I first saw him at a crowded party. I was there really just because I lived in the building and the host was an acquaintance of mine from passing in the lobby and exchanging pleasantries. I caught sight of a man across the room just as he was reaching into the back pocket of his trousers, and I watched intently as he pulled out a big, white pocket handkerchief and used the thick pad of soft cloth to pat his mustache dry from his drink. As I watched him do this, growing instantly excited by his action, I took in that he was a dapper fellow who appeared to be in his late fifties.
Stocky, fit-looking, he had a well-shaped, bald head, bright, intelligent eyes under heavy white eyebrows, a thick white mustache and goatee, and bony, long-fingered hands. He was dressed in gray dockers and a navy plaid shirt under a gray tweed sports coat. A silk handkerchief of navy and maroon paisley spilled out of his chest pocket in a lolling puff. He let his gaze travel around the room, and I waited until his eyes met mine. He studied me for a moment and then dropped his eyes to his drink. The fellow looked up once more before I could wind my way through the crowded room to his side, and I saw that he recognized my intention. When I came up beside him, he brought his gaze to meet mine. At a couple of inches over six feet and one-ninety, I seemed to myself burly and almost over-sized next to him, but the wide smile he gave me seemed to say that he liked what he saw.
I’m told that I’m easy enough on the eyes. At forty-five, I keep myself in shape with regular workouts at the gym, and I’ve been lucky to keep my hair, still thick and wavy although now heavily shot with gray. I confess to dying my thick mustache to match my still reddish brown eyebrows. My eyes are blue, very blue and almost intimidatingly intense, I’m told. Anyway, as I looked down at this man, I had a difficult time thinking clearly. Insistent images of suddenly seizing him, binding his hands behind his back and stuffing that big white handkerchief of his into his mouth as a gag kept distracting me. “Hi,” he said in a deep voice, raised a little to carry through the noise of talk and music thumping around us. “Hi, yourself, handyman,” I said in a drawl meant to be heard as put on. He smiled shyly. “I saw you across the room,” I went on in my normal tone, persuasively mellow and deep–my “radio-announcer voice”, as my friends say–“and I wanted to come over here and meet you.” I was being very direct, I knew, but something about the shyness of his smile coupled with the way he had turned his back to the room to fully face me and me alone told me that here was something I had better not chance missing. He nodded. “I saw you looking.” He chuckled.
“Actually, I saw you when you first came in and greeted Jack (Jack was my acquaintance and our host) and I thought, Gee, he looks nice.” I smiled, flattered, if skeptical. “But I’m not nice, you know.” I said. “I’m a mean hombre who kidnaps sexy guys like you and carries them off to take advantage of them in his private hideaway.” He looked up at me. I was telling him a half-truth, of course. I’m not a mean hombre, I’m actually a very nice fellow and a gentle lover, but I do like mock kidnapping and mock raping my partners. I saw that he wasn’t sure how serious I was. He ran the tip of his tongue across his upper lip nervously, and then jerked out, “Well, I wish you would.” Immediately he dropped his eyes, and then he once more reached into his back pocket and took out his handkerchief. Absently, he patted his mustache while I watched and tried to control the surge of excitement that thick pad of clean white cloth raised within me. “Just like that?”
I managed to ask. His gaze flicked up to mine, flicked away, and then came back to hold mine steadily. He drew a deep breath. “Yeah. Just like that.” I reached and took his drink from his hand and then put both our drinks down on the bookcase behind me. With one hand firmly gripping his arm, I began to steer him toward the front hall of the apartment. He moved with me unresistingly, and in a moment, we were standing in the corridor outside Jack’s front door. We stared at each other. After a moment, I spoke. “Still game?” He nodded. Nodding in return, I lead the way to the elevator, and once we were aboard, pressed the button for the top floor. He looked at me questioningly, and I grinned at him. “That’s how I know Jack. I live in the building.” The elevator stopped and we stepped out into the corridor. I lead the way, and then, having unlocked and opened the door to my flat, gestured him inside before me. As soon as we were in my front hall, dimly lit by the lamp I had left turned on in the living room, I took him into my arms from behind, clasping him close against my chest with my left arm while with my right hand I covered his mouth, feeling the thick mustache and goatee tickle my palm. “Mmmph!” He was startled, but he didn’t resist me. After the first second of surprise, he leaned back into my embrace, his eyes closing. A deep sigh escaped him, the warmth of it blowing over my hand. I bent close to bring my lips to his ear. “My hideaway,” I said softly. “Where I take sexy guys like you, and tie them up, and do terrible things to them.” My words might have seemed frightening, but my voice was low and gentle. I was almost crooning into his ear.
