…"You really got yourself into a pickle this time Gary," my sometimes snarky inner voice observes, all while I'm straddling a storm-uprooted two foot diameter oak tree while just as naked as the day I was born. This was a state forest and near no trail system that I knew of, but still close enough to the roadway that if one listened carefully you could still hear the passage of a particularly noisy truck or motorcycle. It also happened to be summer where I lived, so motorcycle season, and the forest was just perfectly magnificent on this particular morning too.
Self-bondage was my particular sought-after kink on this rather perfect day, with the intended goal of really feeling helpless and stuck; without the actuality of that obviously. In my most privately held fantasy scenario; abducted, clothes cut off and destroyed, and tied up in the woods by some man, or even men, and then abandoned there to struggle helplessly for an escape that just wouldn't happen. Was there a gambling debt to be settled, a wife to be stolen away, or was this just an elaborate robbery, or kidnapping, or were these men just interested in stripping and dominating another man for some other unknown reason, and only returning later to reap their proverbial reward? I'd be helplessly bound before them, and with one single option for both escape and survival; super cooperative too…
It was both a hot, and a taboo fantasy for me in equal measure though, because I'm a heterosexual man, and other guys just aren't sexually exciting to me. Yes, I can obviously tell when a man is handsome, or even sexy and hot - to use words that my own wife might - but that doesn't necessarily mean that I'd like to sleep with any of them, or really even service them just like I try to get my wife to service me on very special occasions.
"If that's the case Gary, why the fantasy at all?" my inner voice then prods. It's a good question, one that I don't have a one hundred percent rational answer to, but I apparently have all the time in the world to work that out now, as things haven't gone exactly to plan on this self-inflicted adventure.
"Maybe you're both bi-curious… and submissive Gary?" my inner voice taunts.
"Maybe just submissive, I really like girls a lot!" I whisper out loud to no one in particular, this internal conversation I'm having with myself now becoming verbal, a sure sign one is losing his mind; or perhaps already has.
"You didn't know you liked asparagus either Gary, until that first time you summoned the courage to actually put it into your mouth… taste it.. swallow it; did you Gary?" my inner voice asks with nuanced inflection. I was really taunting myself here, as if there were two conscious entities inside this one body of mine, each fighting for control and dominance; and so far "Mr. Snarky" was winning.
"You're not helping," I tell myself out loud. My inner voice was specifically leading me, and the implications were becoming less subtle by the moment. At one time, back in my youth, calling a man gay was a serious insult, but now it's more like an "I'm just not in that club" kind of thing, so more accepted maybe, and way less a pejorative. These days too I interact with gay people all the time, and truthfully they seem rather happy, inasmuch as one can generalize about a group of people anyway.
"I suggest the things you simply don't have the courage to say or do on your own, Gary. I offer 'outside the box' options, that's all" my inner voice suggests. My rather attractive wife innocently calls her girl parts a "box," and since I know this myself, obviously so does my snarky inner voice, and an "outside the box" option therefore implies sex with somebody that doesn't happen to have one; so nothing subtle there at all!
"Who knows Gary, you might really like this Asparagus, if you gave it a real open-minded try, if of course it was the right asparagus."
…So here I am sitting upright on this massive fallen log, with my ankles crossed right over left and belted tight with my own thick leather belt, all with my legs uncomfortably spread with my legs held at an odd splayed angle. My bare feet are cold and tingling - not to mention turning a bit pink - while also a good three feet from the forest floor too, so touching off and moving back down to the lower portion of the angled log behind me where I started this little self-bondage adventure from would be near impossible. My wrists are locked together in front of me by a single padlock and two wide dog collars, each double wrapped around a single wrist, the buckles for each on the backside of my hands where I can't easily touch them. Just this alone is an effective improvised self-bondage predicament, but as those dreadful infomercials suggest; "but wait, there's more!"
The key to the padlock that traps my wrists is freely placed on the same tree I'm straddling, but a good ten plus feet further up the log. So, for my eventual escape I planned on shimmying up even higher in the air, all while punishing myself by dragging my most tender man-flesh back under myself; when of course I eventually got tired of being my imaginary captor's displayed and helplessly waiting bound prisoner.
It's a wonderful summer morning, so the weather isn't an obvious factor here, and other than the bugs minorly tormenting me I could do this for hours if I had to. I haven't necessarily ruled out being some imaginary man's captive for sexual purposes either - using such taboo thoughts to get myself off on - but if that happens, "he'll" have to make me do the things that he desires; perhaps then proving once and for all that I'm both submissive and curious, deep, deep down, just as my inner voice suggests.
