By Doug UK

“Born with a silver spoon in his mouth!” That’s how they used to talk about me: a strange old English expression, because I had wealthy parents. Both of them barristers, ultra-conservative, conventional, living a home-counties life-style, with me as the trophy son, pampered and to be well-prepared to follow them into the rich dull world of the law and all its trappings. Shame really, as I must have been such a disappointment.

Inevitably, I was sent to a posh private school to prepare me for admission into one of England’s famous boarding schools for boys. Expected to play rugger, and be one of the lads, macho at all times, with a natural penchant for Brookes Brothers clothes, and fashionably tousled haircuts.

Of course boarding school was not all terrible, mainly because I became the dormitory bum-boy. The other boys got what they wanted, and I had a great time, bed-hopping from one pubescent prick to another. In those days I was called Freddie Smythe, and with a small change to Freda, I was the fantasy girl they lusted for.

My voice was late to break, something which made my father very anxious; and at fourteen years old I was still singing soprano in the school choir. Sometimes it seemed I was the only soprano in the school, and I got to sing many solos in the school chapel, rejoicing in the voluminous choir robes. I’d sing on the chapel steps, with many whispered encouragements of “Go Freda!” hissed at me from the choir stalls.

The boys in the dorm covered for me during rugby and cricket, neither of which I could understand or manage to do. It was a long-running joke that there was only one kind of ball I could handle, and it certainly wasn’t a rugger ball or a cricket ball! Thankfully neither Aids, nor any other kind of sexual disease reared its ugly head, as the boys were all virgins: usually,  I was the only one who was experienced sexually, and often had to teach the lads how they could enjoy their cocks. Many a boy had no idea his tits were connected to his cock, until I helped him on the way to enlightenment!

For some years, it was all innocent fun, and if any of the masters at school suspected anything, they didn’t take any action against me. As I got older, and my voice did at last break, many a younger boy was sent to “Auntie Freda” when he was homesick, and needed some tender loving care. But as I got older, it was not enough. I wanted more than just being a great bum-boy. I didn’t want to go on being auntie, or a surrogate woman. I had had enough of the casual public-school  sex, gratifying straight boys marooned in an all-male environment. I wanted more.

I wanted to be dominated by a man who wanted another man, not one pretending I was a girl. I wanted a man who called me Freddie, not Freda, who wanted my arse because it’s an arse, not a woman’s private parts, and who took the initiative, leading me on to places I had never been. I was already leading a double life, of bum-boy at school, and macho-straight-lad at home with my parents; and gradually I added a risky third secret strand to my routine. Telling school I was going home for the weekend, and telling my parents that I had to stay at school, I escaped to London. I couldn’t risk it very often for fear of being found out, but with mother’s money, I found a small hotel in unfashionable south London, and left Freddie and Freda behind.

The first time, it was quite a performance. I bought torn jeans, dirty trainers and grubby teeshirts in a thrift shop, and changed out of school uniform in the station toilets. I had a great jean-jacket, all hints of school well-hidden, I found the hotel. It was cheap and not very clean, smelling slightly of boiled cabbage, and perfect. The frown on the landlady’s face quickly vanished when I paid cash in advance for the weekend. I left my bag in the room, pocketed the key, and set out to find real sex.

Instinct took me to Piccadilly Circus, and after some wandering, I noticed a number of other boys also wandering and hanging out. A small side street, surprisingly close to the busy bright lights of the Circus, seemed to be a focus, and I leaned against the wall, just like other boys were doing.

“Quiet tonight, isn’t it?” I said to the nearest lad, trying hard to look as if I did this every day.

“Feckin’ early, innit?” he grunted. “New ‘ere, ain’t yu? Mind you, you won’t wait long, not with your feckin’ baby face. Just tell ‘em you’re a feckin’ virgin, ‘speck you are, innit?”

That was my casual attempt to look experienced blown away. “No,” replied, “I’m not a virgin.”

“Pity,” he said. “There’s some here feckin’ likes a virgin arse.” Coming closer, he went on, “’Ere, you feckin’ shaving yet?”

“Nearly,” I said faintly.

“Should’ve worn your feckin’  school uniform; that’ud shift some feckin’ business, innit?” There was a pause, and he grinned boyishly. “By the way, welcome to the Meat-rack, Babyface. Good feckin’ luck.”

And with that, he turned away and stared into the middle distance; clearly the conversation was over.