The scent of him–clean, soap and water smells, and crisp, freshly laundered clothing smells, and woolen tweed smells–filled my nostrils, and I looked down over his shoulder to where that big paisley silk handkerchief lolled on his chest. “Mmmmph! Mugulummmph!” He mumbled against my muffling hand, and he twisted slightly within my encircling arm, but he made no real effort to free himself. Still holding him clasped to me, still with my hand closed tightly over his mouth, I began to force him slowly down to the floor. He buckled against me, and, with me half-supporting his weight, he let me ease him down until he lay on his side on the thick carpet. I lay behind him, still holding him close, still gagging his mouth with my hand. For several moments we rested there. My cock by now was rigid, pressing up and forward inside my briefs, struggling to stand free. After a moment, I eased myself up to lean over my companion from behind, my hand still over his mouth but my other arm now supporting my weight on the far side of him. His eyes were open and he looked up at me. “I’m going to gag you now,” I said quietly. He stared back at me for a moment and then he nodded. I reached behind and under him, and I forced my hand into his trousers pocket, dragging out his big handkerchief. Working a little awkwardly with my one hand, my other still closed firmly over his mouth, I shook open the handkerchief and spread it on his chest. It was, as I had thought, quite clean and also quite large, a good two feet square, but still not enough by itself for my intentions. Smiling down at my companion, I reached up to open the top drawer of the little oak chest that stood in the hall, and I pulled out several large gray bandannas. All the while, he watched me. He lay quietly on the floor, his arms at his sides, unstirring except for his eyes as his gaze followed my movements. Taking up one of the bandannas, I shook it open and laid it out on his handkerchief, and then I gathered the double layer of cloth in upon itself, forming it into a thick, soft wad the size of my fist.
I took up that big wad and bent closely over the man beside me. “I’m going to stuff your mouth with this ball of handkerchiefs now. I like to stuff my partner’s mouth up nice and full, so you just be a good boy and open wide.” I took my hand from his mouth and brought the huge wad of soft cloth to his lips. “Please,” he said softly, “kiss me”. I smiled down at him. Moving the hand holding the big gag aside, I slowly lowered my face to his. First brushing his lips lightly with my own, then pressing my mouth close over his, I finally kissed him long and deep, sucking his breath into my throat and bruising his lips with mine. Slowly then I pulled away and reached up with my free hand to cup the back of his head while I brought the huge wad of the gag to his lips once more. Obediently, then, he opened his mouth wide, and I thrust that huge and smothering ball of soft cloth deep between his jaws, forcing him to take it all in and stuffing his mouth from back in his throat to his lips. “Mummph! Mummmmphumph!” The sounds he made, slightly turning his head from side to side, were much more muffled now, guttural, far back in his throat, choked back by that huge gag. My cock went more rigid so abruptly in response to his muffled cries that it pushed above my briefs and pressed hard against the lap of my trousers. A small spot of precum spread in the fabric. I swallowed and fought hard to overcome the urge to seize the man beside me in my arms and bring myself off against him immediately. I wanted to take this slowly, and, after a moment, I had calmed myself enough to go on. Taking up another of the bandannas, I shook it open and then folded it on the diagonal, folding it again and then again to make a wide bandage. My companion still watched me, his dark eyes intent, their gaze moving from my hands to my face and back.
Bending over him, I bound the bandanna over his mouth, pressing the thick middle of the band between his jaws and over the huge wad of cloth stuffing his mouth and wrapping the long ends around his head to cross them behind his skull and pull them into as brutally tight a knot as I could manage. My pulling the bandanna so tight forced the gag even more deeply into his mouth, and he mumbled half-protestingly, but I ignored his moans and finished off the knot tight and hard. “Mummmgulump. Mummmmph.” Gently I stroked the side of his head with one hand, gazing down into his eyes with a half smile on my lips. “Shuts you up, doesn’t it, sexy man?” I murmured to him. My face was inches from his, my eyes looking directly into his. I could feel his breath on my lashes and moustache as it flowed deeply through his nostrils “Gags you, my handsome dandy, gags you very well, doesn’t it, that nice big wad of your handkerchief and mine?’ “Umm hummph.” His agreement was a much muffled mumbling into the gag. “But I’m not quite finished,” I said softly. He looked up at me, clearly puzzled. Did I mean not finished with his gag? But he already had a huge wad of handkerchiefs in his mouth half choking him. How could he be more gagged then he was? I patted his bandanna-swathed cheek gently. Taking up another of the bandannas, I shook it open and laid it out on the floor. Then taking a second and, only unfolding it enough that it formed a several-layered and rectangular pad, I laid it in the middle of the first.