It's odd though, I could imagine half-wanting to be made to do some taboo things by some man, or even more than one man in tag-team fashion, but put a face and name to them, like somebody I've actually met in the real world, and all desire for such goes right out the proverbial window. It's an odd psychological little quagmire really, as in do I really want something like this; or just the concept of such exploitation by another man for self-entertainment purposes only? If "he" or "they" makes me do these things though, is dominant, it's all on them, and I'm just the helpless victim here; there's no guilt in being a victim, only pity. Then again, the specific wifely things I'm imagining being "made" to do require a certain amount of active participation on my part, even if helplessly bound…
In the planning stages of this odd little self-bondage fantasy scenario, I thought I had an altogether good plan, but at the same time just a bit too easy once I'm actually there in the woods and looking at things in the proverbial flesh. So I devised an additional task to complete on the fly, working with what I had on hand in my kinky play bag. There's another dog collar in there - actually several more of them - as I bought them on sale at the old hardware store that was selling out of pet merchandise for pennies on the dollar. I may be kinky, and maybe even just as "closet-submissive" as my conscience suggests, but I'm also most certainly frugal, and a budget self-bondage experience appeals to me. This last collar doesn't go on my neck though, it's too small for that, so very little-dog small, or even feline small.
This little one's small enough to go around the base of my guy parts though, and a thick green resistance band of the kind personal trainers sometimes use gets clipped to the D ring on that little collar, with the other free end of the band getting tied off around the log behind me. It's like eight feet long without stretching it, but the idea is that there will eventually be some level of uncomfortable tension on my guy parts as I try to shimmy forward on the log to reach my key.
So to paint the picture fully here, I'm several feet in the air, nude and sitting painfully on my guy parts, and therefore hiding them as if they don't exist; so looking down my body to the massive tree I'm straddling, it's quite the feminine picture. To complicate that picture slightly I shave my body like a bodybuilder might - I have for years - although I'm not at all muscular. Then there's my long hair that I've so far refused to part with, a holdover from my rebellious teen years that I don't want to lose just yet; it's truthfully past being fashionable though. So, I don't necessarily want to look fully fem or anything like that - no dresses in my closet - but I don't go out of my way to dress like a manly-man lumberjack either.
Anyway, there's no real tension yet from the resistance band anchoring my guy parts behind me, but my only "legitimate" escape method is the little key balancing on the suspended log several painful feet in front of me. I had initially intended to rub myself off with my bound hands as I struggled for my imaginary captors, I then being forced to crawl through my own spilled spunk on the tree as I recovered the key to my freedom. I'd not only be left with a rather unique fantasy man-on-man orgasm, but also a sticky mess between my spread legs to somehow deal with, so paying for my pleasure as it were. I also knew that the moment I got done squirting off I'd also be done playing, and this self-made secondary ordeal for my escape was also designed to punish me, while prolonging my discomfort and display. Pretty kinky shit even though it's really just for me-private, but I'm well past feeling guilty for my kink as it doesn't harm a soul; other than perhaps my own.
My plan has been subverted though, because I can't reach my guy parts to get myself off with them trapped under me, and at the same time that feels even worse than I thought it might while dreaming this little additional ordeal up. I should have thought this through a bit more before I closed the padlock, but in my defense, a lusted up mind isn't always a logical one. Shimmying backwards to once again to touch the ground and gain access to my guy parts isn't possible either, because I'd be left with my full body weight pushing both the collar and the sturdy metal clip deeply into them, risking a serious injury down there hard to explain away; so just like in life, forward is the only direction for me to go.
I'm also ever so mindful of losing my balance, tumbling, and then being left hanging inverted under the log by my bound ankles - all while potentially tearing my guy parts right off my body - so not really survivable if that should happen. Even if that didn't happen, just bouncing the log unnecessarily will surely shake my little key from the tree, forcing me to use my back up plan for escape, the one that I don't want to use as it comes at a cost. This massive tree gets even wider near the trunk too - where my key is sitting - stretching my legs out even wider, splaying them obscenely; not to mention increasing the abrasions on my tender inner thighs and man parts. I can at least use my bound wrists to gently reduce the weight on my guy package as I shimmy forward, maybe an inch at a time, realizing that each little bounce moves my key slightly, all as the resistance band starts to put some incrementally increasing pressure on my collared man package. It's not painful yet, but I'm left wondering if it will be by the time I can actually reach the key… if I can reach the key
"What happens if that cheap-ass rubber band thing you bought on Amazon snaps at the far end Gary? You might self-castrate right here in the woods, slingshot style; then other guys might be your 'go-to' option Gary; just sayin’!" my inner voice taunts.