Nothing happened for a very long time;  it was far too early, but around midnight the Meat-rack started to come alive.  My “feckin” friend went off with a very handsome man; I knew I would not be so lucky; and sure enough a very boring suit came up to me. Standing close, he spoke very quietly. “How much for a blow job?”

“I dunno,” I stammered, “What can you afford?”

“Twenty quid,” he whispered.

“OK,” I said. “Where d’you want t’go?”

“Upstairs,” he raised his eyes, “I’ve got a room here, in the Regent Palace.”

“OK,” I said again.

“Room 435. I’ll go ahead. They don’t like it to be too obvious. Wait a few minutes then follow me up.  What’s your name?”

“Babyface.”

“Right, Babyface, 435.”

The tired lobby of the old hotel, and the creaking, ancient lift, were somehow appropriate for my first time on the Meat-rack, and it was easy to find room 435. I hesitated, then knocked. The door opened immediately. The suit stood there.

“Ah, room service,” he said. “Come in.”

The room matched exactly the rest of the poor old Regent Palace, faded grandure, and that slight smell of cabbage that my own rented room had.

“The twenty quid’s there on the nightstand,” the suit said. “I don’t want much. Just a nice long slow blow.  Kneel down.”

I knelt, before I realised what was happening, he had my hands behind my back, and handcuffs clicked on.

“Don’t say a word. As soon as you make me come, I’ll unlock you, and the money’s your’s.”

I looked at him with a mixture of surprise and puzzlement.

“Just unzip my flies with your teeth, Babyface, and pull my baby out. Come on boy, you know you want it.”

Little did he realise that I would have paid him for this experience, and I wasn’t in a position to tell him that this was my first time with handcuffs, nor that him clicking them on me had given me a huge erection. I buried my face in his crotch. I thought that all my bum-boy years at school had taught me all I needed to know, but suddenly a whole lot was new, and fun!

Getting his zip down was hard, but he already had an erection, and flipping his cock out of his flies and into my mouth was easy. For a rather dull-looking man, he had a big one! Once I got into a good rhythm, I was on more familiar territory, and I gave him my best.

“Shit,” he exclaimed, “You’ve no virgin, are you Babyface? You’re good. You’re fucking great. You’re…”  and he exploded in my mouth.  There was a pause. We were both out of breath. After a   while, he wiped his cock and put it away, then leant down and unlocked the handcuffs.  Unexpectedly, he kissed me, then groped my crotch. “I think you enjoyed it too, didn’t you Babyface?” I nodded. “You’re a good kid. There’s the money.”

“I don’t want the money,” I hesitated. “Give me the handcuffs.”

“Cheeky bugger,” he laughed, “ They cost a lot more than twenty quid.”

“OK,” I said, “I’ll let you fuck me, then you give me the handcuffs.”

“You asked for it boy,” the suit smiled, and picked up his small suitcase. Opening it, he produced another set of handcuffs.  “Don’t get greedy,” he laughed, “I’m only giving you one set. And now you’re really going to earn them. Strip and lie face down on the bed.”

I did as he wanted. Naked, he saw my own throbbing erection, and as I lay on the bed, I tucked it under my belly. “Stretch!” he ordered, and soon I was spread-eagled face-down on the grubby sheet. My wrists were cuffed to the bed head, and my ankles secured somehow with rope.

“Just one more thing,” he said, pulling a blindfold over my eyes. “Now, you’ve seen it and sucked it. Now feel it.”

He climbed upon me, and eased his cock into my arse.  Many boy’s willies had been up me in the last few years, but this was my first real man. It was almost as if I was a virgin, except I had enough knowledge and experience to enjoy every minute of it, and as he humped me, I humped the bed. I loved being spread-eagled, loved the steel of the cuffs rubbing my wrists, loved the tightness of the ropes at my ankles, and I exploded at the very same moment that he came in a noisy climax. “Yes!” he shouted. “Yes,” I thought to myself. “This is what I want.”

For a moment he made no attempt to release me, and I wondered if I had made an enormous mistake, but once he had washed himself, he untied me, and I got dressed.

“Well done, Babyface,” he smiled. “You earned your spurs.” And handed me the handcuffs, still slightly warm! As I turned to go, he called me back. “Take the twenty quid; you earned it. Next time ask for fifty. You’re worth it.”