Then I folded the first into a broad bandage on the diagonal, enclosing the second bandanna to make the middle of the bandage thick with its own folds and the second bandanna within. Finally, I took up yet a third bandanna, and this I shook open and gathered into a puffy wad, smaller than the one that already filled my companion’s mouth but big enough, nonetheless. Bending over my partner, I stuffed the soft wad of the third bandanna between his lips and in front of the bandage pressing his gag back into his throat. Holding it in place with one hand, my companion watching all the while and now beginning to understand, I took up the folded bandage that I had just fashioned and pressed its thickened middle over his mouth, bringing the ends around his head as I had done with those of the first bandage and likewise tying them behind his skull in a brutally tight knot that rested below the first. He was now doubly gagged, the bigger wad of his handkerchief and my bandanna filling his mouth and bound in place with a single bandanna, and the further stuffing of the wad of one bandanna bound in front of the first with the bandage of two bandannas. That second bandage was wide enough to completely cover his crammed full mouth, forming a smooth seal of black and white patterned gray cloth in a swath around his head that covered his cheeks and reached from his nostrils to his bearded chin. “Now I’m finished with the gag,” I said, looking into my companion’s eyes. “Mmmmm. Mmmmmmmm.” His mumbling were completely inarticulate now, choked and smothered by the wads of cloth stuffing his mouth and sealed in by the layers of bandannas bound round his head.
“Mmmmmmm! Mmmmmmmmmp.” I smiled at him. Gently now, and slowly, I began to caress him. I ran my hands softly over his hard, clean skull, down his lean throat, up again over the thick binding of cloth that sealed his mouth, down his throat once more to his chest. Settling myself beside him, pressing my body close to his, I curled his head and shoulders into my chest. With my free hand, I continued to caress him, running my fingers now lightly, now more firmly over his face, and then under his coat and over his chest. I could feel his torso beneath the crisply ironed cloth of his shirt, his muscles firm but yielding, his ribs at the base of his chest cage hard and rigid. His breath, whispering through his nostrils, came deep but a little hurried. Playfully, I pinched one nipple through his shirt and singlet gently, just nipping it with the tips of my fingernails. He moaned into the huge gag and shifted helplessly in my embrace. “Mmmmmmmmmm. Mumummmmmmm.” I withdrew my hand from inside his coat and reached to toy delicately with the handkerchief he wore in his chest pocket. The silk was cool to the touch, heavy, almost liquid, a richly patterned lobe of dense cloth, the complicated pattern of navy and maroon paisley made the more complicated by the folds of its arrangement in his pocket. As I played with that soft puff, I turned my gaze from it to my companion’s answering gaze. My cock, never slack during all this time, stiffened yet more under the stimulus of touching and handling that dandy puff in my companion’s chest pocket. He watched me, lying quiet in my arm, seemingly content to let me set the pace of our love-making, savoring, I hoped, the enormous gag that stuffed his mouth so fully, relaxing, I also hoped, into the safety of my arms and my control.