"Imagine the irony… imagine the excruciating pain!" my inner voice reminds me with zero human empathy.
"You get what you pay for; cheap ass!" my conflicted mind further taunts…
With these fresh fears in my mind I'm no longer frozen to inaction, so I move forward inch after painful inch in a renewed effort to complete this self-inflicted ordeal, scratching up tender flesh that wasn't ever intended to be dragged up the rough bark of a fallen oak tree; most certainly with one's legs stretched out obscenely wide. My SO has told me many times that I have both nice legs, and a nice ass too, most especially for a man. She's both rubbed the latter, and playfully spanked me on it more than once; but now I wonder if she'll notice my self-inflicted injuries when I get back home… if I get back home.
Something out of the blue makes me wonder for the first time what this naked display of mine might look like from another's perspective, like some real flesh and blood man just watching and lurking behind me somewhere. Putting that aside for a moment, I realize that I'll have to hide the collateral-damage scratches from my significant other back at home, if I ever get back home I suppose. That's bad enough - one single confession that I did something foolish and kinky, given to someone who loves me unconditionally - but what if these injuries became something that required medical attention, as in at the hospital-attention? I'd be the talk of our small town hospital's staff for weeks! What if I then saw one of the young and pretty nurses at the grocery store, she'd snicker and whisper to her friends that "I" was the one that did that thing she had laughed about. Might she then ask how I was recovering from my "injuries," with a special little smirk just for me?
My SO has a bit of a playful-sadistic streak in her as well, so she'd first maybe give me a good talking-to about taking solo risks that are unwise; and then she'd scheme of ways to take advantage of her knowledge after that. Nope, forward is my only choice here, one stinging inch at a time…
The tension on the green rubber strap becomes seriously uncomfortable the further up I go; it was after all designed and calibrated to tension arm and shoulder muscles, not relatively fragile fleshy man bits! So, this ordeal now has me taking very slow little hops forward as I become gradually acclimated to the tension down there, not to mention that this ordeal has already taken longer than I thought it might. Time spent here bound and nude, especially up high and illuminated by the bright sun, where others could potentially spot me at a distance and come to investigate, increases my potential discovery hazard overall. It's a very nice morning, and even though I'm not on any blazed and marked official trail, I'm still out in the open, in a public place, up high and most certainly on-display vulnerable like this. Vulnerable, and open to discovery, on a very nice morning that others might also like to take advantage of; "what kinky price would I willingly pay to keep the secret of my kink if actually caught?" I then ask myself.
It's almost as if my mind was preparing me for what it suspected might happen, because then I smelled the faint aroma of cigarettes, Marlborough to be specific; because I smoked them briefly myself when he was a teenager. This smell I associate with being a rebellious teen, a rule breaker, a "who's going to stop me?" kind of challenging young man.
"Got yourself into a bit of a jam; haven't you mister?" I hear from directly behind me. This is a worst case scenario to be sure, and when the owner of that voice steps into my actual field of view, I'm left looking at this skinny and smirking eighteen-ish year old teen, something that makes me feel especially small and humiliated, even though I'm far older and looking down on him from my elevated and increasingly uncomfortable perch. This teen has a look about him, the cigarette and attitude go hand in hand in my mind, in his case maybe not a straight-up bully, but not likely a member of the senior high school band either.
I'm shocked to silence as my eyes almost bug out of my head, and it's almost like if I close my eyes this awful situation will correct itself, but after a long blink he's still there with that smirk on his face, an "I'm better than you" look; which in this particular case may well be accurate.
It's maybe one thing to potentially be caught and captured by another man, but this 'in the flesh' teen, near-man, makes this ultra humbling for me.
He then puts his lit cigarette into his lips, reaches up in a flash and smacks my ass hard, open handed, the crack of which echoes through the quiet forest. I yelped like a little girl I was so surprised, so a way less than masculine response from me as he warns me that he expects an answer when he asks me a question. I don't know how some young men develop such courage - or perhaps cocky rudeness maybe - but in either case this teen has it in excess, and he's also established himself as the de facto alpha in this little semi-private setting, in like ten seconds flat.
"I have; will you help me?" I ask respectfully in a croak as my throat is suddenly dry. I also do so with about zero challenge in my voice for the teen that just casually smacked my bare ass like a naughty toddler. As if in silent response he takes a long drag on his lit cigarette, making the tip glow red, and even a fool could see the terror in my eyes at the endless possibilities for such a glowingly hot object. I'm not saying he was outwardly full of malice, nor that he threatened to put his cigarette out on some very tender flesh, thereby turning me into his human ashtray; but my terrified mind made such leaps all on its own.