After that, I lived my life in three very separate compartments: upper-middle-class snobbery with my parents; jolly bum-boy fun at school; and as a rent boy on the Meat-rack. And I knew very clearly which one I preferred. Every waking hour was spent planning my next trip to London, scheming to steal a weekend away from school and home. I knew it could not last for long.

I collected a very nice little collection of toys and ropes, which I kept in a bag called my toy box, but I was constantly frustrated by punters who wanted to be tied up, or handcuffed, or all sorts of bondage in all kinds of positions, but I was doing the tying and locking, whilst in reality, I desperately wanted to be tied up, and especially locked in steel, myself.

My parents were putting huge pressure on me to follow them into the law. They were assuming I was working hard at school (which I wasn’t) and was looking forward to a wealthy life-style, just like theirs’ (which I abhorred). School was nagging me constantly to improve my grades “if I was going to make anything of my life” (whatever that was supposed to mean). And all I could think about was escaping both the respectability of home, drudgery of school and a tedious future at law school. I never believed in an after-life, or a second chance on this earth, and was convinced that I would only have one opportunity to be what I wanted to be, to do what I wanted to do. A plan began to form.

Two years on the Meat-rack was enough to for me to be certain what I wanted. The same two years with parents unable to see that their little boy would never make a top barrister, reinforced my resolve at every turn.  Two years as the school bum-boy helped me stretch my arse, but did nothing for my self-respect or to satisfy my inner cravings. With a generous allowance from the parents, I had been able to save all the cash I earned as rent. I didn’t bank it, just let the cash grow in a fat bundle of notes hidden carefully in my locker in the dorm. And as I got more experienced as a rent boy, I found I could command fantastic rent. It was unusual to spend a weekend on the rack without taking several hundred pounds home.

As my plan began to take shape, I systematically changed my ill-gotten gains from sterling into US dollars – a little at a time, and constantly using different banks and bureau de change. Slowly my nest-egg grew, and with it my anticipation of putting the plan into action. From visits to various thrift shops, I accumulated a modest wardrobe of anonymous clothes.

My school gave me the ideal opportunity to make the break. An extravagant three week Easter vacation school-trip to Egypt would be my cover. I got all the paperwork signed by the parents, and persuaded them to give me the cash to hand over to the school. At the same time, I told the school that I would be spending the whole of Easter at my parents’ chalet in Switzerland. This way, neither the school nor the parents would be looking for me for three weeks, during which time I would vanish.

Sadly I took my toy box to the Meat-rack and handed out the toys as gifts to the regular boys I had got to know during my time there.

On the day the parents thought I was boarding a flight to Luxor, and the school thought I was flying to Zurich, I was actually on a trans-Atlantic flight to Detroit.  I pre-booked a cheap hotel near Metro airport, and checked in as Freddie Smythe. The next day, dressed in the thrift shop clothes, I bundled up all traces of Freddie Smythe, including his passport, smart luggage and travel documents, and slung them into a dumpster. With my cheap clothes slung in a second-hand ruck-sack, and patting the wad of notes in the moneybelt in my underwear, I was on my way. I took the local bus into downtown Detroit, and found the Greyhound bus station, just where it was on the map I’d downloaded. I was nervous as I approached the window to buy a ticket, but despite being a short-arse with a babyface, no questions were asked.

Of course, I hadn’t really burned my boats. I had enough cash to last a few weeks, and if all was a disaster, I could buy a return ticket home, and face the music. I knew, however, that I would tell the truth, and force school and parents to deal with it.

I slept fitfully on the long over-night bus ride, and finally staggered out into a bright Chicago dawn. The Greyhound bus station was busy, full of people who looked just like me. Just as I expected and wanted, I melted into the crowd. Slinging my ratty pack on my back, I set out to wander around downtown and then find a cheap hostel. But I turned my first trick early evening, before I got to finding the hostel.

We made eye contact just outside Union Station, and he followed me for a short while before I turned to confront him. Two years rent in London was more than enough to know what he wanted; and a quick glance showed he’d plenty of money to pay for it.

“Got a light, boy?” he asked.

It was very hard for me not to laugh. Here was my first Yankee trick, and he came out with the oldest pick-up line in the book!

“Naw,” I smiled, attempting my best New York accent, “but I sure know how to light your fire! They call me Baby-face.”

That was it. I couldn’t help but giggle, and he grinned back.

“OK, Baby-face,” he laughed. “Can I take you back to my condo? It’s in Marina Towers, fabulous view of the lake.”

