## Happy Birthday, Hunter (m/m) ** Part 2 Added **

Post by snobound » Thu Aug 19, 2010 4:43 pm

Practice ended at 8:00- on Friday no less. A three-hour barrage of endless "drills and hills", as my sadistic varsity soccer coach always said with a grin. I walked toward the parking lot hot, sweaty, and exhausted. Knowing it was my birthday tomorrow, a couple of the guys had asked if I wanted to have a few beers at an apartment belonging to one of their older brothers. I considered this for a moment before declining. A good decision, as it turned out...
My rusty F-150 sat in the darkening shadows at the far end of the school's student lot. The distance felt like miles after running all of those hills. I began to put the key in the door, and then froze. There was a package sitting on the passenger seat, wrapped neatly in black paper. I opened the truck's door, hopped in, and grabbed the mysterious package- aside from my parents, only one person knew where I hid my spare key.
Attached was a small, folded piece of the same paper used for the wrapping. The note inside read: "Open now." With my heart beating slightly I tore the paper from the package. Inside was a plain cardboard box. I used my key to slice away the packaging tape. I felt a twinge of excitement as I removed the contents of the box. It was a black leather head harness muzzle! I loved head gear, and had drooled over these on the net, but could never afford the $200. For a moment I stared at the many leather straps and locking roller buckles. Excitement of a different kind was suddenly present as well.
I noticed that some of my teammates were getting into their cars not more than a few dozen feet away, and I shoved the muzzle back into its box- this was a secret I intended to keep. However, just as I was about to replace the cardboard flaps my eyes fell on a note scrawled on the inside of the box itself: "Did you look in the bed?"
I hadn't. I spun around in the driver's seat and immediately noticed a large black duffle bag. I flew from the truck and jumped into the bed, using the rear tire as a step. Crouched down, I began unzipping the bag.
"Last chance for beer, Hunter!" Chris, our captain, shouted this from the passenger window of another teammate's car. I shook my head absentmindedly, without even looking up. He could have asked if I wanted a million bucks and I probably would have responded the same way. That's how transfixed I was on the contents of the bag that had only been unzipped a few inches. "Suit yourself, birthday boy," said Chris, shrugging as he was driven away.
Inside were many, many coils of a wonderfully soft, half-inch diameter black rope!! I ran my fingers over what had to be well over 200 feet of just what I needed. I felt around inside the bag a bit more. With the exception of yet another note, the contents seemed to be nothing but tons of rope. Not that I was complaining or anything. The note made my heart pound, my breath quicken and, well, my growing excitement return. "Come to the barn- now! Happy 17th, Hunter!" is all it said.
I was on autopilot. Before I knew it, I was on the bumpy back road that lead to Ian's dairy farm. I laughed, realizing I had butterflies in my stomach. It was just Ian- we had been messing around like this since we were twelve! This, however, seemed different. Ian spent some serious money, and had apparently done some careful planning. The anticipation was growing unbearable as I spotted the silos of his family farm and smelled the 400 head of cattle. The country road was riddled with potholes from countless Vermont winters, and it was a relief to finally pull into Ian's mercifully smooth driveway.
I was almost shocked to see the farmhouse dark, and both of his parents' vehicles gone. This was strange, I thought. Farmers NEVER go away, especially dairy farmers. "Them cows ain't gonna milk themselves," was Ian's dad's famous complaint, though you have to imagine the thick Yankee accent. Regardless of the strangeness of it all, there it was- an abandoned farm.
The note said "Come to the barn." To anyone else, this message was worthless. There were a dozen outbuildings on the property that a flatlander would have called barns. However, there was "the" barn where Ian and I had played since early childhood- barns were great places to be tied! I drove down the gravel pathway past the house and two enormous, low-slung buildings that held the milking herd. To the right were seemingly endless acres of harvested corn.
I rounded a corner near the silos and spotted "the" barn, and saw Ian's ATV sitting outside, but no Ian. I parked the truck and got out, carrying the box containing my treasured new toy. Ian emerged from behind the barn's huge sliding door. He had the most devious grin on his face, one that I will never forget. Without saying a word he strode over and hugged me! "Happy birthday, dude!"
I was at a loss for words. Ian and I were very comfortable with each other, in many ways, but the hug was a bit unusual. "No offense, man, but you reek," laughed Ian.
"Hey, I had a double practice, and your note said to come NOW! Anyway, what the hell is going on here... this place is always buzzing. Where are your folks?"
"My great aunt or something DIED! My parents had to go to Maine!" said Ian, almost enthusiastically.