"For a price mister; or should I call you Sally?" he taunts.
"You can call me Sally, or anything else for that matter, if you'll get me out of this," I offer, the start of a proper negotiation perhaps taking shape. I negotiate at work all the time, but in that case from a position of strength, as a representative of the company and its operating capital; not here though.
"Okay Sally, here's the way of it; one of us is going to do whatever 'she's' told to do, and the other one of us is going to get whatever he wants, for as long as he wants."
"Are you happy now Gary; or should I call you Sally instead? This sadistic kid is going to rock your pathetic little world; welcome to sissyhood, you fricken’ wuss!"
My teenage tormentor hasn't necessarily suggested anything sexual, at least not verbally so, but the vibe is certainly there for me anyway. He then observantly walks around me in inspection, only to discover my key, pocketing it, effortlessly removing the very key to my freedom. It's more in line with my fantasy scenario of being helplessly trapped, but this has turned very real for me in just a few short moments; not to mention not in any way I ever fantasized about either. Teens are generally speaking short on consequences and self-control, or at least I was fourteen years ago when I was one myself. Back then for me it was more of "what can I do," not "what should I do."
"They all have such nice phones," I think to myself without mirth, as my captor takes a good fifteen second video of me up on my perch, legs spread wide, and man bits hiding as best as they can deep in the cleft of my spread ass cheeks. There were even closeups on both my face, and my hiding guy parts, and my shame was obvious on my face in them. I look at least half like a girl, and my quasi teen bully has even given me a female name to go along with my temporarily emasculated appearance too. Once done - properly documenting my humiliation - he then hops up on my log with casual athleticism, kicking ruthlessly at the green band that tugs at my guy parts a few times, amused by both the "twang" sound it makes, as well as the yelp I make. I half-think that he'll rip my guy parts right off, but I'm scared to silence, not wanting to provoke this teen that has me at such an obvious disadvantage.
"Self-inflicted injuries, Sally!" my inner voice chides most unhelpfully.
The message is clear, displease this "I'll do anything I like" teen, and he might arrange for a permanent name change for me, as in untying that green band and dragging me around by it until something broke; either the rubber band, or the fleshy bits that hold my guy parts on! I've been one hundred percent dominated by this kid in like less than a minute, and with little choice I allow him to use "his" key to temporarily release the padlock on my improvised cuffs, only to re-cuff me much more helplessly behind my back.
"If you really wanted out Sally, you'd have used your teeth to release the buckles" my tormentor observed, once re-cuffed behind my back where this was no longer an option. I didn't dare protest either, such making my balance all that much more precarious. He was right obviously, as this was actually my back-up escape plan too, but I also told myself that if I used it I'd do something uncomfortable as penance with something I also purchased on sale, something fortunately enough still hiding inside my hiking "kink" bag. With the shock of being caught I kind of forgot about that for a few critical moments though, and besides, if I had attempted such he likely only would have spanked me a few more times anyway.
"A pretty fatalistic outlook Sally, you'd best hope you're very good at whatever this young man wants you to do; either that or that you're a fast learner!" my little voice chides.
Resistance, resignation, and acceptance, and all that was left was actually embracing this new reality; I positively rocketed through these four stages almost unnaturally. In my mind, embracing this situation meant enthusiastically doing whatever this young man had in mind, whatever he might like his "Sally" to do for him. Not where I thought this adventure might ever really go in the real world when I started it, but here we are!
"Are you going to behave for me Sally, or are you going to give me a good reason to beat your ass with a switch?"
"What would YOU like?" I ask with what I thought was the proper tone for my dominant teen captor.
This time it's two stinging open-handed smacks on my fleshy ass cheeks that echoes through the forest, and I'm told sternly that it's rude to answer a question with a question. He's also warned me that I get one more chance only - three strikes and you're out - to properly behave for him, before he goes looking for a switch to really give me some serious stripes; stripes that will almost surely tell my wife that I was out playing with somebody else this time!
"You have all the advantages here my young friend, I really have no choice but to behave; so yes." I tell my captor respectfully.
"My name is Henry by the way; you may call me that," Henry tells me.
"Alright Henry, my new name is still Sally," I tell him, clearly trying to embrace this self made predicament I've gotten myself into here. He laughs a bit, telling me that this is actually a human being, maybe one with some humanity and empathy to match his sense of humor even.
"It's been months since I had a girlfriend that gave good head Sally."
"It's been longer than that for me Henry," I tell him.
"Well, only one of us is really in any position to do something about our collective 'need' Sally, and all alone out here together we'd not likely have any interruptions, nor have to tell anybody about that either; would we?"