It was a short walk, and we went up in the elevator together. Sure enough, there was a fantastic lake-view, and an equally fantastic king-sized bed. My professional skills soon took over and I sucked him off before letting him fuck me.

“Look,” he said, as he tucked $200 into my jockstrap, “My boyfriend’s out of town, and I’m lonely. Do you want to stay the night?”

He didn’t need to ask me twice. “Let me stay here, and you can have a free fuck in the morning.”

I slept in his king-size bed with him, and let him fuck me again in the morning.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but you’ve got to go now. I’ve got to go into my office, and I can’t leave you here.  You’re a very sweet boy, Baby-face, but I don’t know you. You’ve got to understand it’s a risk. I might come home and find you’ve stripped the place.”

“Tomorrow?”

“No,” he said, “I’ve gotten tickets for the symphony, and then I’ve got to clean up before the boyfriend gets back.”

I told him I understood, kissed him and left, winking at the concierge at the door on the way out. Back on the streets of Chicago, I took stock of my situation. Twenty-four hours in Chicago, and I’d slept in a king-sized bed with a grand lake view, and had more money in my pocket than when I arrived. The adventure was better than I hoped for, even if the sex had been vanilla. There would be plenty of time for the heavier stuff in the coming days. I set off with a spring in my step, for the second time, to find a hostel for the night.

Once again, before I had found a hostel, I found another punter, and once again I found a luxurious bed for the night. Bizarrely, and quite unexpectedly, this pattern repeated night after night. At one point, I realised I’d reached the end of three weeks since leaving London, and that the parents and the school would be discovering that I’d been neither to Switzerland nor Egypt. I was enjoying myself in Chicago, confident they wouldn’t find me. Was this the point of no return? I still had my nest egg in my money belt, which surprisingly had grown, not diminished since I’d been in the USA.

I’d been working in Chicago for about a month when my life changed for ever.

I don’t remember the accident.  I woke up in a hospital bed, but unlike the calm rooms of private hospitals my parents had paid for in my previous life, this was noisy and busy. I had no idea where I was, or what had happened. I tried to sit up, but couldn’t. Then I realised I was desperately thirsty; and then the pain kicked in – a searing horrible pain in my left leg.  I tried to call out, but little more than moaning came from me.  A nurse appeared.

“You awake honey?” she asked

“Yea.” I could hardly talk. “Can I  … drink?”

“Of course you can honey,” she said. “Here you go.” And she lifted my head, and offered me a cup of water. “Just take some sips, poor baby. It’s best you go back to sleep again.”

“Pain,” I said, “in leg.”

“I’ll get you something for it, honey. Just wait there.”

Presumably they gave me something for the pain; presumably I slept; but I don’t really remember. And then one day, I was properly awake.

“Nurse,” I called, “I’m awake. The pain’s still here, it’s my leg.”

“I’ll get the doctor.”

I struggled once more to sit, but couldn’t: so I lay staring at the ceiling, wondering how my leg could hurt so much. What had happened to me? After a while a doctor came and sat beside me. They pulled shabby curtains around the bed.

“Now then, mystery man, we need to talk.”

“Where am I? What’s happened? How long have I been here? And my leg, it’s killing me.”

“It nearly did kill you, young man,” said the doctor. “You were in quite a mess when they brought in. This is Mercy Hospital, and you’ve been here a week. You were in a bad accident, and ran a very high fever when you arrived. “

“But what happened?”

“First things first,” continued the doctor. “What’s your name? We couldn’t find any papers on you when you were brought in.”

“Tony,” I said. “Tony, um, Washington … but they call me Babyface!”

“Who calls you Babyface?”

“Tricks,” I said, “I’m a sex worker.”

“Rent boy?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And Tony’s not your real name, and you’re not going to tell me where you live.”

“OK,” I said, “Tony’s not my real name, but it will do, won’t it? Where I live? I really can tell you the truth. Right now I’m homeless.”

“Shit, Tony, you’re really fucked. You won’t be going back on the game very quickly, not after what’s happened to you; and we need this bed. I’ve got to discharge you as soon as I can. A few more days and you’re out of here.”

“What’s happened to me, doctor? You can’t send me out with this pain, it’s terrible.”

“As far as we can tell, you walked right into the path of a semi. A couple of people saw you going to cross the road, and they think you simply looked the wrong way. You didn’t see the semi; and the driver didn’t see you. All sixteen wheels went over your left leg. It’s a miracle you weren’t killed. When they’d scraped you up off the pavement, the semi was long gone. He had no idea he’d hit you. By the time they got you here, you’d lost a lot of blood.”