"Uh, sorry, I guess," I responded.
"It's okay, I didn't know her. Now it's time for you to shut up, birthday boy!" laughed Ian with that same grin. He grabbed the box from under my arm and pulled the muzzle from inside.
"Outside?" was all I had time to mutter before being shoved against the truck as Ian aggressively placed the muzzle harness over my head. Within what seemed like seconds he had the six roller buckles tightened around my neck and head. He spun me around and bent me over the hood of the truck- remarkably like a cop- pinning my arms behind my back. Before I knew it, I was handcuffed! I didn't even resist- why would I?
Even if I wanted to, I knew that I couldn't overpower Ian. Now, I am certainly no weakling. Playing both soccer and baseball since junior high had left me in damn good shape, and the coaching staff's relentless training programs had given me a gym-toned body, even at sixteen (going on seventeen)! Regardless, Ian was a farm boy, and had been doing demanding chores since he could walk. He was naturally a bit stockier than me, and had gravitated toward football and wrestling in school, and had the muscles to show for it. We were both about 5' - 10" with similar athletic endurance, but when it came to brute force, I was simply outclassed by Ian.
I was still in my practice gear- red mesh gym shorts with boxer briefs underneath, and a light gray T-shirt with the school's eagle mascot on the front and my last name on the back. I hadn't even removed my Adidas cleats or nasty, sweaty soccer socks. No matter how inappropriate for the circumstances, Ian always wore his tan Timberland work boots, untied and with the tongue hanging loose, and thick tube socks pushed down to his ankles. his only other clothing was a pair of yellow Under Armour shorts. The strange combination made him look damn hot.
It was warm for late September, and some of Ian's messy light brown hair was matted to his forehead. My close-cropped, darker brown hair was mostly hidden beneath the muzzle's harness. Ian removed the duffle bag from the bed of my truck and slung it over his shoulder. He grabbed my upper arm with his other hand and led me into the dimly lit, though familiar barn.
This building was too far from the farm's main dairying operation to serve as anything more useful than long-term hay storage, and managing that was Ian's job. No one would bother us until early tomorrow morning, when a few farm hands would arrive to help with the milking.
Ian sat me on a stool, still handcuffed and muzzled, as he unpacked the contents of the duffle bag. He gathered up a large armload of rope and carried it toward the center of the barn where two massive wooden beams, separated by about five feet, rose up to support the roof. My eyes were about to follow Ian walk back toward the remainder of the rope when I spotted it. On one side of each beam- those that faced each other- Ian had installed a number of evenly spaced heavy lag eye-bolts. They were spaced about six inches, and rose roughly ten feet up each beam. Hanging from each eye-bolt was a three-inch steel ring!
These were certainly put there by Ian. They were shiny and new. He saw me examining his handiwork, and my reaction underneath my shorts. He approached me, pulling a handful of small padlocks from his pocket. One by one, Ian locked the six roller buckles on the harness, watching me intently as he did. He grabbed the front of my shirt and stood me up. Without saying a word, Ian unlocked the cuffs, and lifted the T-shirt over my head. He took me by the arm again and led me toward the beams, bristling with heavy steel hardware!
Ian picked up a coil of the thick, soft rope from the ground and tied my hands in front of me, tightly, leaving many feet of rope hanging. As a farm boy, Ian knew his knots. They never came undone. As if he knew exactly how this should unfold, Ian quickly retrieved another coil. He found the center, and wrapped it around one of my elbows, leaving the two unused ends hanging. He did the same on my other elbow. I stood there, breathing heavily through my nose, hands bound, and ropes hanging from each arm. Suddenly, Ian grabbed me and pulled me close to him. He whispered into my ear, "Ready?" All I could do was nod.
Ian grabbed the free end of the rope that bound my hands, bunched it up, and flung it over his head, where it passed over a rafter beam. I looked up and saw a final ring anchored in the beam, centered between the two support columns. With the surefootedness of someone who had been doing this his whole life, Ian climbed a ladder and was walking among rafter beams above my head. He found the rope, and passed it through the ring, allowing the last bit to fall back toward the barn floor.
Within seconds Ian was back, standing before me, and with the loose end of the rope in his hand. Grabbing my shoulders, he guided me between the two beams. Satisfied with my position, he pulled on the rope. My bound arms rose above my head. Ian pulled some more, and then tied off the end of the rope to one of the many rings to my sides. My arms were pulled taught, but not uncomfortably so.