"Good point," I concede, I again resigned to do whatever this young man wants me to do, but it's also super obvious what that might be.
"So here's the deal Sally, you give me the best head I've ever had, and in exchange I'll get you off of this log your riding." In my mind I think; "I'll do that, and then I'll have that little naughty act with another man off my proverbial bucket list forever."
So I have a second little naughty secret here; in addition to my bargain repurposed bondage equipment, I also have a truck stop bought realistically sized dildo, because in my mind if I had to use my backup escape option, I intended to "force" myself to deepthroat that big thing all the way to the attached balls while stroking off, as penance for not completing my ordeal on the log. So in this way - further justification I realize - I'd be sucking cock one way or the other, only this way it would instead be a real flesh and blood one that "completed" inside of me.
Henry unzips his shorts and wiggles them and his briefs down to just above his knees, all while standing to my left side up on the massive log, his right foot behind me and under my resistance band - the one anchoring my man parts uncomfortably - and his left in front of me so close that would he would be standing directly on my man parts if they were in their natural and intended position. We're skin on skin, his hairy bare legs on my shaved and nude body, so a very unique tactile feeling for me personally, as my lovely wife has bare and smooth skin herself.
Henry's now exposed man parts are flaccid and hanging just a few inches from my face, but his grooming is Playgirl-model perfect - yes, I know what that is, so please don't ask! - and also reminiscent of my own well-kept condition. He maybe smells just a tiny bit musky to me, but it's not necessarily an unpleasant smell, just one I suspect will remind me of this "first" I'm about to perform any time I smell it in the future; so not quite a locker room, but not my lovely wife shower-fresh either. Doing this particular act while balanced up on this log maybe isn't the best thought out plan, but it's hugely hypocritical for me to even think such, bearing in mind the odd chain of events that left me no other reasonable choice.
The fact that he's not erect, hard, and ready is a double edged sword to for me personally, as in one part of me is happy that he's not super excited to be sticking his teenage cock halfway down my throat so I can suck him off, but the other realizes that I'll have to work twice as hard now to make him erect, so as to finish the proverbial job and earn my freedom, by collecting the proverbial prize…
Henry is holding onto the side of my head with his left hand for balance, as well as holding my long hair out of my face with the same hand almost tenderly, again a first for this kind of guy-on-guy tenderness. He's not really an evil young man, just an opportunistic one, pretty much like I might have been myself once, if of course I were ever presented with such a "unwrapped-gift" opportunity; and he's even discarded his threatening cigarette too now. At the same time it's also very unnatural for a straight man to take this next step though, at least with another breathing and warm human man anyway. I obviously know what to do as I both own the exact same equipment, and have been on the receiving end of such things myself a time or two; but I also need a little mental nudge to actually do it!
Perhaps sensing this Henry picks his right foot up a bit into the air, tugging back and up on my collared man parts, reminding me of the immediate consequences of disobedience. I feel that intimately, it feels like that collar and band are pulling on my insides all the way to my throat… from the inside. This does nothing for my tormentor's own precarious balance either, and I half-see both of us tumbling from the log, although with my ankles bound as they were the consequences of such were far greater for myself.
Then I see him reach for further motivations, as he can now grab the band with his free right hand, and he does so and pulls up on it just a bit, tugging my already stressed man parts deeper into the cleft of my widely spread ass cheeks. This is ever so slightly suggestive of having anal sex with myself; something I would have thought impossible only an hour earlier. There are obvious consequences to one's actions, but there are also sometimes immediate consequences to one's inactions as well, as Henry has so properly reminded me.
It's suddenly like somebody threw a switch inside my brain, there is no shame, no more hesitation either, only a job to be done; expectations to not only be met, but exceeded! Hands free and mouth agape I chase his hanging manhood, almost comically so, reminiscent maybe of bobbing for apples at a Halloween party. Once properly caught I take him into my mouth almost greedily, but this is something I now want to do, something I irrationally want to prove to both myself and Henry that I can do; maybe even better than anybody else can. I can't truly know if Henry fully understood the motivational powers he held over me in that moment - being a teen and all that - but something deep in my own psyche surely got the message…
"Give me something I've never had before you little bondage slut, or I may just emasculate you with your own resistance band contraption right here in the woods, then just leave you here tied on this log for somebody else to eventually find," he may well have verbally threatened me; in my horned up and curious mind I simply had no choice. So to be sure, an odd bit of man psychology and domination is going on between us here in the woods, but with nobody else here to witness my willingly emasculating service, it becomes something less challenging and dare I say "wrong," although try explaining that to somebody else not caught up in the experience themselves.