“What’s happened to my leg, doctor?”

“We couldn’t save it. We’re a charity hospital, we just patch you up and send you on your way. We don’t have the time or money or resources to do anything else but the most basic surgery.”

“What do you mean?”

“I amputated what was left of your left leg a week ago. I’m sorry, but it’s gone.”

“But it can’t be gone. It hurts so much.”

“I know, and it won’t be any easier for a day or two; but as you heal, the pain will fade.  And that’s what we have to work on now – getting you healed. There’s a drain in your hip, but once the drain’s removed, you’ll soon be up and about. Then we have to send you out into the big bad world.”

“I’ve got money,” I said, “I’m not as penniless as I look. I’ve got a money belt…..”

“I don’t think you have,” said the doctor. “Perhaps you had a money belt once, but somewhere along the line it’s gone. You don’t have a penny.”

“Shit!”

“Yes, it is,” said the doctor. “But you’re still alive. I’ll leave you for a while, try to sleep, but it’s been a pretty big shock. I’ll check up on you at the end of my shift … Hang in there ….Tony ….. Babyface.”

I lay still for a while, with a confusion of thoughts whirling around in my head. Suddenly I found myself to be a penniless cripple in a charity hospital. Thinking through my situation, I decided that I had probably past the point of no return. If the parents or the school were sending anyone to look for me, they’d be hunting a fit young teenager in Detroit, not a scruffy one-legged kid in Chicago. There’d be no way they’d find me – and even if they walked right past me in the street, they wouldn’t know it was me. And there was no way I’d go crawling home in this state, to be told how foolish I was, and how I had earned my just desserts. No, that truck crushing my leg had pushed me past the point of no return.

The doctor came back, as he promised at the end of his shift.

“How’you doing?” he asked as he pulled the curtains round the bed and pulled a chair close to me.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Honestly, the pain is gradually going, but my mind is left a bit numb. What’s to become of me?”

“We don’t know yet. It’s early days to worry about the future. Right now we just need to get you mended, and out of this bed.”

“Doctor,” I asked, “you will look after me won’t you? I’m just a kid really. I’m not old enough to be a cripple.”

“You’ll be OK,” he replied. And it was then he kissed me. Leaning forward, bringing his face close to mine, he kissed me.

“There,” he said, “is that better? I’ll be here for you, Tony.”

I smiled weakly, and looked at him properly for the first time. He was everything that a television doctor should be – handsome, blond, with sparkling blue eyes.

“I bet you kiss all the boys like that, doctor,” I joked.

“No, I don’t. I’ve never done that before. And I’d like you to call me Jack when I’m here with you.”

“Thanks Jack,” I smiled again despite the desperation of my plight.

“I must go, or they’ll be suspicious,” said Jack. “See you in the morning. Try to sleep. I’ll ask the nurse to bring you a sleeping pill.”

“Kiss me again before you go,” I asked, “Just I case I imagined it.” And he did, a gentle lingering kiss; then abruptly got up and left.

Not long after, a nurse brought me a sleeping pill, but before I swallowed it, I asked her what she knew about the doctor.

“Oh, such a waste,” she said, “a lovely handsome man like that. The girls all swoon for him, but all in vain. He’s gay. Mind you, he’s been a bit down lately. Apparently his boyfriend walked out on him recently. Now, come young Tony, let’s get this pill in you, and then you’ll have a good sleep. Tomorrow we’ll get you sitting up, perhaps even in a chair. Sleep well, mystery man.”

I can’t deny that my hand groped for my dick, and I had a bit of an erection just thinking about those kisses from Jack, but the pill took effect, and I had hardly started to wank, before I fell asleep.

There followed a very strange week, during which I suffered extraordinary mood swings. Jack visited at least twice a day, showing increasingly that he was falling in love with me, leaving me with a wonderful feeling of being wanted and cared for. When I was alone, however, my mood swings were terrible, and I felt very sorry for myself. I’d burned my boats, past the point of no return, and finished up penniless and crippled, without any money or even clothes.

All through that week, I was slowly recovering.  Gradually I got used to sitting up, and seeing the strange sight of just one leg lying in front of me in the bed. Next was the effort to get out of bed into a chair – an effort I would have been reluctant to make if Jack had not been there to encourage me. At last came the fateful day when I was handed a pair of crutches and helped to stand up. I was horrified at how crippled I had become, and at first could not believe that I would ever be fit and well again.

