Simon was standing with his arms held in a tight rope harness; he was fully in the nude. Simon didn’t know it, but Wilhelm had managed to find a few wealthy amateurs of explicit photographs of young men bound and gagged.
He was working this time for an old industrialist who’d become a widower in his early forties; this had turned out to be a new beginning for him after a very brief period of mourning. He had since dedicated his leisure time to the pursuit of dominating young men, and he was willing to spend outrageous amounts on art and literature that documented his little hobby.
He’d made a request to Wilhelm for pictures of his young model in the nude, arms bound behind his back riding a horse bareback. So Wilhelm complied; he tied his arms together with his hands palm to palm. Simon’s hands lined over his crack.
He put Simon in well-polished riding boots next; these featured the necessary fixtures to be tied to be screwed to the stirrups, but for now Simon would wear them for their amazing sheen. It enhanced Simon’s plump but muscular calves, which would make Wilhelm’s patron faint with lust, as the man had a serious leather fetish.
There would be no stirrups: Wilhelm removed the saddle from Simon’s horse. He then tied a temporary harness around the boy’s torso so he could lift him up on the horse as he’d done the times before. Simon was soon sitting on the horse, feeling the warmth of the animal under him. Wilhelm took a long belt. There were eye-holes at each end; he threaded these to the small curved hooks sticking out the inside of the boots above the ankles where it clicked shut.
The belt went below the horse’s belly and kept Simon pinned to the horse. He stood still and got his proper balance; Wilhelm was removing the rope harness; the arms wrapped in yards of rope remained as stringently bound, with Simon’s fingers pressing up his bum as he was sitting on them riding the horse.
The tripod was used extensively over the next two hours and a half. The horse was placid and calm, so it could be easily moved around to change the background for the photographs. Wilhelm knew that diversity of the shots would please his customer, who paid a high price that would ensure some financial comfort for the months to come. If the German teen wanted to pull a kidnapping that would bring in major money, he would need some finance to rent places and vehicles, and the income from the pictures could provide for this.
Simon naked riding the horse looked really good. Wilhelm climbed and rode pillion a few times to change Simon’s gag. This also was something that would make the old man come back with more money for what was a rather easy job, considering he had a perfect model to accommodate the man’s tastes. Simon got to wear his half-mask, his hood with the triangular opening for the eyes and nose and various scarves combined in intricate and tight multi-layered gags.
“I really like the fact that a new gag means you having a raging erection for half an hour, Simon. With your vigorous willy fully visible, the pictures will look much more impressive. Smile!”
Every time several shots were made. The film had to be changed every so often as Wilhelm was less shy to click than in the previous series.
There had been over sixty shots when it was over. Wilhelm was putting away his camera and equipment; they were done for the day and now the time to process the film and get the prints had come. This would be for the next day anyway, as they still had a busy schedule before they’d be back to Wilhelm’s cottage.
The blond kidnapper was checking he had not forgotten anything when he heard whinnying. He hadn’t tied the horse’s reins. He intended to get Simon back on the ground so he could get him back in the frame and costume before they’d leave.
A bee had landed on the horse’s flank, and the tail trying to brush it off had triggered the bee into stinging. The horse was docile and peaceful, but it wasn’t used to pain and the fierceness of the stinger planting itself in its skin sent him kicking out before it started running.
Simon held on and anticipated the horse’s move; he kept his balance, and the path the horse was taking was left unencumbered of branches as the one they’d taken to reach the clearing. They were actually soon on what could have been a riding alley. The horse was apparently releasing some pent-up energy it had accumulated. As soon as the pain subsided, its true nature took over. It was now trotting, which triggered some strange vibrations throughout Simon’s body.
The horse now walked; Wilhelm’s own ride caught up with it. The German teen caught its reins and had the animal stop.
“All safe with your cousin Wilhelm now, Simon.”
