Bound: From rope play to complete submission

A desire to be bound transforms into a desperate need to be possessed

The empty barn was drafty and silent. I couldn't see a thing; the blindfold tied around my head impeding my vision. It was night, though, and very few lanterns had been lit when I first arrived. It was doubtful I would be able to see much, even without my eyes covered.

I listened for any sound at all. For anyone approaching. It felt like I had been left out there for hours. It was more likely thirty minutes. Time was passing slowly.

Anticipation was firing up my desire.

I twisted my hands in their rough bindings; thick, scratchy jute rope burned my wrists. My arms were extended above my head, attached by a hook to another rope that was tied to the vast rafters of the barn. My booted toes barely touched the ground. I had only been allowed enough support to keep my position from affecting my breathing. If I let my body hang, stretched my shoulders to their limit, I could place the entire balls of my feet on the hay-strewn floor.

I was uncomfortable. And I was cold.

I reminded myself that I, Richard Anderson, had signed up for this. Answered an advertisement in the local newspaper. Seeking someone who likes to play with ropes. A scandalous request for such a small town, but perhaps the publisher of the newspaper hadn't been aware of the true meaning.

After I answered the ad, we had met a few times in his hay fields to talk. The man seemed ordinary enough. A farmer and blacksmith. True 1890s grit kind of a man. He asked me to call him Charles. I knew him from church where he went by Charlie. Charles was a loner, never married, no children. People talked about him behind his back. Little did they know …

The Sunday before our encounter was to take place, he had been there alone in a pew.

Seeing him had made my heart race.

Now, Charles had strung me up in his barn and had left me there to wonder what was going to happen next. I was fully clothed, which I hadn't been expecting. My imagination had taken me to all sorts of places where I was nude and exposed to the elements in a barn or out in the woods.

Charles assured me that if all went well, we would be visiting the woods another time. The doors of the barn rumbled open, and a gust of cold wind blew over me.

It was time.

Charles didn't speak, but I could hear his footfalls as he approached. A soft breath on my chin. He was in front of me. His hand came to rest on my chest then swept down to my belly. He yanked my button-up shirt free of my denims then slowly undid each of the buttons. He cruised a cool hand up and down my body—chest, nipples, abs—to the thick hair above my belt.

He pinched each of my nipples, twisting them. The shocking jolt went straight to my groin, teasing my anxious cock. I couldn't help but gasp. I inhaled the taste and smell of dry hay. Charles breathed across my lips as he wrenched on my belt buckle, unlatched it, and slipped the belt free from the loops. The buckle and leather made a thunk sound as it landed on the floor.

Charles swiftly unbuttoned my denims and hauled them and my long johns down to the ground. He had me step out of my boots then stripped my lower half bare, disposing of my clothes by tossing them to one side. Cold air prickled my balls, causing my cock to throb.

I hung there and waited. Charles had taken a step back, seemingly to examine me. Occasionally, he would touch me with his work-hardened, calloused palm. My chest, between my shoulder blades, the small of my back, my thighs—my ass.

Charles tugged on my shirt near my neck. The distinct sound of scissors snipping near my ear … then the shirt began to loosen. He was cutting it free from my body. I tried not to think about my trip home later, shirtless, and how that would look if anyone came upon me.

If someone did, I would have a secret. Shivers rippled up my spine. I liked the idea that someone might catch me wandering home in the afterglow of my time with Charles. That I had been stripped bare and hung like a piece of meat in his barn. My cock pulsed with expectation.

Charles was about to bring some of my deepest cravings to light.

The sound of the scissors landing on the ground, accompanied by my cut-up shirt, echoed throughout the barn. The feeling was glorious. Naked and hanging by my bound wrists. On display for Charles, fulfilling both of our desires. Charles set me spinning. A few times my bare feet left the floor, but I managed to regain some leverage, pivoting on my big toes.

As I turned in place, Charles swept his hands across my flesh. The rope reached a limit then the spin reversed. Charles used his fingers to slow me and complete my spiral. My ass muscles and thighs were tight, strained by keeping contact with the floor. I relaxed as I came to a stop.

Charles smoothed his hand over my ass then gave it a slap. We had talked about this. My need for punishment. He had agreed. It was something he enjoyed as well. He left me and I heard him quite a distance from me, opening a door. He was back within moments.

The tap-tap-tap of the crop on my flesh thrilled me. I had used a crop on myself in the past, smacking my bare ass in my barn when I was alone. Never had anyone else struck me.

The first crack on my ass cheek had me rising on my toes, attempting to escape it. Charles wasn't going to go easy on me. I had always been reluctant to go heavy on myself, not wanting to startle my horses. No such problem here. Charles had left his horses out in the pasture.

The next crack landed on my other cheek, evening things up. The sharp tingle went straight up my back to my heart. Each stroke after that became increasingly difficult to bear. Each stroke searing my flesh. I let my body drag me down until my shoulders were screaming. I swung back and forth with each strike. I lost count at twenty.

It burned, my skin. The slightest breeze made it sting. I knew I would be red and bruised but that's what I had wanted. I wanted to be reminded, on my ride into town tomorrow, what Charles had done to me. I wanted every side-to-side rock in my saddle to bring back the memory.

 I cried out as the last lash marred my flesh, tears trickling down my face; the cold air now welcome on my hot flesh. The feel of Charles's breath tickled the hairs on the back of my neck. I realized, I trusted him. Whatever he wanted to do to me next, I trusted him.

He reached his hand around and grabbed my cock. It had softened from the pain being inflicted on me. Timid. Charles's grip on it was firm and confident. His other hand wrapped around my chest, holding me tight to his body. His cock was hard against my back. He tweaked my nipple with his fingers as he pumped my cock. He grunted in my ear as he worked me.

Charles stroked my cock until it was drooling precum onto the floor. He circulated his thumb through the slickness and lifted his hand to my mouth. I sucked his pungent thumb into my mouth, tasting myself. Sated, I groaned and tipped my head back against his shoulder.

He encircled my throat with his hand and tightened his grip until my air was cut off. One hand on my throat, one hand gripping my chest, he started torturing my nipples. Every twist of my flesh and the lack of air sent sparks of light exploding behind my eyes. At the extent of my endurance, he released my throat. I coughed and gasped for breath.

He growled as he took control of my cock again, his hard cock jammed against the small of my back. I was at his mercy. I was without leverage, denied the ability to thrust into his hand. He released my cock and hauled down on my balls until they ached. Then wrapped his hand back around my cock. This time, I was close. It was building in my gut, churning me up.

Charles pumped me harder. He had my pleasure in his hands. My release was his to dictate. Oh, God. I cried out as the first burst of cum left my body, landing on the floor.

As he milked me, I lost my ability to support myself. A gust of cold wind blew through the barn, puckering my skin. Cumming and hanging, exposed and vulnerable for anyone to see if they happened to walk into the barn, I felt more alive than I had ever been before.

He unlatched his belt. I struggled to my toes. I couldn't spread my legs for him, not without suspending myself again. He jammed his cock against my tight crease then pried me open enough to place his cockhead against my hole. A gob of warm spit landed on my tailbone. Then another.