Jack was brilliant, and I could not resist falling for him. On one hand it was pretty amazing to be wooed by a hunk of a doctor; but I wondered how much it was just his need for love following his boyfriend walking out. Further, at the back of my mind lurked my deep need for bondage. Would I ever find someone to lock me up in handcuffs, tie me up, restrain me in all the ways I dreamed of? Would such fun and games even be possible in my crippled state?

After a couple of days trying to learn to walk with crutches, the hospital announced that it would discharge me. There was a limit to how long I could occupy a charity bed.

“I’m out of here tomorrow,” I told Jack. “What will happen? I’ve nowhere to go, and no money. I don’t even have any clothes.”

“No problem,” smiled Jack. “I’m taking you home with me. I’m on my own in a great apartment. I earn good money, and clothes will be easy. Sleep well, as tomorrow will be a busy day.”

It was. Jack arrived without his doctor’s white coat, pushing a wheelchair with a small holdall bag on the seat. Jack opened the bag to produce jeans, teeshirt, and just one sock and shoe. I had no possessions of my own to worry about except the pair of hospital crutches. Jack helped me dress, and the intimacy of the situation led to many kisses. Once dressed, Jack wheeled my out of the hospital, and with some difficulty, got me into his car.

Thankfully, he could drive into an underground garage, and then get me back into the wheelchair, and in the elevator up to his apartment. When we got there, I gasped. The very same lake view I had seen with my first trick, the day I arrived in the Windy City. “You don’t live here?” I asked.

“I certainly do. I hope you feel you can make your home here with me.”

“Are you sure? You’ll take on a cripple?”

“I’m sure; I know I only met you two weeks ago, and the first time I saw you, you were unconscious and in a terrible mess, but I fell for you very quickly. There is just one condition to you coming to live with me.” Jack paused.

“And that is?” I asked.

“The truth. I know your name’s not Tony. I’m not sure how old you are. In fact I don’t really know anything about you. You’ve been trying to do a phoney accent, so I know you’re not American. I’ve fallen in love with you, mystery man, but I think we must be honest with one another, even if we need to keep some secrets from the rest of the world.”

“Give me some time,” I replied. “I’m exhausted from coming from the hospital, and my mind’s in a bit of a muddle. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, and what you’ve said, but right now I don’t really know who I am.”

“You need to sleep,” replied Jack. “I’ll put you in the guest room for now. You must rest and recover. I will wait until you feel ready to talk.”

At that time I was still very unfamiliar and nervous with the crutches, and moved very slowly.  Jack’s guest room was peaceful, and the guest bed wonderful after the time spent in the hospital. I fell into a deep sleep. It was a few days before I started to think clearly. Gradually my old obsessions with bondage returned. There was an irony that I was so experienced with sex, and yet so rarely had had the satisfaction I craved from bondage.

After a week of Jack’s encouragement, I was becoming more mobile and confident, and my thinking was clearer. The time had come for the big talk.

It was early evening; I was standing at the picture window watching the lights coming on in adjacent towers, and along the lakeshore. Jack came and stood behind me, his lips touching my ear.

“So, mystery man, let’s talk. Tell me who you are. I know you’re not Tony, so what do I call you?”

“Once upon a time, I was Freddie,” I started, hesitantly, “but that’s a name I want to leave behind. It’s a name from a previous life. And no, I don’t want to be Tony.”

“So, what shall we call you?” asked Jack.

“I told you in hospital that my name was Babyface at one time in my life. I quite liked it then, and I’d quite like it now. Is that OK?”

Jack chuckled. “Babyface.” he whispered in my ear. “Oh yes, I like that. Doctor Jack and Babyface; that works.”

“My turn now,” I said, “to ask a question.”

“Go on.”

“The nurse said you had a lover, but he’d left you. Tell me about him. Why did he leave?”

“Very well,” replied Jack, with a sigh. “I said we must be honest, so I will be. But I’m afraid the reply might make you run away.”

Jack put his arms around me, and then pulled my crutches away, dropping them to the floor.

“You see, I love to have you in my control. Part of my loving you is how helpless I can make you just by taking your crutches away. I’m holding you tight, you won’t fall, but you’re in my control. I thought I had a long-term lover in Carlos, but he resisted my control over him.”

Jack paused.

“You see,” he went on, “I’m quite heavily into bondage.”

