This was requested by Kankuro. It's a short one, but it says yet more about our characters. I posted it on its own just because there's an unfinished story in the current Simon thread.
This episode is set soon after Simon & the Wicked Brothers
and before Reunion
If you want more Simon, go to the little poll
I set up, hit reply and say 'Simon, please!' (there's even more to say if you want, see at the link)Haunting Past, a Simon Interlude
The box-office had been busy all afternoon, making the evening’s performance a success. Simon was coming down from the little cloud he floated upon after his thrilling acts had gotten the audience to clap and cheer.
The circus had improved on all fronts. They’d used a new big top for six months, which welcomed more audience. There were new artists also, and new numbers. Simon really liked Patrick, the amazing acrobat. He was three or four years older than Simon, but they got along as if they were the same age. They shared similar hairstyles, though Patrick was blond. His strong jaw and frank smile made him a hit with the viewers too.
They sometimes practiced together, and the young man was a pleasure to work with. He was hard at work, always willing to try harder and help out. He’d assisted Simon in fine-tuning the current number in which burglars seized Simon to cram him inside a trunk. Of course, the silly burglars, who were played by the clowns who had replaced Simon’s nemesis, carried the trunk from place to place as they tried to get away; they found out it was empty when they eventually reached a safe destination and they checked their abducted load. This was the moment Simon showed up. He was free from any restraints, and he brought with him Patrick, who was dressed as a police officer. He arrested the burglars under the cheers of the crowd.
The day had been long. There had been interviews with the local press, and the unavoidable hours of practice in the morning. Simon still helped with the pets, but it was no longer as much toil. There was an assistant, Keith, who did this and other odd jobs.
The situation had improved, and it showed. There was a larger headcount, props were renewed more often and there hadn’t been a day in the past year when they’d had to skip meals. There was a distinct air of modernity and prosperity. The after-show dinner and the wrapping-up of the day were over. Stilo had long gone back to his trailer. Simon peacefully headed to his.
It had been refurbished completely, as all artists had gotten better quarters to stay in. Simon had no luxury tastes, but having a thick wool mattress, and eiderdown and some furniture made him feel like a prince.
He’d also developed a taste for nicer clothing. He liked fancy suits now, not that he could wear them to perform, but when he walked into town in the locations they visited, he didn’t want to look like a gypsy.
Going to fancy tailors had also allowed him to indulge in a fancy that he intended to keep private. He liked silk, and he liked silk underwear. He’d had costumes made for performing that were blue satiny silk, and the feel of these really pleased him.
The same ‘briefs’ were cut to be worn with some form of jockstrap underneath. This was a fact of life, Simon had ceased being a little boy, even if he still played one on stage. He’d used his try-outs and his regular visits to various tailors to get silk underpants under the pretext of using them as his costumes, when they just were the little detail under his trousers that made him feel special. Simon always felt
Simon undressed, and he slid inside his silk pyjamas. These were amazingly soft. He touched his growing penis. He slid between the sheets. Simon was too tired to indulge in the little evening hobby he’d discovered a few months back. He closed his eyes, relishing the soft feel of the sheets and the eiderdown that would keep him warm. He slowly fell asleep, relaxed and happy.
Simon’s slumber was deep. He got rest until his brain needed relief from the young artist’s taxing day and got into dreaming mode. Simon looked up and saw Patrick smiling. His friend looked at him without saying a word, a puzzled grin over his lips. He was dressed in a tight and hugging silk outfit. It was the same cut as the acrobat’s cotton costume, which showed his legs and arms fully; the sheen of this deep blue model revealed Patrick’s lean and muscular body.
Simon needed to ask his young colleague what this was all about.
“What’s going on, Patrick?”
This is when he discovered he was thoroughly trussed up to a pole. There were ropes, and possibly cuffs and chains too, that kept him pinned against a thick steel post. Patrick’s blue eyes shone brighter and brighter. He approached slowly, his feral eagerness on display as he closed in to have a further look at the escape artist’s predicament.
He licked his lips, which made Simon feel like a prey.
“Hush, now Simon, I need you very still and very quiet.”
A hand with a large wad of hankies slid inside his mouth before tape wrapped around his head, keeping the stuffing inside. Simon begged, but his attempts turned into weak little moans.
Simon realized he was dressed in his stage costume only. Patrick reached for it. Simon felt the strong and supple hand kneading his well-wrapped package. He wished he could say something, and then knew he wouldn’t be able to find anything to say.
Patrick slid behind the post. Simon’s sight obscured as the blond acrobat wrapped a scarf over his eyes.
In his dream, Simon saws himself from outside now; there were numerous ropes, he was collared and his lower face was a white surface thanks to the many layers of tape that had been used to gag him. He also wore some of his special underpants, the very gleaming ones that let his dong stick in front of him; why did he wear it outside his bedroom?
