By Sorbus

“Sir, uhm, this is a cabin?” The words carried a hint of disbelief, because ‘cabin’ hardly described the building in front of us. It looked like something taken directly from Frank Lloyd Wright’s portfolio. This was no mere woodsman’s hut or hunter’s forest retreat. Huge windows, three levels high soared in an angled shape, rising up to a sharply peaked roof. It was built of stone and massive timbers, seeming to grow out of the rock it sat upon.

“Well, that’s what my grandfather always called it,” he replied with a shrug. “But my dad remodeled it and expanded it quite a bit when he inherited it. Then it passed on to me. The perks of coming from timber money, the family business.”

“Wait. . . what? You’re Stevens Lumber?” I looked at him in surprise. “But. . . you’re, you’re a game warden!”

“My family is Stevens Lumber,” he said with another shrug, then grinned. “I’m a trust fund brat who loves the woods and wants to make sure its resources are used wisely. Now, do you seriously want to stand here and chat about sustainable forestry and natural resource practices? Or would you rather. . .” He moved his mouth to where it was mere inches from my ear before he added “do something else?”

He gave a throaty chuckle, making me shiver and my spine tingle like it’d been hit with an electrical current, before pulling me forward by the rope that was knotted around my buckle.

The ground sloped up gently, leading to a sizeable stone patio. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that the high wooden fence completely blocked out any chance of being seen, unless somebody were to fly a drone up through the canopy. It hit me then, how completely isolated we were. How completely alone we were, how defenseless I was now. . .

“Well boy, any second thoughts? This is your final chance to say no.” It shouldn’t have been too surprising at how he seemed to be able to read my mind. “I will respect the limits we discussed, but this is your final chance to walk away until I say we are done. The front gate opens with a press button. Then you can follow the road. It’s about three miles, but it’ll get you back to the lake and back to your car.”

I blinked a couple of times, looked down at my feet, before briefly making eye contact with him.

“I’m going to get us some water,” he said as he reached out and used his thumb to raise my head, to force me to look at him. “When I get back, you will give me your answer. I suggest you think carefully, because once it’s given, it’s given.” He turned and walked away, leaving me standing there, my mind spinning. I watched as he disappeared through the sliding glass door, closing it behind him.

My mind flashed through the dozens and dozens of porn videos that I’d watched, through the stories I’d read on various websites. . . of guys in a situation just like mine. How many times had I jacked off to reading those? How many times had I shot a load into a handy sock, wishing and lusting for something like this? And it hadn’t gotten any easier since I discovered chastity and started self-locking. In fact, the yearning, the desire, the borderline need had been growing almost exponentially!

The sudden rat-tatting sound of a woodpecker shook me from my reverie. It sounded like an alarm going off. Like an alarm clock, I clarified to myself. The bird wasn’t warning me to run, to flee. It was warning me that time was ticking, time was running out. I knew that if I didn’t make a decision by myself, he would show me to the gate himself. And once it was closed, it would be closed forever. It was here and now, a one-time opportunity.

I looked around the fenced yard, the immaculately manicured area that somehow blended the wildness of native plants with an unspoken rigid control. And then I saw it. I saw the Adirondack chair. My feet began moving all by themselves, taking me to it- once again my body was making the decision my brain wouldn’t or couldn’t. I saw how it was positioned, so innocently posed, placed so that it faced the western sky. To where blazing sunsets would light up the sky. . . and then?

Then I felt myself kneeling. Lowering myself down onto the hard stone, struggling a bit to keep my balance with my wrists still bound behind me. The heavy backpack was an added weight, and it seemed to be pulling me down. It seemed to hold me there, an added force to increase the inertia, the resistance to move, as my knees settled into place.

I stared down, staring at the still wet denim that blocked my cage. A cage that painfully held me in its grip. How I longed, suddenly, to have the freedom to yank my pants open, to take that cage in my hands, and to . . . I huffed in frustration. To do what?

If, by some sort of magic, I were to suddenly have the key in my hand. . . what would I do? Would I unlock? Would I jack myself right there, letting 35 days of pent-up locked desire come blasting out? Or would I take that key and give it away? Would I hand it over, freely and of my own accord? Would I hold it out to a certain golden blond Adonis, hoping he’d take it from me and tuck it away somewhere?

“Good choice, boy.” His words, spoken barely above a whisper, made me jump in surprise. His lips brushed my ear as his hands gripped by shoulders. He was standing behind me, and he pulled me back slightly, holding me to him.

How did he manage to move so silently?! Oh, right, he was a game warden. Pretty sure ‘silent stalking’ was somewhere in his job description.

“I’m proud of you, boy,” he continued, squeezing firmly with those strong hands of his. “I know the struggle. I’ve helped others like you before. There have been those who chose to walk out that front gate and I never saw them again. But there have been others who have knelt right there, knelt down in their proper place. They let me train them, guide them, help them grow. But those were all college guys, who graduated and then moved on. But you, boy? I have a feeling you’ll be sticking around for a long time.” One hand wandered up to my face, the fingers and palms sliding over my neck, my jawline, my cheek. Then one thumb slid over my lips, tracing along them before it pressed into my mouth.

We stayed that way, for . . . I don’t know how long. Yes, my knees began to ache, pressing down against that hard stone paver, but it was negligible. I closed my eyes as he stood above me, stood over me, holding me against him. How I want to wrap my arms around those legs of his! How I wanted to turn around, to having something far larger in my mouth than a single thumb!

“Shhh, boy. Stop overthinking,” he said with a chuckle. “Your mind never shuts up, does it? I can practically hear every thought you’re thinking. You don’t have to worry so much, you don’t have to think so much. You’ve given me control. Now let me keep that control.”