When a man is fortunate to get any kind of oral, it's wise to just say thank you and appreciate the experience for what it is, or so goes my own thoughts and experiences on the matter; as any discussion, or worse yet "stage directions," pretty much ends the spontaneous event cold. It's at least gone that way for me the few times my lovely wife did such for me, almost exclusively before marriage, oddly enough. Not so when I've gone down on her, which is very very often, at least once a week on average since we've been together, and early on there she gave plenty of stage directions, " rougher, there, not there, higher, lower, tenderly now I'm getting really sore," you get the idea. I didn't mind it myself though, as it was a sure-fire way for her to achieve orgasm, way more dependable than "normal" penetrative sex. I wanted to please her like that too, watch and feel her squeal and shake, greedily devour what her body freely gives me, thereby making sex, with me, something she'd like to do again, because it felt pretty wonderful for her the last time.
"If you want a next time, with anybody, make this time magnificent; at least within your capabilities," it's kind of my mantra, and so far it's worked pretty wonderfully for me too as I most certainly married up…
So, immersed in the lusty moment I'm a bit oblivious to the trap I'm adroitly constructing for myself, but repeatedly dragging both my tongue and teeth down the length of his flaccid self I start to feel the effects of the increased blood flow down there; this thing in my warm mouth is growing in both girth and firmness. I can't say I've ever seen or felt this particular biological reflex action from this unique perspective, but rather than being repulsed, I'm kind of intrigued as to how exactly this is for him. Henry is looking up into the sky when I briefly avert my eyes and look up at him, but he does groan a bit, letting me know verbally that this is working for him on some level.
I'm not really sucking though - nor blowing, even though it's called a "blow job" - because in my limited experiences, being on the receiving end of such manly good fortune, actually sucking hard on it kind of has the opposite effect, at least for me. Men were designed to push-in and plunder, hold their struggling lover firmly and bury their seeds deep, so as to make every copulation a successful one; at least as far as caveman breeding purposes go. Now Henry obviously isn't going to knock me up here no matter what we do together, but both the animal part of his brain and his growing cock can't possibly know that. His manly seeds instinctively want a deep and warm place to be deposited, anything else from a biological point of view is a total waste!
Conventional wisdom would have me doing this deed as quickly and efficiently as humanly possible, so as to earn release from my bonds, but I'm not doing that at the moment. Instead I'm savoring the experience, thinking this is a "once and done," that I'll never have this "opportunity" again. So I'm trying things that I'd actually like done to me, experimenting, living in the proverbial moment, we're simply in no hurry here, and my teenage tormentor even seems to be enjoying himself too, based on the little moans he's making on and off. It's also a bit of a challenge doing this while straddling a massive tree, and cuffed behind my back helplessly, but I think that's also doing something for me too, reminding me that I have no real choice here.
He's fully erect and hard by this point, and size-wise he's quite similar to what I'm endowed with, although maybe just ever so slightly girthier. Something about him down there is a bit different than me though, as his family jewels - hanging there before me for easy comparison - are considerably larger than my grape sized ones resting inside my rather small and half-crushed fleshy sack. I'm overcome with natural curiosity, "what do they actually feel like?" and if my hands were free I'd simply touch them, just to confirm what my eyes were telling me; but my hands obviously aren't free. I'm also being impossibly oral here, but it's the one thing I have to offer in my present helpless bound state.
So, when I fully remove this magnificent organ from my mouth and can actually get a look down at what I'm doing, my smile back up at this young man tells him that everything is just fine, nothing to worry about down here; I like what I see, it's a very nice male appendage. I then take little mock bites down the length of him, as if I'm eating a really thick hotdog; less of course the bun. His surprised expression tells me this is also a rather nice first for him too, and that he really likes it. He groans deeply, the sounds deep enough that I can feel them ever so slightly vibrating his cock too. It almost tickles my mouth and lips, so positive feedback from him to be sure. His left hand is still resting on my head, and holding my hair out of my face too, and it rubs me tenderly and absentmindedly; so another level of affection for the one "doing" for him so selflessly.
As I mock bite my way down my teenage human hotdog, the part of him not actually in my mouth kind of slowly slides up my face with every tiny nibble, between my cheek and nose, towards my left eye, leaving a trail of both my saliva, and his lubricating precum; neither or which I can wipe away myself. If it feels odd for this heterosexual man to have another's cock in his mouth, it feels doubly so to have it sliding up my face on its way towards my left eye socket, without of course my hands free to redirect it. He's watching all of this, but in a curious way, not at all a warily one. I could obviously hurt him like this, but really I've only offered a mock amount of resistance so far; simply put, we both maybe understand that a certain part of me is very into this new experience, into being "compelled" to perform like this. At this point it's nothing more than an act; he has his part to play, and I have mine.