He ran a finger up my side and across an armpit. I shuddered, and cried into the muzzle. I looked at Ian with pleading eyes, hoping he would take pity. He knows I can't take tickling. Ian reached for me again, but I lunged out of his way. He chuckled, "You won't be doing THAT for long!" He grabbed the stool that I had been sitting on and placed it at the base of one of the beams. Standing on it, he took the ropes hanging from my right elbow. Ian passed the ropes through two different rings to my right- one just above and one just below my elbow. The ropes were knotted, but only temporarily - they would be adjusted later, and tighter. Ian did the same to my other arm, effectively preventing me from moving side to side, or from front to back for that matter.
I watched as Ian grabbed a rather large coil of rope, which he doubled up. He draped this doubled rope over my shoulders, with the middle resting against the back of my neck. Ian then used the long remainder of both doubled ends to tie a harness on my upper body. He crossed the two ends over my chest, brought them around my back, and then back to the front where he tied the ends together. Each end was then passed through a ring on opposite beams, and then back toward me where they were tightly cinched at the back of the rope harness.
Ian stood back for a minute, admired my predicament, and then began to tickle my torso and armpits mercilessly. I shrieked into the muzzle and fought against the ropes with every ounce of strength I could muster. After an eternity, which was probably only like a minute or two, Ian paused as I hung there in defeat, huffing and puffing through my nose. Sweat was now dripping off of me. Ian took this opportunity to adjust and tighten the ropes at my sides, eliminating the small amount of slack that my thrashing had caused. He grabbed the D-ring on the collar portion of the muzzle harness to get my attention. "Shall I continue?" My slight moan beneath the muzzle, as well as my shorts, must have been acknowledgement enough- Ian grabbed for yet another coil of rope.
Ian wrapped this rope around my waist a few times before tying it off in front. He gave my nicely toned abs an affectionate slap before threading the loose ends through yet more rings at opposite beams before tying them off.
I was slipping into that state of euphoria that good bondage usually brings about when I felt Ian grab my foot, bringing reality back into focus. "Oh shit, don't tickle my feet!" I thought with rising panic. And he didn't. Not yet. He pulled off my cleats, followed by the endlessly long, red soccer tube socks.
"These are just gross!" Ian laughed. There was that grin again. He stood up, and stuck the ends of both socks under one of the straps of the muzzle that ran across my forehead. Racked out as I was, and being able to breath only through my nose, it was impossible to avoid those foul, sticky socks! I thrashed around some more, finding that I pretty much stayed in position if I kicked my legs out! Ian had really gotten good with rope!
I settled down, and again Ian's hand was on my ankle. He was wrapping it with the same black rope, creating a thick band. My other ankle was tied in an identical manner. The remaining rope leading from each ankle was held in one of Ian's hands. In the other was a three foot long homemade spreader bar with eyebolts screwed into each end. Was this really happening? It was as if Ian had reached into the deepest recesses of my mind, the home of my darkest fantasies.
"Let's see how much you can take," Ian said, almost to himself. He pushed my feet apart, causing the ropes anchoring my hands and arms to bear more of my weight. Ian quickly tied my ankles to the ends of the spreader bar, and the slack on each side was cinched to the bottom rings on the opposing beams. I hung my head to survey my predicament- the endless feet of rope crisscrossing my torso and limbs. Ian stood no more than inches from me, and asked, "Enjoying yourself?" He knew that I was, though I was pretty much beyond rational communication.
"Almost done," said Ian softly. I grunted between deep, slow breaths. He wrapped the middle of a doubled up rope around the upper part of each thigh, leaving two ends. These were tied to their respective posts with one rope above and one below where the opposite ends were tied to my legs. "God damn," I remember thinking, "he's doing the same to my knees!"
I thought that it was almost artful, the way that Ian had managed to totally immobilize my entire body- well, nearly. I didn't register the fact until my muzzled chin was thrust suddenly upward, but Ian had tied yet another length of rope to the D-ring on the top of the head harness. The opposite end had been threaded through the same ring that anchored my arms to the beam above. When had this happened? The thought occurred to me that if it weren't for the muzzle, I'd probably be drooling.
Racked out in midair- that's the only way to describe it. I allowed the ropes to take control of my body- making no conscious effort to support my own weight. My eyes had been closed, but I felt Ian's presence and opened them. He was pressed against me, hugging, again. He whispered into my ear, "Happy birthday, Hunter."
Last edited by snobound on Sun Aug 22, 2010 12:05 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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### Re: Happy Birthday, Hunter (m/m)

