By Sorbus

Grabbing my satchel – yes country boys can carry those! – I made sure its contents were safely tucked away. No need for my leather toys to fall on the path in front of some city slickers who had come out camping for a mid-week adventure. . . the sounds of others at the surrounding campsites meant such an event wouldn’t end well for me, especially in this uber-conservative part of the country.

Holding my water bottle in one hand, I headed off into the woods. It was in the opposite direction of the lake, so I was confident that all I needed was a mile or two of distance before I could safely have that solo play I’d been craving. I drank deeply as my booted feet touched the packed dirt. A puff of dust nearly had me coughing out that water – the woods were far too dry for this time of year and temperatures were going to soar. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, but the little brain in my locked organ was urging me onward, so onward I would go! At least it would keep those campers close to the water, and away from where I’d be.

My breathing was a little accelerated, partially from the exertion, but much more from the excitement of some self-bondage, as I came around a corner of the overgrown game trail I’d been bushwhacking through for the last half hour or so. The lake was far, far behind me. And the only creature larger than a chickadee I’d seen had been that doe deer with her fawn. And they’d bolted with white tails flashing 150 yards behind me or so.

The Ponderosa Pine that stood before me was perfect. It wasn’t a giant yet, so its dead lower limbs still stuck out within easy access. Not to climb, of course, but to easily toss a length of rope over. My cage was pinching something awful, so I opened my belt buckle, the metal Irish knot design clanking slightly, as I struggled briefly to open the tight denim. And these pants most definitely were tight! Once my cage and balls were free, I rebuttoned my wranglers and resecured the buckle. Appearances must be maintained, ya know?

It was an effortless toss to get the rope over one of those thick limbs and I then secured one end around the trunk of the tree. Yes, it was self-bondage, and yes I knew I’d be able to get out. . . but one does have to make it at least look good! For as long as vision is allowed. . . that leather blindfold in the satchel at my feet was very effective at blacking out sight.

I took a long drink of water, nearly emptying my water bottle, before I pulled out the gag. It was thick and the smell of leather in the warm summer sun nearly had me swooning! The miniature penis shape plug was wicked fun as I slipped it between my lips and bit down with my teeth. I buckled it on tightly- but not too tight- before I removed my cowboy hat for just a moment. I slipped the blindfold over my forehead, leaving it there while I finalized the rest of my preparations. I shoved my cowboy hat back on, angling it so it would stay put without interfering with that leather blindfold.

Taking a moment for a couple of deep breaths through my nose, since my mouth was now useless. . . I shivered in excitement. My cage felt exquisitely tight, dancing right up to the point of pain, but stopping just short to give me that delicious amount of discomfort.

I then created a simple wrist binding, making simple loops of the rope before giving the length a simple twist. I then made tight perpendicular coils to make the “cuffs”. It’s always at that part that I wish I didn’t play alone. Another set of hands could make this binding truly inescapable! Someday, perhaps?

Slipping my wrists through the coiled rope, I gave it a tight tug. The rope tightened slightly- enough to give me the sense of being bound, even though I could and would escape when playtime was over. Reaching up, I fixed the blindfold into place and my entire world went dark. I smiled and moaned into the leather of the gag, my cage keeping my throbbing organ helplessly confined.

I took a step away from the tree, making the rope line go tight and pull my wrists up into the air. And then, it happened. . . I hadn’t realized there was a ground squirrel hole so close to where I was. My foot hit that hole and down I went, down on my knees. I cried out in pain, which the gag muffled to quiet groan. My ankle twisted painfully, but thankfully the leather cowboy boot provided some amount of protection. It wouldn’t be sprained, but that wasn’t my main concern.

The rope around my wrists went far more taut than I had planned. It felt like my arms were gonna be jerked out of my sockets! I was much closer to the ground than I had planned, and the distance made this go from play to painful.  It took me a few moments, kneeling in the brush and panting through the gag, when I heard it. . .

I heard the sound of woodsmen, loggers, or hikers. . . at least three of them coming closer and closer. It was only a matter of time before I’d be found in this predicament. I tried to scramble to my feet, but in my haste my boots slipped on the leafy plants beneath me and I nearly fell down completely. What will they do? What will they say? Will they help me? What if something else? All while the knots got tighter on my wrists. . .

And to my humiliation, my cage began to feel tighter and tighter, as I helplessly listened to their footsteps coming closer. Their boots crunching and cracking the dried out sticks and underbrush beneath them. The woods had gone silent of all animal noises, as they steadily came closer down the game trail. Helplessly, I struggled …

To be continued …

Metal would like to thank the author, Sorbus, for this story and welcome him to the Prison Library.