He reached for the boner and kneaded it softly, keeping the two sets of reins in his other hand to prevent any other surprise. His palm closed over Simon’s dick; it remained even more turgid and started being slightly slippery.
Wilhelm challenged himself to wank Simon as they rode back to the clearing. His control of the horses allowed for focus on mastering the young ginger beast riding at his side. And the lively snake that stuck out of his pubis.
There were muffled groans warning Wilhelm of the imminent outburst of lust and the cock twitched and writhed in his hand before spurting out copious amounts of semen that fell on the horse’s mane. The post-orgasm wail told of some impressive orgasm.
“You’ve had your small break, Simon, but we don’t have time to frolic. The horses have to be back in the stables at five. I’ll get you dressed up to ride through the village again.”
Wilhelm put all his equipment under a tarp, safe from any unwanted eyes at the back of a bush; he would drive later on to get them back. He then had to perform the process of taking his captive down from the horse, locking him to his metal frame with the deceptive chic riding costume.
Wilhelm was just done lowering Simon over the horse when he heard voices in the distance. He quickly removed the rope and the pulley and went to put them with the rest of the equipment. He took a few steps back to make sure it couldn’t be seen. He was about to get on his horse when voices could be heard behind him.
“Oh, hi, Sir!”
He turned around, getting his foot of the stirrup, looking slightly annoyed at being interrupted in what he was doing.
“Hello, young man,” he replied to one of the three boys who’d burst into the clearing. It was Joseph, one of the boys who’d seen Simon in his scarecrow outfit. Of course, the lads had had no inkling of Simon being under the costume, securely bound and gagged and unable to attract their attention to his woes. Wilhelm didn’t intent to make it any easier for his captive to warn the boys this time .
Joseph was with his friends John and James. The three boys were once again in search of cases to solve; they read dime novels and fiction with detectives and young reporters who always go into trouble. The boys longed for some similar adventures, at least one of them having a specific interest in being the victim of villains who would restrain him to prevent him from alerting anyone on their misdeeds; he would certainly be gagged also to avoid his calling for help.
But as they got into the clearing, they were more curious about who the riders were. Wilhelm saw the way they looked at him; he removed his riding hat so they would recognize him from the time at the cherry orchard.
“Joseph, John and James! Glad to see you!”
His remembering their names got Wilhelm to score a big point.
“Oh, it’s you. We’re doing fine, thank you.”
“mmmmmmmm…”
The faint droning sound was gone with the wind, which blew towards Wilhelm and Simon. The bound rider tried to twist around, and possibly make his horse react. But it was in vain, the frame allowed for almost no motion. He had to witness once more that Wilhelm’s favourite defence was attack.
“Having fun exploring again? Well, it’s been quite a full day for me. But we’re now running a new experiment with a different prototype. Please meet B-69, the latest of our specimens of human-like machines. This one is particularly designed to ride horses. The funders who back our projects envision the use of such automatons in armed conflict.”
“You mean war, Sir?” James asked.
“Shh! Don’t say the word. Yes, but maybe I’ve told you too much already.”
“Oh, no, Sir, we never told anyone about your electrical scarecrow. Your secret is safe with us.”
“Good, glad to see there are still brave and patriotic young men to protect the kingdom.”
The boys were beaming with pride at being thus deemed worthy of confidences. Simon couldn’t believe they couldn’t spot anything awkward with his rigid posture and that none of his calls reached their ears. Wilhelm didn’t feel like he could really risk a longer meeting; he’d better take his leave and get Simon back to the cottage safely.
“I’ll let you check there are no poachers or any such criminals in the woods, lads. I have more experiments to run on B-69, to tune it so it may keep its balance better and be better at making noise. A speaking automaton would sure frighten enemies, but we have a long way to go before a machine is capable of speech. It’s quite gruelling work testing B-69’s abilities. The results are due next month, so there’s no time to lose,” he said with a sly smile, “but I didn’t tell you anything about it.”