Post by snobound » Thu Aug 19, 2010 6:05 pm

> cricks5 wrote:Most interesting indeed. Ian definately knows his knots all right! Hope Hunter is like that for awhile.

I was there until dawn began to creep in- seven or eight guys work on that farm, and they would be arriving at five. I wasn't tied exactly like that the whole time. My hands began to go numb after an hour or so of torment, so Ian retied my arms behind my back- with as much care as before
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### Re: Happy Birthday, Hunter (m/m)

Post by pinochio892000 » Thu Aug 19, 2010 8:05 pm

All ur stories r so great. I always love ur stories since ur first post
Cool story
Thnx for sharing

### Re: Happy Birthday, Hunter (m/m)

Post by xtc » Fri Aug 20, 2010 4:02 am

A superb, well-written story,
Thanks,
xtc
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!
More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

### Re: Happy Birthday, Hunter (m/m)

Post by Scottstud94 » Fri Aug 20, 2010 8:48 am

Very good story

### Re: Happy Birthday, Hunter (m/m)

Post by Jason Toddman » Fri Aug 20, 2010 9:24 am

What a great story! Is there more to this? I'd love to hear how the rest of the night went!!!
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Happy Birthday, Hunter (m/m)

Post by snobound » Fri Aug 20, 2010 12:53 pm

> Jason Toddman wrote:What a great story! Is there more to this? I'd love to hear how the rest of the night went!!!

I could continue it, but would have to fictionalize/leave a lot out. There were a good three hours between where I ended the story and when I was finally untied. Much of what hapened in between would be considered inappropriate for this board
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### Re: Happy Birthday, Hunter (m/m)

Post by Jason Toddman » Fri Aug 20, 2010 1:19 pm

> snobound wrote:I could continue it, but would have to fictionalize/leave a lot out. There were a good three hours between where I ended the story and when I was finally untied. Much of what hapened in between would be considered inappropriate for this board

Aw, come on! That's what the More Intimate Section is for!!! About the only thing that's over the top on that forum is outright rape, traumatic torture, and violence, (IOW anything dramatically non-consensual) and this story doesn't sound at all like it would stray into that kind of territory. Please at least consider doing a sequel to this part of the story describing the later events in the More Intimate Stories Forum. If MY somewhat explicit stories can be posted there, a loving story like this one surely can be too!
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Happy Birthday, Hunter (m/m)

Post by xtc » Sat Aug 21, 2010 2:06 am

By all means fictionalise if you will. It would be cruel to deny us all your writing style.
Wassail!
xtc
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!
More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

### Re: Happy Birthday, Hunter (m/m)

Post by Jason Toddman » Sun Aug 22, 2010 6:36 am

> Dominik wrote:

> > xtc wrote:By all means fictionalise if you will. It would be cruel to deny us all your writing style.
> > Wassail!
> > xtc

> I fully agree. Please continue!
> (I wish I had birthday parties like that! )

I wish I STILL did! One or two of my adolescent birthdays weresomewhat similar, which is another reason (of many) why I want to read about someone else's experience.
I also know a well written story that the author enjoyed writing when I see one and I want to see more!
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Happy Birthday, Hunter (m/m)

Post by xtc » Sun Aug 22, 2010 7:02 am

How many cheers is that?
Surely it only takes three to receive approval?
NOW GET ON WITH IT!
No, no, no, I really didn't mean that (or did I?). What I really meant was: please, when you're ready, I for one would really appreciate your attempt to continue the story in any way you think suitable.
Or would you honour us with another story that you would prefer to share?
Blessed be,
xtc
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!
More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

### Re: Happy Birthday, Hunter (m/m)

Post by snobound » Sun Aug 22, 2010 7:16 am

> xtc wrote:How many cheers is that?
> Surely it only takes three to receive approval?
> NOW GET ON WITH IT!
> No, no, no, I really didn't mean that (or did I?). What I really meant was: please, when you're ready, I for one would really appreciate your attempt to continue the story in any way you think suitable.
> Or would you honour us with another story that you would prefer to share?
> Blessed be,
> xtc

I'm a bit humbled that some of you guys like my stories so much! I did write a continuation, and will post it later this afternoon after I read through it a few more times.
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### Happy Birthday, Hunter (Part 2)