Taking the heavy swath of silk into my hand, I gently pulled it from my companion’s pocket. I held it up and let it slowly cascade from my fingers, keeping at last only a corner in my grasp, the rest of the handkerchief spilling over my partner’s chest. It was a very large handkerchief, bigger than a bandanna, and made of a heavy yet flexible silk twill. Still holding the handkerchief in a soft drape just below my companion’s face, I looked into his eyes with a slow smile. “Quite the dandy, aren’t you, buddy?” I said softly. “A real sharp dresser, a real dude.” A slight frown started between his heavy eyebrows. “I like that,” I reassured him, bending my face yet closer to his and looking steadily into his eyes. “I’m a dude, too, or didn’t you notice?” I glanced down at the show handkerchief of heavy, brown foulard silk that filled the patch pocket of my own sports coat to bursting and rose up in a big triangular lobe on my chest. His eyes followed mine, and he nodded. “Mmm hmmmm.” My cock jumped at that muffled sound. No sound is more erotic than the smothered mumble made by a man with a big handkerchief gag stuffing his mouth. “Yeah, I’m a dude,” I said softly. “And I like fancy-handkerchief-wearing dudes like you,” I went on. “I like to see a handsome, sexy guy like you dressed up with a big silk handkerchief puffed in his chest pocket. I like to see that he has a nice big white handkerchief in his pocket, too. When I saw you this evening, when you took out that nice clean handkerchief that’s gagging you right now, when I saw you take it out and pat your moustache, I wanted to throw you on the floor and truss you up hand and foot with yards of rope, and stuff a gag as big as a football into your mouth, and rape you right then and there.” I was staring into his eyes as I spoke, and my voice was trembling by the end, a harsh whisper that revealed almost more than I wanted this man to know. He was staring back at me, and, as I spoke, he made a low moan and pressed himself more deeply against my side. I had let go of his handkerchief, which now lay tumbled on his chest, and I took him in both arms, holding him close but still looking into his eyes. “Mmmmmmm? Mmmmmmmm?” His moans, smothered and muffled by the huge gag, where questioning now, pleading. I drew back from him a little, calming myself, determined still to take this slowly, to move step by step into making this man my helpless captive, gagged, bound, yearning, and in my control. I pulled myself up to a sitting position beside him and took up the handkerchief from where it lay on his chest. “Put it back in your pocket,” I said quietly, holding the handkerchief out to him. Slowly he took the big square of heavy silk from my hand. His hands trembled, and he fumbled with the handkerchief as he began to stuff it into the chest pocket of his coat. I reached out and grasped his hands in my hand, halting him.
He looked up questioningly. “Slowly,” I said firmly. “Slowly. Take your time, and do it slowly, the right way, so it makes that big dude puff you had before.” He looked back at me for a moment, and then he nodded. His hands still trembled, and his motions were still fumbling, but he arranged the big handkerchief carefully, folding and stuffing and prodding and pulling until it rose up and then spilled from his pocket in a heavy and lolling puff. He looked up for my approval, and I nodded. “Nice,” I said, caressing his bandanna-swathed cheek with one hand while I reached to heft the big lolling lobe of silk with the other. “Nice, real nice.” My companion reached tentatively to touch the big silk puff in my chest pocket and looked up into my eyes. A frown creased his brow, and he was plainly struggling to put something into words for himself. I watched, amused. He gently pushed at my handkerchief, and then looked down at his own. Looking up again to meet my eyes, he struggled with the gag. “Mummmmmhulgmmmph? Huummm himmmm hulgmmmmph?” He was trying to speak words now, not just moan, but of course the huge gag defeated him completely. I gathered him into my arms, first tenderly, then more fiercely, whispering into his ear. “Yes, buddy, we’ll talk, but later, buddy, later. Now,” I went on, easing my embrace to hold him a little away from me, “now I’m going to tie you up within an inch of your life.” My companion struggled with the gag once more, found himself as utterly defeated by the layers of soft cloth filling and binding up his mouth as before, and then nodded. Slowly I pulled us both to our feet. “Turn around, dandyman,” I said softly. After looking once more into my eyes, he obeyed. I took several lengths of clothesline from the chest and began to bind him. First I pulled his arms behind him, bringing his wrists together. With quick movements, I removed his wristwatch and set it in front of him on top of the chest. Then, using a fairly short length, I wound the rope in several slightly slack coils around his wrists. Then I passed the rope between his wrists and around the coils, pulling this loop snug and tightening the coils into rope handcuffs. I tied the rope off with a secure knot.
