By Sorbus

“A cougar, Sir? Are we talking about an actual overgrown kitty cat or Washington State University alumni moms?” I scoffed and made a snorting noise. My mouth fell open in surprise, however, when I felt his hand tap me none too gently on the cheek.

“Be respectful, boy,” Stevens ordered. “And yes, an actual cougar. Which makes your choice of activity out here rather foolish. But then. . . it’s not any worse than the reason for half a dozen game wardens to be combing these woods for a cat that was only hungry!”

I felt his hands grab my upper arms, and he guided me over to a fallen log. I nearly tripped over a large branch laying in the grass, but his grip was sure and . . . pleasantly tight on my biceps.

“Yo! Stevens! You there?” It was Rookie’s voice crackling through the walkie talkie now, and I could feel the irritated grumbling in the man’s chest, because he was holding me so close to him.

“Be quiet, boy,” Stevens ordered me, before I felt his right hand leave my arm to unclip his walkie. “Keep your pants on Rookie, we’re not at a bath house. No sign of a cougar, but I did find a hiker who had fallen and twisted his ankle. He doesn’t appear too injured, but he wasn’t able to communicate very well at first. I’m checking him out now.”

I felt a blush explode over my face. Every word he said was true. . . technically. But he phrased it in such an innocuous way that there is no way his fellow game wardens would suspect anything close to the actual situation. For which I was exceedingly grateful!

“Hey, Johnson, why don’t we give up on this wild goose chase. . . or wild cat chase. . . and call it a day? That cougar is miles away from here by now. And it’s hardly a threat. Don’t tell the Director, but it did us all a favor, eating that State Congressman’s wife’s purse mutt. One fewer yappy dog to chase the birds and harass the squirrels.” Stevens’ voice was so deadpan, I couldn’t tell if that was the actual reason or not. Someone had sent game wardens to scour the forest because some sort of chihuahua had gotten eaten? I snorted again, but in approval.  I exhaled sharply through my nose when I felt that sharp tap on my cheek again. What? I wasn’t being rude!

“Roger that, Stevens,” came the reply from the older man. “But you owe me a whiskey for leaving me with Rookie. You’re better about dealing with these young guys, you know.”

“True, I am quite good with the younger guys. And the fully adult aged ones as well,” Stevens replied. He stroked my cheek with his thumb, which made me blush again. And made me squirm slightly as my cage was filled by sudden arousal. That desire only became more powerful when I felt that thumb slide once over my lips and then press against my mouth, demanding entry. I immediately complied and I felt the pleased chuckle rumbling through the man’s chest. It was followed by a whispered “Good boy.”

“Alright, over and out. I’ll make sure Rookie gets out of these woods before he gets eaten by a porcupine or something. Are you sure you don’t need a hand with that hiker? Want us to radio for an ambulance or something?” Johnson’s voice crackled through the walkie’s speaker, and I frowned at the distraction.

The thumb continued to explore my mouth, however, sliding over my tongue and then up to the roof of my mouth. “No, it’s all good here. I’ll be able to give this hiker everything he needs. He’s in very good hands.”

I couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped my lips, and that sharp taping finger once again found my cheek.

“Boy, when I say be quiet, I mean be quiet. I see that I’ve got some work ahead of me,” Stevens half grumbled as he clipped the walkie back onto his belt. His thumb, regretfully, was pulled from my mouth. “Now, let’s just settle in for a bit.”

“What? Aren’t. . . aren’t you going to untie me? Uh. . . Sir?” I tried to pull away, but all it took was one of his arms to pull me back up against him. It was then that I realized he was just as aroused as I was. And it was a . . . significant amount of arousal, based on what I was feeling pressing against the seat of my Wranglers.

“I can see that your gag is going to be quite useful. . . and quite necessary, boy,” he said with another one of those rumbles that sent a lightning bolt down my spine. “But since you’re not wearing a collar. . . at least not yet. . . I’ll answer your questions with some questions of my own. Do you really want to risk running into Johnson and Rookie? Because the fastest way back to the lake is down the path we were taking. That’s also the same path we’ll be taking to head towards my cabin. Do you really want them to see you following along behind me like a lost puppy? Because you’re awfully naive if you think I’m going to untie you right here and let you go wandering off. Somebody really should have taken you in hand years ago. I’m surprised some Dom didn’t snatch you up when you were in college.”

Before I could make a comment, I found myself being turned around so quickly I almost fell over. Then I felt him take the rope binding my wrists and he began. . . adjusting it. I didn’t say anything in protest, because I was still processing what, exactly his words meant- and would mean- for me. By the time I did realize what was happening, I discovered he had adjusted the knot- and made it completely inescapable. I could feel that the rope cuffs were now wrapped snuggly against my wrists, and I could feel an extremely complex knot with my probing fingers. There was no way I’d be able to get it loose by myself.

But he wasn’t done. And before I could make any sort of protest, he bent my arms to press my wrists against my chest. And with unbelievable efficiency, he was wrapping the rope around my back and across my front. It seemed to take only seconds before he had my bound wrists now bound to my chest. He then used the remaining length to make a quick but effective harness. He made several passes over my shoulders and tugged the rope between my legs, loops pulled tight against each my inner thighs as if my caged crotch was some sort of wrapped up present to be opened, or at least played with, later. The ropes didn’t frame my glutes, however. They pulled tightly in one spot against the seat of my denim, pressing firmly against my crack before they went back up to my shoulders, making what felt like an X halfway up my back.

“There we go, boy,” Stevens said mere moment later, his voice cutting through the arousing fog that had my head spinning. This felt — it felt incredible. I’d always had a thing for bondage, but my previous boyfriends had never been this skilled. They had been more like fumbling cub scouts playing with lengths of twine, compared to this man! “Now, let’s get you down on your knees. I want to see just what kind of a prize I’ve stumbled across.”

I didn’t resist. I couldn’t resist, as those strong hands pressed solidly down on my shoulders. I sank to my knees without a complaint, and then I felt his fingers at the buckle of the blindfold. It was pulled from me and then my mouth fell open even more widely.

There I knelt, the knees of my Wranglers covered in dust. My cowboy hat knocked askew, my eyes blinking against the sudden sharp bright sunlight. And with an Adonis standing, looming over me. His tight fitting gray colored Fish and Game shirt looked at least one size too small. His utilitarian green canvas pants had a sizeable bulge just inches from my face.

But the look in his eyes. . . there was part amusement and part hunger. The look of a hunter having caught unexpected prey. I whimpered as his thumb pressed once more between my open lips, and the fingers of his other hand were there at my chin, pressing gently but firmly up. He smiled as I whimpered again, completely helpless and completely under his power.