Post by snobound » Sun Aug 22, 2010 12:10 pm

More than anything, I wanted to return that hug. Ian had been so thoughtful, so creative. I strained against the ropes with every ounce of my strength in a pathetic attempt at thrusting my helpless body closer to him. Ian continued to hold me. "How does this feel? Ha?"
Behind the muzzle I responded with what could best be described as a half grunt, half moan. "Yeah, that's what I thought!" he laughed. Ian and I were pretty advanced when it came to TUGs. The mild chair ties and half-assed escape challenges we experimented with as sixth graders had steadily progressed to increasingly intense scenarios, but none as intense and intoxicating as this.
I don't need to tell most of you that there is no sensation quite like being utterly and completely bound. Aside from the bondage-induced euphoria, the sincerity of Ian's grasp invited a sense of complete trust and contentment that I haven't been able to duplicate since. The heavy panting through my nose became slower and more regular, my pulse steadied, and I gave up any resistance or struggle.
Ian ended his embrace with a quick, tight squeeze. My eyes had been closed as I savoured this sensory overload- the lingering sweat of Ian's body, the leather of the muzzle, and... those damn nasty socks. As these thoughts stirred my excitement, Ian began positioning a buckling leather blindfold over the top of the straps of the head harness. He also took this opportunity to readjust the socks for maximum effectiveness.
For the longest time Ian hadn't said anything, nor did he make any noise moving about the barn. How long had it been? Five minutes? Twenty-five? It's amazing how quickly disorientation sets in when one is deprived of his senses. I focused intently on the few muted sounds that found their way to my ears- the dry creak of the muzzle's thick leather, the occasional metallic clank of the rings anchoring countless feet of rope, and the soft moans and grunts that I had been previously unaware of making. Where was Ian?
My mind began concocting ridiculous scenarios involving Ian falling from a rafter and breaking his neck, leaving me to be discovered by some horrified farm hand. These disturbing thoughts were swept from my mind as my breath was suddenly stolen from me in one sharp gasp. If it weren't for the blindfold, I would have seen Ian standing before me planning his attack with generous clumps of dry hay clenched in both fists. At first he allowed only one or two of the hay strands to scrape against the length of my side. It took only that one pass to elicit a deep shudder and stab of panic. Ian dropped the large clumps of hay at his feet, holding onto only a few stiff lengths of the dried grass. He went to town.
I would have been shrieking like a little girl with a spider in her hair had it not been for the tightly buckled muzzle. I strained with all my adrenaline-spiked might, but failed to move more than an inch in any direction. Ian was going to have his way with me, and there was absolutely nothing I could do but enjoy it, if not while screaming into the muzzle like a maniac!
Ian tickled me mercilessly with those delicate shafts of hay, raking them over my chest, back, and pits. Sweat poured off of me, and bits of the hay were sticking to my skin. Every muscle in my body flexed against the unyielding tension of Ian's rope work. He would pause for a moment, causing me to anticipate in sheer terror the first light touch of the hay, signifying the beginning of another round of torment.
This time Ian went to work on my legs, lightly brushing from my bound ankles up to the insides of my black boxer brief- clad thighs. Most of the length of my mesh workout shorts were bunched up under the ropes encircling my upper thighs, allowing for easier tickling access for my torturer, as well as an unobstructed view of my unflagging excitement beneath those briefs. I wondered how I could be so aroused, and yet so damn close to loosing my mind from this ceaseless torment. My chest heaved as I made a futile attempt to catch my breath. I knew that I had come damn close to blacking out, and couldn't take much more.
I fought to maintain control as Ian worked my upper body with one hand, and my legs with another. My labored breathing intensified to a raspy squeakiness. I felt the hay-turned torture device rake against the inside arch of my left foot. Regardless of my strictly bound state, I pulled madly with my legs, as if the resulting slight shift would in any way restrict Ian's access to my body. In fact, it only seemed to serve to draw his complete attention to my exposed and helpless feet.
Though the ropes binding my arms and torso helped to suspend some of my meager 150 pounds, my feet had still rested lightly upon the dirt barn floor. That is, until Ian's focus on the edges of my feet, and the accompanying terror and panic, caused me to attempt to withdraw my legs so desperately that they were lifted from the ground completely. Ian took this opportunity to lace into the soles of my feet as the ropes bore my full weight. The ropes suspending me drew tighter at once, though the individual sensations of each separate rope seemed to fade in favor of an imprecise sense of total immobilization. It struck me that this might be what it felt like to be entombed in an avalanche- sans snow. Whatever it was, it was the most intense feeling of helplessness that I have ever experienced.
I became vaguely aware of the squealing of a pig, an animal not raised on Ian's dairy farm. I then realized the squealing pig was me! Apparently, I had achieved a sort of reflective mental detachment from the torture that was about to break me in the physical world. My head began to swim.
...
My next recollection was of Ian staring into my eyes, his hands clasped on either side of my muzzled face. He had removed the blindfold, and I was shocked to see that he was crying. "Oh, Hunter! Thank god! I'm so, so sorry! I'm so sorry! I got carried away and wasn't really paying attention to you like I should have. Your whole body just sort of went limp! Are you okay? I'm going to untie you right now and..." was as far as I allowed Ian's apologetic blathering to go. I was emphatically shaking my head no. By leaps and bounds- no pun intended- I was having the time of my life, and wasn't about to hasten its end because of a fleeting episode of fainting. My breathing was normal again, and aside from being drenched in sweat and flecked with hay, I was ready to go. All Ian needed to do was look at my shorts to see that my enthusiasm was genuine.
