By bound2defyyou

“It’s a simple game,” Steve said. He was exactly the kind of guy I always had crushes on in prep school – handsome, athletic, with sandy hair, a strong jaw, wide shoulders, strong legs, and a smooth firm ass. He had the kind of grin that made me want to melt. I would’ve been up for anything he suggested.

He smirked and sat back on the hotel room bed. He had about eight feet of soft cotton rope in his hands and as he spoke, he caressed it, holding one end and sliding his other hand along it. “Here’s the rules. I’ll tie you up with this. If you get out, you win. Simple, huh?”

I’d always felt invincible. Like a superhero or something. I’d see guys get tied up on TV and I’d think, “shit, I could bust out of that, easy.” This was my big chance.

“Go for it, buddy,” I said. I turned around and put my hands behind my back to make it easier for him. But I wasn’t submitting to him – we were playing a game, a friendly game, and we both wanted to win.

He cinched the rope around my wrists, snug but not too tight, and then layered more coils and knots on top of that. After tying a knot, he’d give the rope a tug, sharply and smartly, to tighten it, like he was putting a period at the end of a sentence.

“You done?” I said, flexing my wrists, exploring.

“Not quite. Hang on.” After a couple more twists and knots and tugs, and one last firm pull on the end of the rope, he slapped me on the shoulder and said, “There you go, buddy, see what you can do with that.”

I flexed. I pulled. I struggled. The ropes didn’t move.

I turned around to face him. He was beaming at me. It was more intimate than I’d expected, standing in front of him with my feet about shoulder width apart and my hands pulled back behind me. I threw my shoulders back, proud; my chest pushed forward. He looked me up and down, appreciating the effort I was having to make.

I twisted my wrists against each other. It took effort, but it was worth it. I was finding some slack.

He could see it in my face. His smile faded a little, but he just crossed his arms and watched me, patient, letting the game play out.

A coil slipped loose. My wrist turned more freely. It all fell apart from there. And then I grinned and swept my hands around in front of me, and his tangled rope fell to the floor.

“See?” I said, grinning, but my mouth was dry. “You couldn’t hold me. Nice try, though.”

“I guess next time,” he said, calmly, measured, “I’m gonna need more rope.”

“Pfff,” I said. God it was fun to say that. “More rope – and more luck, too.”

“I think I’ve got both of those,” he said. “You game? One more try?”

“Of course I’m game. But let’s make this interesting.”

“It wasn’t interesting before?”

“Oh it was fun,” I said. “But we could make it interesting.”

“So you’re open to playing for stakes,” he said.

“Sure.”

“You sound pretty confident.”

“Sure am.”

“Well what would be really interesting,” Steve said, and he smiled a deep and slightly sinister smile, “would be if I tell you what the stakes are after I’ve got you tied up.”

He put his hands up and tweaked my nipples through my t-shirt.

“Those are interesting rules,” I said, still pretty confident, but a little uncomfortable now.

“Well there you go then.”

As he tied my hands behind me I could feel a deep satisfaction and excitement running through me. I hadn’t given in. I hadn’t submitted. I’d accepted a challenge, that’s all. I felt cocky. I felt strong. I felt amazing.

He finished with my hands. A little quicker and surer this time. A little tighter too.

Steve grabbed a cotton duffel bag and turned it upside down, dumping its contents on the floor. It was rope. Lots of rope.

Lots and lots of rope.

I swallowed. “So – buddy – how much more rope you think you’re gonna use?”

“Well you busted out of my rope pretty quick last time, didn’t you?”

I didn’t say anything. I think I was blushing.

“Didn’t you,” Steve said.

“Yeah,” I said.

“So I better use a fair amount more this time. Just to give you a real challenge. Right? Something we can both enjoy? Something interesting?”

“Fuck yeah,” I said, and the minute I heard myself say it I believed it, too.

“Cool,” Steve said. And with that he knocked me down onto the bed. I landed on my belly and barely managed to scramble my legs around before he was roping my ankles and cinching them tight. And then my knees. And then my elbows, roping and cinching them – not tight, but now I could hardly struggle.

And then finally the rope that pulled my ankles up toward the rope that was cinched around my elbows.

I struggled. I tried to be systematic about it, I tried to be careful and test the knots one by one – but I was also yearning to just buck and pull and thrash around, to see if the ropes and knots could actually hold me. Steve cheated then – he straddled me and pinned me down, and then he tickled me. I couldn’t handle that. In seconds I was thrashing blindly in the ropes.

I was trying not to laugh, and then I was laughing, hard, loud, helplessly.

He stopped. He met my gaze. I was gasping for breath. He put his hand over my mouth. Then he put his other hand at the back of my neck, cupping it there firmly. I rubbed and twisted, the back of my head caressing his one hand, my lips grazing the firm palm of the other.

Then he tightened his grip. It felt amazing, the weight of him on top of me, his ropes keeping me completely helpless, and my head caught between his hands as if they were a vise. “Mmmgh!” I said.

“Uh huh,” Steve said. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

“Mmmfh gfffh!”

“Shhhhh,” Steve said. He released my head and went over his knots carefully, making sure I hadn’t found any slack. I don’t think there was any slack to find. “Can’t do too much of anything right now, can you? Now I get to play a little game with you,” he said. “Just to test the ropes. Something to make you really struggle.”

“Like what,” I said. I was struggling already.

“Just this,” he said, reaching into the drawer in the nightstand and then holding up a clear plastic bag. And a rubber band.

And I panicked. I freaked. I mean, part of me was still totally into the challenge, into the game of accepting whatever crazy thing it was he was going to throw at me. Being a man about it. Taking it.

And part of me just really enjoyed diving into the glittering roaring edge of the wave of panic.