Taking up a longer length of rope this time, I first folded it to find its midpoint and then I knotted it by its midpoint to the ropes that bound my companion’s wrists. Taking the two long ends thus left dangling, I passed these around his waist, crossing them in front of him and bringing them back around to his wrists again. I pulled the ends tight, forcing him to bring his bound hands snugly up into the small of his back, and then I tied off the rope. I now took up a much longer piece of rope, which I folded upon itself to make a double strand. I passed this double strand first around the front of his left upper arm and then across his back, then around behind his right upper arm and then across his back to pass it around the back of his left upper arm. I now had a figure eight, with my companion’s upper arms inside the rings of the figure. I pulled the ends snug, and then pulled them a little tighter, and then a little tighter, with each pull forcing my companion’s elbows further behind him and together. At my third pull, he moaned into his gag. I eased the tautness of the rope just a little and then, after winding it twice more in the same way and pulling it snug, tied it off in a secure knot. Taking out some further lengths of rope, I slung them over my shoulder as if I intended to go mountain climbing, and then, taking my partner’s shoulders in my hands, I turned him around to face me. There was little to show from this angle that the man was bound. The ropes on his wrists of course were not visible, and his arms were pulled so far behind him by the tight lashings that the coils on his upper arms hardly caught the eye. He looked almost as if he were merely standing with his hands clasped behind his back. Except, of course, for the tight swath of the bandanna bound so tightly over his mouth. And his arms were pulled unnaturally far back, when you came to think about it. Having a man bound in this way was a favorite of mine, since it forced him to throw out his chest and thus to thrust the handkerchief puffed in his pocket into exaggerated prominence. And now was no exception. My cock jumped and pumped at the sight of the fellow before me. He looked up at me, his dark eyes seeking mine, the look in them, I knew, asking for reassurance that he was helpless but safe. The sight was almost too much for me.
Handsome, pleadingly vulnerable, his mouth brutally and thoroughly gagged, stuffed full of those huge wads of handkerchief and bandannas, swathed tightly with the bandannas, his arms and hands bound tightly and mercilessly (well, almost–I had eased the rope a little; I am, as I said, a gentle rapist), that huge puff of a silk handkerchief thrust out and lolling on his chest–I nearly grabbed my cock to jerk myself off right then, and I shuddered with the effort it took to control myself. With a quick movement, I took the man into my arms, caressing him, running my hands over him firmly but tenderly, murmuring into his ear. “You’re mine, now, dandyman, buddyboy, aren’t you? Yeah, you’re mine, little buddy, you’re all gagged and tied and helpless now. There’s nothing you can do, is there, all you can do is mumble into that big, big gag and struggle in those ropes. But you aren’t going anywhere for tonight, little buddy, tonight, little buddy, I’m going to hold you and love you and caress you, and keep you all trussed and gagged until we both go over the cliff, little buddy, up over the moon.” As I spoke this silliness, prompted by the rush of tenderness the sight of his willing vulnerability raised in me, he pressed himself into my embrace, tried to push himself closer against my chest, and moaned softly into his gag. “Mmmmmmmmm. Mummmmm.” The sound of that gagged moan excited me yet more, and I suddenly clasped him even more tightly against me, holding myself still, willing myself not to climax. Slowly I calmed myself to a lower plateau of excitement. My cock was still stiff, but I was able once more to continue moving slowly into making cruel love to this man. Gently I eased the two of us apart. “Come with me,” I said softly, and, taking him by one bound arm, I lead him into the living room. I took him to where two wing chairs stood on either side of the fireplace, and gently seated him in one of them. Working quickly, I took the ropes from my shoulders and proceeded to bind the man’s legs. I bound first his ankles together, and then his thighs above the knees, making sure that the bonds were snug but not too tight. As I rose up from tying off the last knot, I gently pushed the man back into his chair. For a long moment I stood looking down at him, and he sat looking up at me. He was now, I knew, and I knew he knew, completely helpless. Tight coils of rope lashed him into a bound state in which he could do no more than squirm and wriggle.