Ian stood back, visually examining me for a moment, deciding whether or not to comply with my stubbornness. We had both learned from experience that our appetites for bondage were sometimes more resilient than our bodies, and that often these desires could cloud even the best judgement. Ian seemed to focus his attention on my wrists, which had sustained a good deal of abuse as they bore the full weight of my body. He reached up, squeezing, then massaging my bound hands with his own. "Dude, your hands are a little cold, and they're turning white." I think he saw the disappointment in my eyes. "I've got an idea- you're gonna love it!" he quickly added.
I watched as Ian untied the end of the long rope suspending my arms to the beam above, leaving the one holding my head upright. Only my hands and forearms fell forward, as my elbows were still bound to the rings to my left and right. Ian then untied these, and I lowered my still bound arms slowly, and with a groan. I felt a strange spreading warmth as blood rushed back into neglected muscles. It was only then that I realized just how numb my hands had gone. Ian was right to be so cautious, and I looked at him with growing respect, or was it something else?
"Since the night's still young, I'll give you a little break from the muzzle." Ian began removing the six tiny padlocks from the muzzle- not that they were really necessary. He unknotted another rope tied off at a ring, and my head sunk forward in response. Ian unbuckled just two of the straps on the head harness- the one on the collar, and one leading from the side from the muzzle. This was enough to remove the headgear while maintaining all of Ian's careful adjustments. He laughed. "Your face is all marked up from the straps! It's hot!" he said. I laughed. It felt good to breath through my mouth again.
Finally, Ian untied the single rope binding my wrists. The very second my hand was free, I reached forward, grabbed hold of Ian's shoulders, and pulled him toward me. It was my turn to initiate a hug. "Unbelievable. I'm still in shock. Thanks!" I said squeezing him tight.
"Hold that thought," Ian responded, gently pulling away from my grasp. He had left the ropes hanging from my elbows, and was retrieving yet two more coils of this wonderfully thick rope from the barn floor. Ian poked my right bicep. "Arm up," he commanded, and I complied. "Jesus, you need a shower," he laughed.
"Shut up, you like it!" I spat. He blushed a little and laughed some more. He had doubled up this rope too, and tied one end where my upper arm met my shoulder.
"Arm down so I can breathe!" Ian needled. He repeated the process on my other arm, leaving the opposite ends hanging for later use. I was already slipping into "bottom land" again, making little noises as ropes were tightened and adjusted. Ian pulled my hand away from my shorts. "There will be none of that!" he scolded. I watched intently as Ian began unravelling the largest coil of rope, with which he worked to find the center. Ian tied the mid point of this long rope to the part of the rope harness that passed across the back of my neck. "Arms behind your back," he commanded.
Ian moved around to my back, and began to intricately bind my upper then lower arms together, pulling them as close as he felt I could withstand for a substantial amount of time. He bound my upper arms to the rope harness, and my forearms to the belt of rope around the small of my back. He finally used the last bit of what must have been fifty feet of rope to bind my crossed wrists. My breathing was getting heavy again, and I moaned softly as the final knot on my wrists was pulled tight. "Good?" asked Ian- a question to which he already knew the answer.
There were still unused ropes hanging from my armpits and elbows. Those wrapped around the very upper part of my arm were tied to rings to my left and right, roughly two feet above my head. I saw that these ropes would now bear much of my body's weight, rather than my spent wrists. Ian retied the doubled-up ropes sticking out at my bound elbows just as he had before, with one end tied to a ring above each elbow, and one tied below. The ropes leading from the chest harness and my lower torso were still anchored to rings, and Ian took a few minutes to readjust and tighten them- his knots may have been infallible, but rope does stretch under the strain of a thrashing body in the throws of intense tickle-torture!
"Relax your knees," Ian commanded. I complied, allowing the ropes on my upper body to take my weight with yet another moan.
"Ugh, that's awesome!" I mumbled.
"Just wait, you have no idea!" said Ian with that sadistic grin that I was coming to love. He knelt near the base of the beam near my right foot, and began unknotting the ropes tying the spreader bar to the ring, and my ankle to the spreader bar. He did the same to the left side. My knees and upper thighs were still tightly roped to the opposing beams, and Ian left this set-up alone. It felt wonderful to move my lower legs, but maintaining this stance without the aid of the spreader was difficult, and the arches of my feet were beginning to cramp in the mere few minutes that I was left in this state.
Ian was messing around with something in the far corner of the barn, but soon returned hefting a rectangular bale of hay. He dropped the bale in front of me as I looked at him with inquisitive eyes. Ian positioned the bale so that its long side was facing me, and began kicking it closer and closer to my feet. He continued to kick the bale toward me, forcing me to inch my lower legs backward. "Uh, dude?" I questioned, though Ian said nothing. A couple of kicks later I began to loose my balance. Instinctively, I lifted a foot, resting my knee on the advancing bale. Ian kicked the block of hay yet again, and I was forced to do the same with my other leg. The bale was a bit shorter than the space once occupied by my lower legs, and my body dropped an inch or two as Ian continued to kick the hay bale beneath me. Just as my legs hadn't carried my whole weight when the spreader bar was put into place, my knees only pressed lightly into the hay as I gave into the ropes once more.
