By Sorbus
“Ca. . . Cabin, Sir? You said something about a, uh, cabin?” The words tangled on my tongue. My cage was achingly tight, my arousal making it bob up and down like it was drunk. I felt light headed. . . obviously because all of the blood in my body was pumping down towards my waist.
“That’s right boy,” Stevens said with a grin. “But before we go there, I want to make sure Johnson and Rookie are on their way. I don’t think either of us really want to have to answer the kinds of questions those two would ask. So let’s just get comfortable, shall we? Let’s get to know each other a little.”
I started to get to my feet, but a firm hand indicated I was to remain kneeling. “Whoa there, cowboy. Just where do you think you’re going? No need to get to up. Besides, you’d better rest that ankle some more. We’ve got a few miles of walking before the day will be done. And before playtime can really begin.”
And so I shuffled on my knees, the denim of my Wranglers protecting my legs from the carpet of pine needles and other plant debris, the half dozen feet to where this man. . . my captor?. . . led me. I watched him check for carpenter ants before he tied off the 3-foot rope lead that led from my bound wrists and harnessed abdomen to a protruding broken branch. He then sat down on the fallen log, spread his knees, and pointed at the ground between them. The smirk on his face spoke volumes.
Using the short shuffling motions that my position allowed, I managed to turn around. I backed up, but my booted feet wouldn’t let me get as close to him as he obviously wanted. Supporting me by my shoulders, he gave the firm command of “put your legs out in front of you.”
The fallen log was a lodgepole, with a rather small diameter, and this allowed him to be sitting only 6 inches or so above where my butt was now planted firmly in the dirt. His long legs stuck out next to me, his thighs making a frame on either side that made me feel like I was trapped between bars. And, judging from how full my cage felt, and how my nostrils were now filled with his masculine scent, I wasn’t going to complain!
“Now, boy, tell me what brought you out here today. Beyond the obvious. Why these woods? Why today? What were you wanting to have happen?” He leaned forward as he said this, his right arm snaking down my chest to cup my bound wrists in his. His left hand removed my cowboy hat, and he put it on his own head. “But first, let’s hear your name. Of course I’m only going to call you boy, but I should at least know what’s on your driver’s license.”
“My name is Rowan, Sir,” I replied. “Rowan O’Donnell. And, uh, I came out here to have a little fun? I’m a self-locker and I wanted to come out and just, uh, have some fun?”
“Have some fun?” he sounded a little skeptical. I couldn’t blame him. It did sound a little . . . crazy. But after 35 days of being caged, it had made perfect sense to me at the time!
“Well, uh, yeah?” My voice cracked pathetically, so I cleared my throat. I dropped my voice an octave when I continued. “Yeah. A little self-bondage never hurt anybody, right?”
“Don’t do that,” he said firmly, running his left hand through my sweaty hair before sliding it down the side of my face. “Use your regular voice. You sound like you’re trying to convince me that you’re some sort of strong, rugged dude. And we both know that’s not true. Rule one- no lying. You lie to me and the consequences will be severe. If I ask you a question you’re not comfortable answering, we’ll negotiate, for now. But lie to me just once and I promise you’ll regret it immediately. No lying, not even to yourself.”
“Yes Sir,” I replied, the words popping out of my mouth automatically. “Uh, what should I call you, Sir? I mean, what is your name?”
“My name?” He laughed, a dry rumbling chuckle that sent a shiver down my spine. He leaned forward slightly, his mouth right next to my ear. “My name is Sir. What else would you call me? My name, which you will never use of course, is Derek Stevens. But again, you’ll call me Sir. Nothing else until I tell you otherwise. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
My cage made a couple of bobbing motions, and I inhaled sharply when he reached down to take it in his hand. “Nice cage boy. Really nice cage. I hope you know that you won’t have to worry about self-locking, at least not anymore.”
“Yes Sir,” I replied, once again automatically. I shook my head slightly. What was wrong with me? Why I was being so obedient and unquestioning? Shouldn’t I be shouting for help? Even if it would have been humiliating for that Johnson guy or Rookie to find me like this, at least I wouldn’t be stuck here with this who-knows-what-kind-of-man holding me. This masculine man, this muscular, strong, gorgeous, amazing-smelling, dominating, touched-by-the-gods force of nature man. . . OK, yes, I see. I know why I’m still sitting here. His wandering hands, which were now roaming all over my body, would have kept me planted right there in the dirt even if the rope binding magically disappeared.
And, just as if he really were a force of nature, he began to question me. He dug in like he was a miner digging for diamonds. His firm and implacable tone, not gentle but not harsh, left me feeling hollowed out by the time he was done, by the time he was satisfied. Before I knew it, I had practically spelled my entire life story. And unrelentingly, he made me state it clearly: Why was I out in the woods? In these woods? On this day? It was because I had reached a feral state, so unbelievably horny in a way that only 30-plus days of chastity creates. Should I have stayed at home and used a vibrating massage wand or my fuck machine? Perhaps. But that’s not relevant now.
And I told him things I barely even acknowledged myself! Limits I hadn’t even considered- limits I didn’t even know were limits! It felt almost like he was creating a 3-column table in his head. And I was surprised at the number of things that I was putting in the ‘yellow, willing to explore’ column. His grin against the side of my face made it clear he was pleased by this, as if I would be a challenge, like a Lego set that would take days and days to build and create. His probing hands also emphasized this, the way they drifted over my thighs, my abdomen, my bound arms. But one hand never went too far before it was once again fondling my cage. It was almost as if he could instinctively tell when my caged erection was about to go down. And he was determined to keep me hard and aching.
It was almost, but not quite, a surprise at how open and honest he was about himself. He wasn’t some enigma, some mysterious, dangerous man who might leave my body in the woods. No, his tone was reassuring, and he flat out stated he would prove that I could trust him. He wasn’t some psycho, some psychotic freak. He promised me with a safe and sane, sincere chuckle, that I wouldn’t be showing up in any missing persons report. The more he shared with me, the more I settled back against him, feeling his own erection poking me between my shoulder blades. How I longed to do something, anything to be able to see it when it wasn’t hidden behind those layers of cloth!
Finally, when my voice began to turn hoarse because I had talked so much, he stopped his questioning. He pulled a water bottle from his bag, and after having drained half of it himself, he held it to my eager lips. I drank deeply, guzzling it like I’d spent the day in the desert.
“Easy there, boy. Take it easy. Don’t choke. I’ve got two more bottles to get us back. There’s nothing you need to worry about.” One of his hands stroked my throat, feeling my esophagus move under his fingers as I swallowed. But he let me drink my fill, let me drain the bottle before he pulled it away. “Now that we’re both watered, I think it’s time we head off. We’re still hours until sunset, hours until it starts to cool down to a reasonable temperature. So, the sooner we get to my cabin, the better we’ll both be.”
“Uhm, Sir,” I said, desire fueling a sense of courage. “Isn’t there something I can do, should do, before we leave? Isn’t there some small token of appreciation, some act that I can do, to thank you for coming to my rescue?” I had tilted my head back, looking up past my eyebrows and sweat plastered hair, and I grinned a little impishly.
“Nope,” he said with a shake of his head. “Rule number 2. If you want something, if you need something, ask me straight out. I’m not a mind reader. I don’t play those kinds of games. If you try to hedge your bets, if you try to beat around the bush, I’ll shut it down immediately. I certainly don’t promise the answer is going to be a yes when you ask for something. Don’t ever think that or take that for granted. So, if you want to suck me off, then you’d better ask. And you’d better ask politely.”
To be continued …