Handsome, pleadingly vulnerable, his mouth brutally and thoroughly gagged, stuffed full of those huge wads of handkerchief and bandannas, swathed tightly with the bandannas, his arms and hands bound tightly and mercilessly (well, almost–I had eased the rope a little; I am, as I said, a gentle rapist), that huge puff of a silk handkerchief thrust out and lolling on his chest–I nearly grabbed my cock to jerk myself off right then, and I shuddered with the effort it took to control myself. With a quick movement, I took the man into my arms, caressing him, running my hands over him firmly but tenderly, murmuring into his ear. “You’re mine, now, dandyman, buddyboy, aren’t you? Yeah, you’re mine, little buddy, you’re all gagged and tied and helpless now. There’s nothing you can do, is there, all you can do is mumble into that big, big gag and struggle in those ropes. But you aren’t going anywhere for tonight, little buddy, tonight, little buddy, I’m going to hold you and love you and caress you, and keep you all trussed and gagged until we both go over the cliff, little buddy, up over the moon.” As I spoke this silliness, prompted by the rush of tenderness the sight of his willing vulnerability raised in me, he pressed himself into my embrace, tried to push himself closer against my chest, and moaned softly into his gag. “Mmmmmmmmm. Mummmmm.” The sound of that gagged moan excited me yet more, and I suddenly clasped him even more tightly against me, holding myself still, willing myself not to climax. Slowly I calmed myself to a lower plateau of excitement. My cock was still stiff, but I was able once more to continue moving slowly into making cruel love to this man. Gently I eased the two of us apart. “Come with me,” I said softly, and, taking him by one bound arm, I lead him into the living room. I took him to where two wing chairs stood on either side of the fireplace, and gently seated him in one of them. Working quickly, I took the ropes from my shoulders and proceeded to bind the man’s legs. I bound first his ankles together, and then his thighs above the knees, making sure that the bonds were snug but not too tight. As I rose up from tying off the last knot, I gently pushed the man back into his chair. For a long moment I stood looking down at him, and he sat looking up at me. He was now, I knew, and I knew he knew, completely helpless. Tight coils of rope lashed him into a bound state in which he could do no more than squirm and wriggle.
Handsome, pleadingly vulnerable, his mouth brutally and thoroughly gagged, stuffed full of those huge wads of handkerchief and bandannas, swathed tightly with the bandannas, his arms and hands bound tightly and mercilessly (well, almost–I had eased the rope a little; I am, as I said, a gentle rapist), that huge puff of a silk handkerchief thrust out and lolling on his chest–I nearly grabbed my cock to jerk myself off right then, and I shuddered with the effort it took to control myself. With a quick movement, I took the man into my arms, caressing him, running my hands over him firmly but tenderly, murmuring into his ear. “You’re mine, now, dandyman, buddyboy, aren’t you? Yeah, you’re mine, little buddy, you’re all gagged and tied and helpless now. There’s nothing you can do, is there, all you can do is mumble into that big, big gag and struggle in those ropes. But you aren’t going anywhere for tonight, little buddy, tonight, little buddy, I’m going to hold you and love you and caress you, and keep you all trussed and gagged until we both go over the cliff, little buddy, up over the moon.” As I spoke this silliness, prompted by the rush of tenderness the sight of his willing vulnerability raised in me, he pressed himself into my embrace, tried to push himself closer against my chest, and moaned softly into his gag. “Mmmmmmmmm. Mummmmm.” The sound of that gagged moan excited me yet more, and I suddenly clasped him even more tightly against me, holding myself still, willing myself not to climax. Slowly I calmed myself to a lower plateau of excitement. My cock was still stiff, but I was able once more to continue moving slowly into making cruel love to this man. Gently I eased the two of us apart. “Come with me,” I said softly, and, taking him by one bound arm, I lead him into the living room. I took him to where two wing chairs stood on either side of the fireplace, and gently seated him in one of them. Working quickly, I took the ropes from my shoulders and proceeded to bind the man’s legs. I bound first his ankles together, and then his thighs above the knees, making sure that the bonds were snug but not too tight. As I rose up from tying off the last knot, I gently pushed the man back into his chair. For a long moment I stood looking down at him, and he sat looking up at me. He was now, I knew, and I knew he knew, completely helpless. Tight coils of rope lashed him into a bound state in which he could do no more than squirm and wriggle.