"Oh yeah, that worked out perfectly!" said Ian with a huge, devious smile.
"You just couldn't imagine..." I mumbled softly. Ian checked the tension on my shoulders and arms, appeared satisfied, and grabbed for more rope! He walked around the beams and ran a finger across the arch of my right foot. I kicked out wildly with the little range of motion available to my lower leg. Ian giggled. He was a wrestler, don't forget. He grabbed hold of both legs with little effort, crossed my ankles, and bound them tightly.
My chest was heaving, a patina of sweat broke out over my body again, and I knew that trance-like state wasn't far away. Again, Ian ran his forefinger across one foot, and then the other. All I could do was grunt and strain under the constriction of the ropes. Still holding the remaining end of the rope used to bind my ankles, Ian threaded it through the intricate web imprisoning my upper arms. He found a suitable anchor point to loop it around, than began taking up slack.
I emitted a low, soft, sustained moan as Ian lifted my bound ankles toward the backs of my thighs before tying off the end of the rope. Without a pause, he readjusted the ropes pulling my knees toward the posts so that they were spread even further apart. This served to take even more weight off of my knees. I suspected that Ian could have removed the bale of hay entirely, though he didn't. He grasped my sides, and pushed then pulled with gentle pressure, testing just how thoroughly immobilized I was. He laughed for minute. Later, Ian told me he that I had reminded him of the deerskin, drying taught in a frame, that he had once made for a project in junior high!
Ian moved to face me again, grabbing the ropes suspending me from my shoulders. "I am so damn jealous of you right now," he whispered. This thought had actually crossed my mind. Though I had become a serious bondage addict in the last couple of years, Ian enjoyed being tied nearly as much as me. How could I ever top this? No way. "Time to put the bow on the birthday boy!" said Ian.
"Huh?" I stammered. He picked my stinky, slimy soccer sweat socks up from the barn floor. My eyes fell on them, and Ian watched as every muscle in my body tensed. He carefully rolled one of the red socks and held it up near my mouth, gesturing for me to open up. I shook my head imploringly. Ian grabbed my nose. I held out for a pathetic twenty seconds before panting as the rolled sock was skilfully stuffed into my gaping mouth. The second sock had been lying on the hay bale. Ian quickly placed it between my teeth, wrapped it around my head, and cinched it tightly before knotting it off.
He bent down and retrieved the buckling leather blindfold. With the other hand he tousled my short hair before positioning it over my eyes and tightening the buckle. Then came the muzzle, this time over the blindfold. It went on quickly, already having been adjusted to my head. Ian cinched the two loosened roller buckles tightly. Between the sock gag and the muzzle, I could hardly manage more than a muffled moaning, which was what I was doing.
For a minute I just hung there, trying to comprehend my predicament. I had never been so thoroughly tied, and may never be again, I thought. At the same time, Ian was standing before me, about to walk toward the few coils of rope still sitting at the base of one of the beams. He paused, thought for moment, smiled, and began pulling off his tan Timberland work boot and bunched up tube socks. These, Ian thought, were every bit as nasty as Hunter's socks. He had been doing heavy chores in them since getting out of school at 2:30. Twelve hours later, they were damn ripe! Ian placed them under the same straps of the head harness as before so that they hung in front of my nose, nearly completing his control over my senses.
I was experiencing a pleasure overload, if such a state can actually exist. The bondage was tight and intense, but almost comfortable at the same time. I felt Ian reapplying the rope to the D-ring at the top of the head harness. I hardly noticed, though I think it registered in my shorts as my head was again forced completely upright. I then felt Ian's hands at the sides of the muzzle, where additional D-rings stuck out from the buckling straps. To these, more ropes were attached, and then tied off at opposing rings on each beam. "That's all 200 feet, birthday boy!" Ian said, seemingly from some impossibly distant place.
I'm not someone who gets tied and just sits (hangs, in this situation) there. No, I spent what seemed like the next half hour- or was it an hour- attempting a pathetic struggle against Ian's impeccable rope work. Flexing and pulling, grunting, moaning, and groaning, I tested the ropes that were so carefully and lovingly placed by Ian. I was breathing as if in the middle of one of my coach's cross training routines in the weight room, taking in the scents of my sweat, as well as Ian's socks- which, by the way, were far worse than mine!
Ian seemed to know where I was mentally, and allowed me to loose myself in the moment without any interruption, though I knew that he was never far away. Panic can set in with bondage like this, regardless of experience level, and I would feel Ian's reassuring hand on my body every now and then. I passed in and out of various levels of awareness, with time becoming an indistinct and immeasurable blur. My excitement level, however, remained steady and unfailing. Control over that, unfortunately, was literally out of my hands.
After what turned out to be an hour or so of "bottom land" introspection, I began testing the ropes with renewed energy, my moans becoming more pronounced. I felt Ian's grasp again, soft and warm compared to the growing pressure of the ropes. Finally, mercifully, he took pity and made it my birthday...
...
Slowly, the socks over my nose fell to the floor, the ropes came off the muzzle, followed by the blindfold, head harness, and sock gag. I blinked against the first hints of dawn spilling into the barn. While still tied, Ian wrapped his arms around me again. "I could never thank you enough," is all I could manage with a sheepish look.
"No?" said Ian with a broad smile. "My birthday's in November!"
Try out the TUGs chat! http://chat.mibbit.com/#tugsnet