“What the fuck are you going to do with that,” I said. There wasn’t a question mark at the end of that sentence, because I already knew.

“Just test the ropes,” Steve said. “See if I did a better job on you this time.”

I wasn’t going to try and wiggle out of this. Well, wiggle, sure – wiggle, struggle, wrestle, fight. But I wasn’t going to try to change the rules of the game. A man doesn’t try to change the rules of a game he’s already agreed to play.

And the ropes felt good – they felt damn good, because they were part of the game. I hadn’t asked to be tied up just for the hell of it; I was playing a game; I was fighting; I was fighting to win.

He held up a stopwatch so that I could see it. “Just for a little while,” he said. “Just maybe thirty seconds or so – to start.”

“To start?” I said, but he had already pulled the bag over my head. I gasped for air, filling my lungs before he snapped the rubber band down over my head and let it pull tight at my neck.

“Hey!” I said, exhaling. The bag ballooned out around my head, misting slightly. I was lying on my side with my ankles and wrists tied firmly behind me. I could see him sitting back and smiling at me. He clicked the stopwatch. The game was on.

I inhaled sharply. The bag sucked inward, pulling tightly against my face and around my head. I couldn’t fill my lungs completely. That was a wild feeling, when suddenly there wasn’t any more air – the plastic filled my mouth, sealing it, and the air just stopped.

And I did what any animal does if you cut off its air supply.

I panicked. I struggled and fought.

Before, I hadn’t really fought the ropes – I’d tried to work with them, tried to gradually work the knots looser instead of just blindly fighting against them, because I knew that if I did that, I’d pull them tight. None of that mattered now. I bucked and twisted, I kicked and I pulled.

And the ropes held. The knots held too – in fact they all got tighter. I jerked my head around, trying to find my way out of the plastic bag. But of course the bag stayed with me no matter what I did.

I panted, exhaling (the bag filled, went tight, wouldn’t fill anymore) and then gasping in again (stale air tasting slightly buttery on my lips, and then the rustle of the plastic bag sealing itself over my face again). I twisted my head around, craned my neck, tried to rub my head against the bedspread to get the bag off my head. Nothing worked. All it took was one simple little rubber band to hold it in place.

I was fighting, and I was going to lose. I was going to lose a fight against a plastic bag and a rubber band. The humiliation enraged me. I fought harder – I struggled – if only I could get a hand up toward my neck – if only my hands were anywhere but trapped behind the center of my back – if only my ankles weren’t tied together – if only I weren’t completely helpless.

I could feel my heart racing, the adrenaline coursing through my blood. I knew the adrenaline was expanding all my airways, increasing the amount of oxygen my body was greedily sucking out of the air. And that, in turn, would be cutting down on the number of seconds of consciousness remaining before I would black out.

Just as I started to feel truly dizzy I heard the click of a stopwatch. Hands grabbed the bag and the rubber band, pulling them off my head. In an instant I was free of the bag and fresh cool sweet air flooded in around me. I gasped, filling my lungs. I felt my desperation, my helplessness. I needed Steve. The air tasted sweet. I filled my lungs with it over and over again, felt it reaching into my blood, feeding and nourishing me.

“You did great with that bag, buddy,” Steve said. He tousled my hair, which was damp with my sweat. In spite of myself I felt a swelling of pride.

I did great with the bag.

“How do you mean exactly,” I said. I was grinning. I couldn’t help it. And if he was going to praise me, I wanted details on the exact specific reason why.

“You never got close to asking me to take it off,” Steve said. “You were too tough for that. I could tell you were a tough guy. Not one of those wusses I’m always getting stuck with.”

Steve got right down in front of me, eye to eye, grinning at me. I was still hogtied, lying on my side on the bed. I struggled – there were no circulation problems, not yet. I was comfortably uncomfortable. There was no reason for Steve to let me go.

“You didn’t do so good with those ropes though,” Steve said, and he reached around, checking the knots, looking for slack, not finding any.

“Gimme an hour or so,” I said. “You’ll see.”

“I’m gonna give you however much time you need,” Steve said. And then he kissed me. For the first time. A long, slow, deep, passionate kiss. I kissed him back. I couldn’t help it. I felt like swooning.

“I bet you could go for a whole minute next time,” Steve said. He meant in the bag.

“Without asking to be let out? I dunno about that.”

“But you want to,” Steve said, and with that he and I both knew he’d gotten into my head. “You want to try it. You want to test yourself. And you want to know.”

I blushed again. I couldn’t hold his gaze. I looked away. Because he knew me. He knew me somehow.

“Yeah,” I said. “I do. I do want to know.”

“And if you do ask to be let out?”

“I’m not gonna.”

“Yeah? You sure about that?”

“Yeah I’m sure – because you’re gonna gag me first, so we both know there’s no way I can back out,” I said.

Steve’s face lit up. When he really smiles his eyes crinkle almost shut. “Tough guy,” Steve said, and he punched me in the chest. “Seriously. You are one tough guy.”

“Uh huh.”

“And you can take it.”

“Uh huh,” I said. I was tied up, hogtied, helpless, but I felt heroic. I felt like I was ten feet tall.

“You can take just about anything I can dish out. Can’t you, buddy.”

I let that settle in. The feeling of my muscles pulling against the ropes, and my hardon straining inside my tight boxer briefs. The desire, and the frustration, and the helplessness, and the excitement, and the pride. The deep and glowing pride.

“Bring it on,” I said.

“Fuck yeah,” Steve said, wrapping his arms around me, holding me so tight I couldn’t breathe.

 

Metal would like to thank bound2defyyou for this story. You can get in contact with him at bound2defyyou@yahoo.com.