So, here are the sequels to Reunion, which was posted in the Fictional M/M section. This story was posted a couple years back but it was deleted since.
A Simon and Wilhelm adventure
A nasty prank
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.
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…”
“… 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?”
“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.
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?
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.”
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.”
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.
Last edited by Bondwriter
on Sun Aug 07, 2016 9:36 am, edited 8 times in total.