“Don’t worry, Sir,” John said, “our lips are sealed.”
“Mmmm.”
This remark triggered a last reaction from Simon, but his horse was already leaving, following Wilhelm’s who held both sets of reins to prevent any new escapade of the supposedly peaceful horse. The ride was uneventful, but for the taunts and gloating Simon was submitted to.
“Their lips are sealed! It seems theirs are not the only ones. But yours have been so a bit more permanently. I wasn’t amused by you trying to warn them, by the way. Such a behaviour calls for some time in the gibbet cage, don’t you think?”
This went on until they were in sight of the horse stables. Wilhelm veered to the right inside a coppice. He had spotted a branch at the proper height. He had the pulley and rope at hand; soon the white cotton dangled from the pulley that was solidly fixed to the branch.
The routine to get Simon off his horse was getting familiar; the redheaded Houdini landed on the ground three minutes later. He was unable to keep his balance and had to wait until Wilhelm let him slip all the way on the back. His limbs were held rigidly in the metal frame.
Wilhelm climbed back over his ride once Simon was lying on the ground. The young rider removed the rope and pulley and dropped them next to the Y shape Simon made.
“Stay here while I get the horses to their stables. Then I’ll come to get you.
Simon didn’t bother replying as the sound of hooves on the road faded away. Here he was, stuck in a very restricting trap and yet deeply aroused by Wilhelm’s games; the photography session had been somewhat pleasant, which made him wonder about his confused feelings towards Wilhelm. He realized with horror that he longed for some sexual games at the hands of his captor.
He couldn’t get out of the frame and costume, no matter how hard he tried; when Wilhelm’s lorry’s engine roared half an hour later, Simon was virtually at the same place he’d been when Wilhelm left. The driver’s door slammed shut.
“Back, my sweet redhead. Oh my!” Wilhelm said as he leaned over Simon and patted the front of well-filled jodhpurs, “I love to see how much you display that you enjoy being my guest. But I don’t have time for an amorous moment right now. I’ll get you in your crate and we can be on our way. I just need to get my camera and all the rest of our equipment but it’s on the way home.”
He lifted the ‘rider’ and dragged him to the back of the lorry. He climbed in and pulled Simon inside. There was a big crate open. It was huge and it could accommodate Simon with his spread legs easily. There were cushions located at all the right places so once lying inside, Simon was held perfectly still.
There were of course straps to hold him within the crate and ensure he couldn’t move and get his presence known this way. The gag he wore would muffle his screams and the thick walls of the crate wouldn’t help to be heard outside.
“Yet another clever way to transport you without any risk of an escape,” Wilhelm said as he slowly closed the lid of the crate. Simon heard the click of padlocks being shut and laid in the dark. The lorry started; Simon calmed down and gathered himself. He actually fell asleep, hence he had no idea how long he’d been in the crate when it eventually opened.
He was back at the cottage, with Wilhelm standing over him, the lid of the crate freshly opened.
“We’re home, Simon. Since you’ve being doing rather well on your horse today, I was thinking that maybe we could try how you handle the pommel horse in the basement this evening? Unless you’d rather spend the night in the gibbet cage, of course!”
Simon was home indeed.
End of the episode
Ah, A favorite story of mine.
A favourite of mine as well!
I'm hoping we're somehow able to get the rest of the New Adventures of Simon (the one before this one, where Wilhelm re-captures Simon, and the Wicked Brothers one)!
I'm hoping we're somehow able to get the rest of the New Adventures of Simon (the one before this one, where Wilhelm re-captures Simon, and the Wicked Brothers one)!
I’m fairly certain that I have those stories squirreled away somewhere. If Ifind them I will post them.
Hello.
I also really want to read the rest of the New Adventures of Simon, especially "Simon and the Wicked Brothers"
I also really want to read the rest of the New Adventures of Simon, especially "Simon and the Wicked Brothers"