### Re: Happy Birthday, Hunter (m/m) ** Part 2 Added **

Post by Jason Toddman » Sun Aug 22, 2010 1:15 pm

That story was awesome!
I don't know why you thought you couldn't post the rest of it here.
If there were details you left out, well - you could always use them in another story!
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Happy Birthday, Hunter (m/m) ** Part 2 Added **

Post by xtc » Sun Aug 22, 2010 1:21 pm

Good punch-line!!!
Please, as you say, read & re-read, I'm sure it's part of what makes your style (for an analy retentive old fart like me at least) so easiy understood.
Blessed be,
xtc
Ultimately: WOW
Question: Can you bottle it?
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!
More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

### Re: Happy Birthday, Hunter (m/m) ** Part 2 Added **

Post by snobound » Mon Aug 23, 2010 3:11 pm

> Jason Toddman wrote:That story was awesome!
> I don't know why you thought you couldn't post the rest of it here.
> If there were details you left out, well - you could always use them in another story!

The only thing that makes me wary is that I have noticed that there are a fair number of kids that post/read posts here. On the other hand, I would have been ecstatic to have found this site at age 13 or 14! I thought I was such a freak- the only one. Silly, now that I think about it.
BTW... I did leave quite a bit out
Try out the TUGs chat! http://chat.mibbit.com/#tugsnet

### Re: Happy Birthday, Hunter (m/m) ** Part 2 Added **

Post by Jason Toddman » Mon Aug 23, 2010 3:35 pm

> snobound wrote:BTW... I did leave quite a bit out

I suspected as much.
I hope that maybe - when you feel more confident - you'll consider posting a more complete version of this story in the More Intimates section someday?
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Happy Birthday, Hunter (m/m) ** Part 2 Added **

Post by tiedup101 » Mon Aug 23, 2010 3:56 pm

Love to see more added. Great story. Love the socks and shoes!
Hey! I'm John! I love bondage! Send me a PM or send me a message at John_9734@yahoo.com! Open to anybody, but more into m/m bondage!