When I finally get to the base of him it's a bit more musky, but again not unpleasant, although curiosity has me doing something else I just never saw myself doing with another man, and as he watches I draw one of his two family jewels into my mouth with a playful pop, rolling it around inside there with my tongue. This is no grape-sized one like my own, but something, dare I say, the size of a ping-pong ball, or even a meatball, so I'd guess very full and bloated. I'm also envious as to how good this must feel, because the noise he made when I first did that, and then again when I rolled it around, massaging it with my warm mouth and tongue, simply sounded extraordinary! I then try to get the second one into my mouth at the same time, but I can't without potentially hurting him; they're that big!
With my curiosity settled I think to go back to the original mission, thinking to take him all the way until my nose is on his stomach, so he can then deposit something special into my own stomach with those two massive family jewels; so in other words, deepthroat him to completion like a pornstar. He instead pulls away and stops me, telling me that we should move this little party down to ground level, before one of us falls off. It's an intelligent thing to do, but I'm also scared that the mood will be forever lost on my end; instead wanting to ride this lusty wave all the way to the proverbial beach before I lose my nerve.
I wasn't necessarily given a choice though, and my athletic captor both pulls up, and zips up, only to jump down from our high perch like an agile cat. He has an obvious plan, but he's not necessarily sharing it. Anyway, he first unbelts my ankles, and I feel the immediate tingle of renewed blood flow, telling me I'd overdone that particular element of my selfbondage. Next he admonishes me to behave, which I promise to do, and then he unties the resistance band that had caused me so many problems. He warns me that if I struggle he'll just drop me on my head, so I don't as he slides me off of the fallen tree from below, pretty much catching me and belying his apparent "skinny-teen" strength, as I had zero help to offer with my wrists still helplessly bound behind me. I'm unsteady on my tingling bare feet, but that doesn't stop him from putting my own belt around my neck in slipknot fashion, offering positive control of my body from two extraordinarily hazardous anchor points.
This is a true "be careful what you wish for" moment here, because I am both helpless and committed, but this almost works for me. I expect to be lowered to my knees to resume what I had started up on the tree, but instead I'm led through the forest and ever further away from my bag of things, to include my clothes, phone, car keys, and some other toys as well; and this separation from my material possessions weighs heavily on my psyche. The bag was placed out of sight intentionally, so as to make the original "scene" I was creating for myself plausible, when of course I looked around up on my high perch. Plausible of course went straight to full on reality with the untimely arrival of my teenage tormentor though, I am literally living both my greatest fear, and one of my greatest taboo "against my will" fantasies as well. Let's be honest here, if Henry had instead been a bikini wrapped teenager, strangely enough wanting bound sex from me in the woods, it would hardly be a hardship to provide such!
Anyway, at Henry's direction we walked a meandering path with me in the lead to what seemed nowhere, and even though I dared not utter a word of complaint, if I even slowed down slightly on the sharp undergrowth in my barefoot pace, my booted captor kicked me lightly in the ass for motivation. If I moved a bit fast going downhill, he arrested my forward motion by either my improvised neck leash, or by tugging on the resistance band in his hand still attached to my own collared man parts, which trust me was impossible to ignore!
I felt like something much less than a man with the easy way I had been dominated by this confident teen, and the lingering taste of his manhood in my mouth naturally confirmed such, as did my missing man parts when I looked down at my feet for proper placement on the sometimes rough terrain. They had been there, swinging around between my legs, pretty much since I could remember, but now they were tucked back and out of my sight, so that plus my shaved smooth skin felt extra feminine now.
It felt like my clothes - my very masculinity - were miles away by the time the perfect spot was found, but soon I was told to kneel under a maple tree, and that surely meant we were to pick up where we left off; if I could find the mood once again.The tree itself had some low branches, and I remember such from my childhood as "easy climbing trees." In this case though my resistance band is attached to one of those branches directly over my head, although also directly behind my back where I couldn't easily see the exact method my teen owner used. Yes, "owner," as he pretty much owned my quasi-feminine ass now, until such time as he decided he didn't need my services any longer. Henry then had me cross my ankles, and he used my belt again to bind them, but not as tightly as before, so this particular bondage was more symbolic, rather than absolute.