My heart skipped a beat. What was he saying?

“I’m a bit of a control freak,” he continued. “I love to tie men up, and have them helpless in my arms. I love to use ropes and metal restraints, and watch them struggle against inescapable bonds. I’m sorry if I’ve frightened you. If you don’t want any of this, I’ll not try to stop you from leaving. That’s why Carlos left: put simply, he didn’t want to be tied up; he refused the handcuffs, wouldn’t come to the cabin the woods.”

I stood silent, and a tear ran down my cheek.

“Speak,” Jack said urgently. “Say something.”

“You cannot imagine how I feel right now,” I muttered as I turned awkwardly to face him and cling to him. “I ran away to find a bondage lover, and when the accident happened, I thought all chances of finding anyone were gone. How could I have guessed that my salvation was right there in the hospital?”

“You’re not horrified? You don’t want to leave?”

“Quite the opposite,” I grinned. “You’ll never get rid of me now, Doctor Jack!”

“You mean, you want a life of bondage? You want to play my games?”

“I do,” I said simply. “Although I’m not sure how much a one-legged man will be able to fulfill all you want.”

“I’ve told you already; without your crutches, you’re in a kind of permanent bondage, unable to go anywhere without help. By taking your crutches away I have you completely in my power and control. Does that frighten you?”

“Not at all,” I said. “In fact, I’m beginning to see some advantages in my predicament. And to think if I’d not had that accident, I would never have met you.”

“A fateful moment indeed,” replied Jack.

“Just a moment,” I said. “I’ve remembered something you said just now. What cabin-in-the-woods?”

Jack laughed. “I’ve a bought a little cabin in the woods, about an hour from here, near a township called Palatine. I’ve fixed it up as a weekend retreat, complete with cage and other stuff…..”

“Other stuff?” I said.

“You’ll have to wait until I take you there,” said Jack. “But we’re not going until you’re fully recovered and fit.” And with that he picked me up, carried me to the sofa, and lay me down. “I think a little celebration is in order,” he went on. “Stay there.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I joked, “especially as you’ve left my crutches on the other side of the room.”

When Jack returned with two glasses and a bottle of champagne, I had a new and very frightening thought in my head.

“Jack,” I began, “I have still not seen what I look like without the bandages. Can they come off now? Can I see what my body is like?”

“In a minute,” said Jack, “but let’s drink this fizz first.”

Later Jack fetched the crutches and led me into his bedroom. Standing facing his full-length mirror, he slowly undressed me, until I was naked except for the huge bandage around my hips.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” I replied.

Carefully he cut away the bandages and padding until I was completely naked, standing on my one good leg, with the crutches under my arms. I looked at the reflection. There was nothing left of my left leg, nothing at all. No stump even. My arse was intact, but that was all. Hesitantly I touched the strange place where my leg use to be.

“Are you OK?” asked Jack gently.

“Yes, I think I am, but it’s shocking. There’s nothing left, is there?

Jack stood behind me, looking into the mirror over my shoulder, his right arm round my waist. He put his left hand on top of my left hand, and together we stroked the scar. And, shit, I got a huge erection, standing there, looking at my crippled body, feeling Jack’s hand on the amputation.

“I think it’s time to leave the guest room,” smiled Jack. “You’d better come into my bed now.”

I turned and crutched to the bed. Jack pulled back the covers, and I lay down.

“Sit and listen for a moment,” I told him.

Jack sat on the edge of the bed.

“I was a rent boy in London,” I began, “and I was very good at sex: very good at vanilla sex. I made good money, but was always frustrated. I got to tie other men up, sometimes getting paid for simply tying them up for a couple of hours, watching their television for a while, and then untying them. I left London to seek a new life, one in which I wasn’t the top, tying up older men and giving them blow jobs. But I could never have guessed how things have turned out.”

“And regardless of how many legs you’ve got, once you’re in a hogtie, you won’t be going anywhere,” said Jack. “and once you’re in my cage, it won’t make any difference, one leg or two.”

“I’m looking forward to the cabin in the woods,” I said.

“All in good time, Babyface,” said Jack. “But first, let’s see how good you really are. Today vanilla: tomorrow who knows?”

The first sex since my amputation was a little unusual, but no problem, and I became slowly aware of the potential for new and unexpected positions for sex.