Handsome, pleadingly vulnerable, his mouth brutally and thoroughly gagged, stuffed full of those huge wads of handkerchief and bandannas, swathed tightly with the bandannas, his arms and hands bound tightly and mercilessly (well, almost–I had eased the rope a little; I am, as I said, a gentle rapist), that huge puff of a silk handkerchief thrust out and lolling on his chest–I nearly grabbed my cock to jerk myself off right then, and I shuddered with the effort it took to control myself. With a quick movement, I took the man into my arms, caressing him, running my hands over him firmly but tenderly, murmuring into his ear. “You’re mine, now, dandyman, buddyboy, aren’t you? Yeah, you’re mine, little buddy, you’re all gagged and tied and helpless now. There’s nothing you can do, is there, all you can do is mumble into that big, big gag and struggle in those ropes. But you aren’t going anywhere for tonight, little buddy, tonight, little buddy, I’m going to hold you and love you and caress you, and keep you all trussed and gagged until we both go over the cliff, little buddy, up over the moon.” As I spoke this silliness, prompted by the rush of tenderness the sight of his willing vulnerability raised in me, he pressed himself into my embrace, tried to push himself closer against my chest, and moaned softly into his gag. “Mmmmmmmmm. Mummmmm.” The sound of that gagged moan excited me yet more, and I suddenly clasped him even more tightly against me, holding myself still, willing myself not to climax. Slowly I calmed myself to a lower plateau of excitement. My cock was still stiff, but I was able once more to continue moving slowly into making cruel love to this man. Gently I eased the two of us apart. “Come with me,” I said softly, and, taking him by one bound arm, I lead him into the living room. I took him to where two wing chairs stood on either side of the fireplace, and gently seated him in one of them. Working quickly, I took the ropes from my shoulders and proceeded to bind the man’s legs. I bound first his ankles together, and then his thighs above the knees, making sure that the bonds were snug but not too tight. As I rose up from tying off the last knot, I gently pushed the man back into his chair. For a long moment I stood looking down at him, and he sat looking up at me. He was now, I knew, and I knew he knew, completely helpless. Tight coils of rope lashed him into a bound state in which he could do no more than squirm and wriggle.
Thick layers of soft cloth stuffed and sealed up his mouth so that he could make no more noise than a faint grunt or moan. He was totally my captive now, vulnerable and unable to protect himself from anything I might choose to do. I choose to lean into the chair and take him into my arms. I felt him slowly relax into my embrace, and a familiar contentment mingled in me with the excitement of having him gagged and bound and puff-handkerchiefed. I wanted his trust, knowing that, in the end, I deserved it, even though he did not yet really know that himself. I had promised nothing, but I sensed that, eager as the man in my arms had been to be swept away, carried off, made helpless, he did not relish pain nor had he courted it by allowing himself to become subject to my mercy. He wanted what I had to give him--a rape both brutal and tender, brutal to seize and subdue him, tender to seduce and persuade him. I pulled him more securely into my embrace and then, slowly, I stood up. The man swayed helplessly in my arms, dependent on my strength to hold him upright. Suddenly, I surprised us both. Counting on his small build and my own overwhelming excitement, I hoisted him into the cradle of my arms and took two strides across to the couch. Setting him back on his unsteady feet, I lowered him down onto the cushions, turning him as I did so that he was half-kneeling into the sofa, his back to me. "I'm going to tie you up a bit more comfortably now," I said softly. Quickly I loosened the rope that bound his arms so rigidly, and then I loosened the rope that bound his hands. I eased him up onto the couch, turning him again to face me. Immediately I began to bind his hands once more, this time using lengths of rope to secure each wrist separately to either thigh. Then I took a long length of rope and, doubling it, I bound his upper arms securely to his sides, winding the rope between and around his arms and his chest and pulling it tight before I tied it off in a hard knot. He resisted me enough to play his part of victim and captive, but let me overpower him easily. As I finished the final lashings that bound his arms, he lay back passively, moaning into his huge gag. His bonds complete again, I again stood over him, taking in the image of him, vulnerable, captive, smotheringly gagged, helplessly bound. Reaching into my back pocket, I drew out my handkerchief--as clean, as white, as thick a pad as had been my companion's before I had taken it to fashion into his gag--and patted my own moustache. The sensation of mimicry--of repeating the gesture that had drawn my eager gaze to the man who now lay bound and gagged on my living room couch--was mingled with the sensual memories the feel of the soft fabric of my handkerchief aroused, memories of other men likewise trussed, likewise gagged, of myself gagged with just such a huge handkerchief wad, often fashioned of my own handkerchiefs. Hastily thrusting my handkerchief back into my pocket, I sank down beside the couch and took my captive companion into my arms, straining him to me, my hands pressing him close against me, chest to chest, my lips mouthing his throat, his bandanna-bound cheek, his brows, his ears. I was murmuring words to him, words meant as much to arouse me as to reassure him, calling him my little buddy, my dandyman, my sweet prisoner. Even as I spoke, I lost track of my thoughts, my meaning, began mumbling fragments of sentences, half articulated evocations of my obsessions and my fetishes. I whispered , "Bandanna gag, handkerchief gag, gag, gagged, gagged, gagged," with a fierce intensity, grasping and ungrasping my companion's arms and chest, chanting a mantra of obsessive arousal into his ears.