This time he strips out of everything as I watch him, and wow, does this young man have a body, not one ounce of fat anywhere. If my wife were here she'd notice for sure, she might not necessarily want to do for him exactly like I am, but then again she might with such yummy and virile eye-candy on display! At least this time Henry is already hard for me - likely thinking about me 'finishing' what he surely knows I can do now - something that's a bit easier to write than it is to actually say I'm sure. He smacks me in each cheek with it playfully as I chase his cock hungrily with my open mouth, but he's personally motivated for me to actually win this taboo game of his, so he doesn't make it too hard on me, pun intended. He's laughing with me, caught up in the almost innocent nature of what we're up to here, so again nothing evil. He's also at the top of the food chain here, he doesn't have to gloat, he's already won; and he's almost certainly looking forward to collecting his grand prize!
If I thought sucking cock would be harder the second time around I was gravely mistaken, as this almost feels natural now, to be on my knees, bound and helpless, and serving those in a position above my own, in this case both figurative and literally with Henry's magnificent body standing tall and proud before me. I'm soon back into a rhythm, bobbing up and down on the length of him, smelling his now familiar manly scent. The head of him is repeatedly right at the back of my throat, but some hidden insanity wants me to go even further than that, as in take him all the way until my nose is buried in his finely groomed hair down there. I therefore wish to choke myself on his cock - in theory at any rate - so that he can have an even better human-vagina-annolog in my humbling service to him.
I know for myself that nothing is better than a tight and wet woman who's really into doing it, and while not a woman myself, I can actually provide those other elements for Henry to get himself off on; or I suppose that's ‘in’. I don't have to do this for him, but I want to, and with this in mind I tighten my lips and tongue on his meaty self, slowing my pace deliberately. He feels the difference, and more groans of approval are my reward as both of his hands take a bit more of a commanding grasp of my skull. He's not hurting me, but I'm not going anywhere either. So more mock "force," as in just what I needed to motivate me further, and the next time I go deep I just keep going, making almost comical gagging and choking sounds as he forces his way down my throat.
I look up at him with my lips tight on his cock, cheeks slightly sunken in, so almost the epitome of innocence, which is super odd as this is anything but. I can only hold the position for a second as learning to deal with choking on something, hands free, is just a bit scary. He looks down on me with a big open jaw shocked look, as in "I didn't think you had that in you!" Then of course that look morphs into a self-serving smile with some newfound opportunities…
The game changes in an instant after than, no longer is he passively getting a simple blowjob, but now he's aggressively fucking my face, holding my skull and driving his manhood deep; so my lusty actions have flipped a switch in his brain too now, the "here we go, full aggression mode" switch that we all have. His massive and full swinging balls smack my chin on every forward stroke, and I choke and gag almost comically as his stroke bottoms out with my forehead on his muscular belly. I ham up the choking part a bit, I don't know why though, it sort of just happened like that. So sufficient to say that we're anything but silent and hiding in the woods here, although to be sure Henry is having the time of his life…
I obviously know what that "eyes rolled" I'm gonna-cum feeling feels like first hand, but feeling it orally like this was another first… Anyway, Henry has my skull in an almost death grip as he holds deep, his entire body going stiff as he unloads those two massively full family jewels of his directly down my throat, I doing all I can not to cough up on reflex with pump after pump of baby making batter delivered someplace nature never intended. His orgasm had such intensity and violence that it almost feels like the force of his squirting may have bruised my throat from the inside, and at the very least I expect a sore throat later from the experience. It's not exactly candy, but not as awful as I maybe expected either.
It's over in moments, his grip relaxed, and his "that was fuckin awesome Sally," compliment makes the experience something special for this "giver" that I am here too. In very basic terms "men take and plunder" it's in their very nature, and here too the more manly of the two of us has dominated and taken from the lesser of us. This doesn't necessarily make me a for-real woman or anything, but it does cement his status as the more alpha of us going forward. "How could one ever "man-up" after a humbling experience like this?" I ask myself belatedly.
Not wanting to end our intimacy, I nurse on his deflating manhood to clean it, as I know first hand how awful it is to stick a sticky cock back into your shorts, YUCK! I wish to spare this young man such discomfort, and this as well further cements our status with each other.
"Thank you Sally, that was pretty awesome," he tells me in more subdued fashion, but he specifically doesn't say it was a "best ever."
If I thought this meant my "ordeal" was over, I'm again mistaken, as he instead dresses and walks away from my bound and kneeling self, saying over his shoulder "I'm going for a walk Sally, I may or may not be back!"
I watch his receding form disappear into the woods without a word, thinking of the irony of my original self-bondage scenario actually coming to fruition, but in a way I never anticipated, all with the fresh taste of Henry still on my tongue…
"So, how was that asparagus, Sally?" my snarky inner voice asks…