It was some time before Jack took me to the cabin in the woods. He said that I had to get completely relaxed and competent with my crutches, and that they had to become natural to me – second nature, a natural part of my life. Slowly I got used to my new situation, and learned all kinds of unexpected skills, both in and out of bed! I got used to being out in public, shopping, going to restaurants, and coping with challenges like getting in and out of Jack’s car. Always there was that odd thought in my mind – being disabled was like being in some kind of permanent bondage.

At last the day came to go to the cabin. With grocery bags on the back seat of the car, Jack drove me out of the city to Palatine. After an hour or so on the highway, he turned into a small road, then turned again onto a dirt road, stopped to open a wide wooden gate, shut and locked it behind the car, and then drove up a long winding dirt drive. The cabin was hidden in dense woods, in the centre of a big lot of private ground. No-one near, and completely secluded. Jack stopped the car, and I climbed out.

“I’ve not been here for many weeks,” he said, “so it will be a little – er – dusty.”

He led me into a darkened room: the drapes were closed and he snapped on a dim light to reveal a modest room with a big double bed at one end, and a kitchen and table and chairs at the other.

“There’s not much to it,” he smiled. “What you see is almost all you get. Through that door is the bathroom. And through the other, is your room.”

“My room?” I asked.

“Go look,” he said.

I crutched forward and opened the door. The room ahead was in total darkness, but Jack came behind me and switched the light on. I gasped. A fully equipped dungeon, with a cage, and with plentiful metal equipment! Rolled ropes hung on the walls, alongside an assortment of leather items, most of which I recognised – but not all.

“Bloody hell!” I exclaimed. “And Carlos refused to come here? He didn’t know what he missed. Has anyone else ever seen this?”

“No,” said Jack, sadly. “I’ve spent a lot of time and money setting it up, waiting for the right man to come along. Sometimes I thought I was really wasting all my effort.” He paused, but then went on brightly, “But now I know it was all worth it. This is all for you, Babyface.”

“Where do we start?” I grinned.

“By unloading the groceries from the car, you sexy thing. Keep calm. We have a whole three days here. And you’re not going to spend much time outside this room. Let’s relax first, perhaps a little siesta in bed – sleeping, not sex – and then we’ll start to explore what turns us both on.”

Later that evening, Jack helped me into a skin-tight rubber suit. We had a moment of hilarity with the empty pant leg, but Jack simply cut it off. Next came a heavy leather straight-jacket. As Jack fastened each buckle, he snapped a small padlock through it. Clearly this straight jacket wasn’t coming off in a hurry, although he had not fastened the crucial strap under my arse. Once secure, Jack lay me on a leather mattress on the floor. He stripped off, and quickly buckled a complicated harness onto his torso. I had never seen him look so good. He rolled me onto my side, and slowly pulled down the arse zip, gently fingering my arse. “I’ve needed this for years,” he said.

“You’re not the only one,” I sighed.

A condom and lube, and his cock was ready.

“I’m not coming in slowly,” he said. “Are you ready for this?”

I nodded, and with one huge thrust he entered me. All my rent boy experience ensured I could take him easily, but never during those rent boy years had anything felt so good. I strained against the straps and locks of the straight-jacket, finally finding the bondage sex I had been craving all those years.

After coming violently in me, Jack withdrew, and slid a big butt plug into me. He pulled up the zip of the rubber suit, and fastened the thick extra strap of the straight-jacket under my arse. With only one leg, and arms pinned in the jacket, getting into the cage was tricky that first time.

I settled myself onto the leather padded floor of the cage, and watched Jack lock it, and hang the key on a hook.

“Sleep well, Babyface,” he said.

“Jack?” I said.

“Yes, Babyface?”

“Thank you, doctor.”

Jack smiled, snapped off the light and closed the door.  I think I was asleep very quickly happily imprisoned in the darkness.

At some time in the night, I was wakened by the cage being unlocked, and became dozily aware that Jack was climbing in with me.

“Need to fuck you again,” was all he said as he pulled down the zip and pulled out the butt plug. I pushed back against him, and he rammed into me. As he pushed into me, my own cock strained against the rubber, and leaked much pre-cum. As he came to a great climax, I exploded with him, filling the rubber suit with cum. As he pulled back, I felt a bigger butt plug invading me again, and then the zip pulled tight up my arse crack ensuring it couldn’t slip out. He left the cage, locking it behind him, and closed the door.

I lay in the black darkness, the happiest I had ever been in my life. I knew then that I would never go back. I was completely, totally and forever, past the point of no return.

 

The end