In my straining arms, the man struggled and moaned, writhing helplessly in his bondage, whimpering uselessly into his gag. I broke off for a moment, gripping his shoulders in either hand, holding him off from me, staring through half-closed eyes into his face, my breathing ragged and hoarse. He returned my gaze, his head lolling back of the cushion of the couch, his breath loud through his nostrils, a mewling moan struggling through his gag, a yearning for neither of us knew what in his eyes. I pulled him to me once more. With hasty, jerky movements, I reached down to tear open the fly of his trousers, thrusting my hand inside the zippered opening, fumbling to push aside his damp--with sweat? with precum?--briefs, striving to hold his hard cock. As my fingers curled around his stiff member, he shuddered. An agonized cry trembled in his throat, choked back by the huge gag. He began to shake uncontrollably. I held my hand tight but unmoving around his cock, refusing to give him yet the release he so desperately wanted, delighting in my refusal, staring intently into his eyes where I saw tears beginning to well up. "You're my little buddy, now, aren't you?" I whispered fiercely. I shook him, watching his head loll from side to side, his heavy silk puff tremble. "You're my dandyman, my captive, my handkerchief gagged, silk-puffed prisoner, aren't you?" He nodded and then drew himself together to struggle frantically while I watched, gloating over his helplessness. Suddenly able no longer to restrain myself, I snatched my handkerchief from my back pocket and thrust it into my own mouth. Beside me, my companion watched, his eyes wide, still struggling and mumbling. I pushed him down onto the couch and then I lowered myself onto my bound captive, taking him into my arms and pulling him tightly to me. He struggled, his gagged shouts more anxious now and more frantic. I lifted myself up for a moment and tore open my trousers fly and awkwardly, desperately shoved my trousers down. I jerked down my bound captive's trousers, and I positioned his cock and mine against each other, and then I lay down once more over my companion and began to rub my cock rhythmically against his belly.
For a few moments I rose higher and higher, my sensations and feelings kaleidoscoping in a confusing whirl. I stared at the man beneath me, at the silk handkerchief hugely puffed in his pocket, at the smothering gag that he fought helplessly even as I watched, at the bound up, gagged, dandified, helpless but struggling whole of him, captive and vulnerable in my arms. I thought of him as I had first seen him, wiping his mouth on the soft cloth of the handkerchief that now choked his cries into guttural moans. I thought of myself and the sensations I had felt as I fashioned his gag and stuffed it so deeply into his mouth. I savored my own gag, experiencing his pleasure as my own. As I rose closer to climax, I remembered the times when my former lover had seized me by surprise, thrust a gag of my own handkerchiefs into my mouth, and sealed up my mouth with yet another of my own handkerchiefs and then bound me, leaving me to lie helpless for hours at a time while he read or listened to music, all the while enjoying the pitiful struggles and pathetic moans of his captive, myself. Beneath me my captive struggled and mumbled, and I found myself falling forward, as if to tumble down into those dark eyes staring up into mine above the brutal gag. For a long moment, all I seemed to see was this man's face, his yearning gaze, his gagged mouth, and then I saw as if in double vision the huge puff of silk at his chest as it dimpled and lolled with my rhythmic pumping. I began to shout, my words muffled and distorted by my handkerchief in my mouth, fragments again, names of my obsessions, "Gag, gag, gag, handkerchief, gag, bandanna, gag, bondage, handkerchief, gag ..." Beneath me, my captive bucked and struggled, and then I fell into a black tunnel and burst through into a bright light and my shout forced itself past my gag and I heard him cry out beneath me and I felt his hot cum spurting out with mine and I gave one more thrust and one more and one more and I thought my heart in my chest would break through my ribs and then I was with him once more and I fell down on him and crushed him in my arms and I felt my breath reflected back into my own face from the hollow of his throat and the tears I wept burned as they fell from my eyes to soak into the bandanna that held his gag in his mouth and it was over but he and I were there, he and I, for that moment we were there, we were there, we were there.The End