Patrick had disappeared. Simon was on his own, having gotten back inside his body and experiencing the relentless grip of the well knotted ropes.
The blindfold was off. The room was now different. From the circus set it had started in, he was now in an attic. There were four beams, a chair and what looked like a pommel horse.
Simon thought he recognized the place. Also, strangely enough in a dream, a faint smell of sawdust and beeswax reminded him of some eventful moment in his life. It was the voice, and the words he heard that had him realize what was going on.
“It seems you haven’t made much progress on freeing yourself, Simon the Loser.”
The small door opened and in the doorframe, Simon could see Wilhelm, proudly planted on his feet and displaying all his lederhosen glory.
“I’ll say, little Simon, it’s nice for you to drop by and say hi. Well, it seems the ball of silk in your mouth and the tape and scarves don’t make it easy on you to be a pleasant and sociable guest. I think that you should get used to it, though. I now have you under my thumb, I’ve collected you for my use and I’ll see to it that no one takes you away from me.”
Simon tried to yell, but this only made small sighs that Wilhelm dismissed with a flick of his wrist.
“You know me, Simon, when I truss up a naughty lad to a post, he stays there.”
The captive felt a pang of adrenalin kick in with every step the young man made towards him. His figure hovered above Simon, who felt dwarfed by the presence, his utter helplessness not helping him to stand to the threat.
Simon could smell Wilhelm. There was a slightly acid quality to his sweat, and his leather gear had an animal quality to it. He felt his breath and Wilhelm stopped just before they touched.
“My disciple did a good job, he’s used these fine silk bands and turned them into very taut bonds! Ha! Ha! Aren’t we having fun, Simon?”
Simon could only think of the thick, sticky mass gluing his mouth and making sure he would make no clever reply. He wailed, only to have his abductor laugh again. He recovered from the burly outburst and whispered into Simon’s ear.
“He gagged you well too, I guess; you’ve been missing my gags, haven’t you? Having someone so carefully pack your mouth, and hide you in an attic when there are people just under our feet… This is thrilling, isn’t it?”
The scene was now taking place in the attic where Wilhelm had kept the red-haired circus performer for two night and one day that time when Simon had been cleverly abducted, owing his rescue to his talent and a rescue team that got a late start but still managed to prevent the worst.
Simon’s limbs were wrapped in tight bands of silk, pinning him to his beam. His head was free to move, despite the plastering of tape keeping a large mass of cloth inside his mouth. He looked at his feet; he was still dressed in his compromising under pants, which Wilhelm’s hand reached for.
This got the victim into a frenzy. Simon’s mind mixed sights, sounds and smells. He was alone in the attic, still tightly strung up to the beam; his head was held in a leather vice; this was the same leather hood William had used on him in California. The scene started over.
“Still there, Simon, the Lousy? I’ll say you really like your friend Wilhelm very much, don’t you?”
Simon felt his body tense up, ready to burst; yet the restraints kept him still and at his abductor’s mercy.
“I like you too, and I think you look rather cute for a ginger. What about playing dress-up with me? Do you want to be my doll?”
A whirlwind of gleaming fabrics, patent leather and chrome cuffs and chains spun around the room. Simon was in a ball-tie, all wrapped in rubber, then naked while spread-eagled to the spinning wheel, or wearing a much more obscene version of his tailor-made underpants while trussed up to a tree rake and kept in the sweltering heat of a metal tool shed.
Simon relived several scenes at once. Wilhelm’s presence was utterly vivid.
“I’ll have you all wrapped up, nicely packaged so I may take you everywhere. I have all sorts of muzzles that you will love.”
It was getting strangely warm. His face was hot, and as Wilhelm’s words faded away, the heat became less escapable. Simon eventually woke up. The morning sun shone over his face through the trailer’s window.
Simon immediately realized that he had a very hard penis tenting his pyjamas. Harder than usual, at least. He sat on the side of the bed, which helped to keep his willy in check. He tried to make sense of the exceptionally vivid experience he’d just had. He didn’t wake up totally panicked as he’d done when he’d had nightmares. He felt some sense of loss at seeing Wilhelm fade away.
Simon had not hit puberty this long ago, but long enough to know of arousal; this was what it was. Trying to freeze every moment of his dream in his memory didn’t help his penis to deflate. Simon knew he was special, and liking tie-up had to be yet another manifestation of his exceptionality.
He got rid of his priapic condition before he washed and dressed up, in his usual daily cotton and wool clothes. He walked to the kitchen tent, which also featured the dining room. He was almost last for breakfast.
He blushed as he greeted Patrick. The young acrobat wore some leather apron. For a split second, Simon saw Wilhelm before he realized the boy who smiled at him was in fact Patrick. He smiled back.End of the interlude