I couldn’t stop the whimper, the noise that squeaked out past that probing thumb. The yearning, the desire, was almost too much. I felt the fingers of his hand, the one at my mouth, curve around my chin, holding my mouth closed over that thumb. My eyes flew open in panic, however, when his other hand promptly pinched my nose, forcing my nostrils shut. What was going on?

I struggled against him, managing to take barely half a breath when he pulled his thumb out of my mouth, but that was only so he could get a stronger, more firm grip over my mouth. He pinned it closed and then used his thighs to hold me in place.

Mere seconds felt like hours before he suddenly released my mouth and nose, before he took my head in his hands, holding me still as my lungs heaved.

“Shhh, boy,” his words were calm, but they fell over me like a weighted blanket, pinning me down in a way that felt eve more physical than his hands. “This panicking feeling? I know this is what it feels like when your mind goes into overdrive, worrying and overthinking and overanalyzing every miniscule detail. But now? Now that you’re breathing deeply? As your breathing returns to normal? This is what it feels like to let me in, to let me take control. Let me do the thinking, letting me do all the decision making. See how much more relaxing it is? Feel how easy it is to just breathe? How soothing it is, to surrender, to just let things just happen. Breathing is an automatic process. You just do it. And once you make the conscious choice to surrender, it becomes an automatic process too.”

I nodded in response to his words, words that were borderline hypnotic as they filled my ears.

“Good boy,” he said, and he used one hand to ruffle my hair.. “Very, very good boy. Now let’s get a little more comfortable, shall we?”

I felt a slight pang of regret when he stepped away, and I looked up over my shoulder. I wondered for a moment, a fleeting moment, if I should try and stand up to follow him. But he simply put one hand on top of my head and gave just enough pressure to convince me that staying put was what he wanted.

I couldn’t stop the grin when I heard the belt unbuckled and the sound of his zipper being lowered. I watched as he moved in front of me, pushing his pants down over those impressive thighs. Once they hit his knees, they fell to his ankles without any further assistance. I automatically leaned forward, eager for the even more impressive package in front of me. It was covered in a pair of solid black boxer briefs that disproved the ‘black is slimming’ fashion rule.

“Nope, not yet, boy.” He said this as he tapped my forehead once and then held that single finger less than an inch from my forehead. After waiting a moment to make sure I would obey, he then sat down. But to my surprise, he reached forward to my belt buckle.

It was an even greater surprise when he removed the knotted rope from my front but left my Wranglers closed and the belt buckle still in place. I watched in confusion as he seemed to be playing with the rope, making some larger loops and then somehow knotting on a sliding piece. I didn’t understand. . . at least not until he reached forward and let it fall over my head.

I felt him tighten it, adjusting it so it fit snuggle around my neck without choking. He tested it with his fingers, nodding in satisfaction. He then smiled at me, brushed a thumb over my cheek, and used his other hand to tug gently on the rope leash he’d just created.

I took this as permission and leaned eagerly forward. It wasn’t necessary, but he used the rope as a lead, as a guide, to bring my mouth down over the sizeable bulge. Keeping the rope wrapped around his hand, he let it rest by his side. It gave me just a few inches, but that was all I needed to perform my task.

Oh, yes, it was musky. He had been hiking around pretty much all day, on one of the hottest days of the year, after all. But a good body wash added hints of sandalwood or some other earthy scent, making it intoxicating. It filled my nostrils in a way that had me swelling, filling my cage to the point of straining.

I’m not going to claim to be some champion cock sucker, if such contests were such a thing. . . but what I might lack for in experience, I more than made up for it in sheer enthusiasm. His moan of pleasure was followed by his hand pulling his hard, very hard, length of manhood free. We both chuckled as it bounced against my face, before I was able to capture it with my lips.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t just the lack of oxygen that had my face turning red, when I got to the choking point. In my eagerness, I had pushed myself too hard, but I was determined to impress him.

“Whoa there, boy,” he said, as he pulled on the rope leash and forced me to lean back. “Gagging yourself isn’t going to impress me. At least . . . not yet. I want to establish a base line with you. Take it easy, so I can figure out what you can and can’t take. You’re a fool if you think this training of you is going to be finished in a single afternoon, boy. And you’re a bigger fool if you think I want this to be some sort of rushed affair. This isn’t the back room of an adult sex store.”

“Yes, Sir,” I panted, looking up at him. I smiled at his gently shaking head. His eyelids were half lowered, and that predatory look I had seen when he first removed my blindfold was back. My cage was throbbing, filled to the point of sweet pain as arousal send blood pumping, burning through my veins. That predatory look was there, but it was carefully contained within those lidded eyes. I shivered at the thought of what he might do if he were to ever let it out, let that beast inside him off that leash.

And speaking of leashes, once he felt I had my breathing under control, he pulled the rope back down, allowing me to once again taste the prize I was craving.

I knelt there, on the hard stone, hands still tied behind my back, my cage still crushingly contained by my tight Wranglers. I knelt there, the sun beating down upon my back, sweat dripping down my face, my head bobbing up and down in ecstasy.

I knelt there, as I felt the . . . shift. The sudden tense-hardening of the organ my tongue and mouth was gliding up and down. I knelt there as I felt his other hand, the one not holding the rope that held my neck in place, suddenly grip the back of my head, fingers tangling and grasping at the inch long length of hair.

Yes, I knelt there as I felt his muscles clench, his body begin to shake. And then my mouth was filled with what I’d been so eager to obtain.

To be continued …