U. N. Known Writer

Marc's Secret Files

Chapter One

Until I was fourteen I'd always thought my cousin Marc was a bit of a wimp, but that summer, I found out that certainly wasn't how he saw himself, when I discovered the secret files on his computer.

During the thirteen years that had gone before then, I hadn't really spent that much time with Marc, as he and his family, lived some distance away in a town called Coverdale, but then, and quite unexpectedly, our grandmother died and the two of us ended up spending a lot of time together, alone.

After the funeral, it emerged that dear old granny had left the company she'd been running in a right old state that would take the combined talents of my dad, and Marc's mum to sort out. The problem was, both our parents were single, and both had full time jobs, so the only time they could travel to grandmother's was at the weekends, and naturally they didn't want a couple of kids under their feet, so we got to stay home. Well, Marc's home, as it was easier for my dad to drop me off, and pick up Marc's mum at the same time, as we lived further away.

So it was that my most of my fourteen summer weekends were spent in the room next to my cousin, and boy, did I learn a lot about him, very quickly.

At first glance, you could tell we were related, as we both had the same dark hair, and similar faces but that's about as far as the comparison went. Not only was I eighteen months older, but I was a fair size bigger too, having recently had a growth spurt that I was still getting used to, while Marc, struggled to even look the twelve years he'd been growing for. Mind you, that was probably because he was something of a nerd, while I preferred sports. Any sport, and all sports. In fact, I'd just about try anything, once, while Marc, was always spending time on his computer looking up this and that, so that first question he asked me came as something of a surprise.

Marc and I were sitting in the kitchen having just finished the meal he'd made for the pair of us – he always did the cooking while I was there and just about everything else really – when he asked: "Have you ever been spanked, Rick?"

"No!" I spluttered a little taken aback, automatically shooting out the reverse question: "Why?"

"Oh, I just wonders, cos of the way your dad is always saying you're getting into trouble and stuff, that's all."

The subject could have died there had I not thought to ask him if he had.

"No!" he shook his head, making his light hair fly around his head. "I just wondered about you that's all!"

Of course, it was no surprise to me that Marc had never been spanked as (a) his mum was something of a soft touch, letting him get away with anything, and (b) he was such a goody-goody that he'd probably never been bad in the first place. Still, that pretty much closed the subject as far as I was concerned, but this time Marc had other ideas.

"It's just that you often hear old people going on about being spanked when they were kids. How they used to use slippers and canes and things like that at school in the old days, and boys would be spanked in front of their entire class, or even the whole school."

"Can't imagine any of my teachers daring to do that!" I laughed, puffing out my newly expanded chest, as if that would scare even the most hardened old time teacher away.

"No, guess not." Marc said, pausing for a moment before continuing, "It's just that, you have to wonder if it was really as bad as the old people make out, don't you. I mean, they are always going on about stuff that really isn't all that bad, aren't they?"

"Ain't that the truth!" I agreed, which urged him on.

"Well, it's a bit like having a bike and never riding it, isn't it? Having a bum and not getting it spanked, at least that's what granny said."

I'd never heard granny say anything like that, but then I barely knew the woman, so I just nodded.

"Of course," Marc continued, "It probably would hurt if someone used a cane on your bare bum, but a hand couldn't do all that much damage, could it?"

"I doubt it!" I said without thinking all that much about it. Something which my cousin clearly had done.

"So, Rick, what do you say, shall we give it a go."

"Give what a go?"

"Spanking each other!" he said blunting, blushing as he did so, "Just to see what it's like, I mean."

It was an odd request but then it was also the most interesting thing that had happened since I'd arrived, and now that it had been asked I could hardly back out, could I, so I agreed.

"We'll do it in my room." Marc said, getting up from the table, "Come on."

I followed him up the stairs, and into one of two rooms I wasn't normally allowed to go on my own. The other was his mum's room, but that didn't have any interest for me, and nor, for that matter did Marc's room. It was just too damn neat and tidy. Very much, unlike my own room, back at home, there were no clothes, and sports equipment scattered around the floor, or hanging from trophies. In fact there was nothing out of place at all, and there wasn't even a games console. Just a computer, that not only appeared to be wired to everything else, but also took up a hell of a lot of space on Marc's desk. A desk that was, otherwise, neat a tidy, of course.

"I'll go first" Marc said, dragging a chair over to the centre of the room. "You sit in the chair."

I sat down as I was told, and within seconds Marc had draped himself over, and across my knees, with his hands and feet on the floor on either side of me, and his bottom pushed up, right under my hand. The cloth of his trousers pulling tight across the surprisingly round buttocks, as if they were asking to be spanked. As they were. Or so I thought. Still, I had enough presence of mind to check before I got started.

"Are you ready, Marc?"

"Yes, go ahead." He said, his voice muffled from the way he was bent over.

I raised my hand, and then bought it down on his rear, with little more than the natural force of gravity behind it.

"You'll have to do it harder than that!" he suggested. So I did.

SMACK!

The sound was rather pleasing, it has to be said, sending a strange tingle through my body.

"That's better," Marc confirmed, what I'd already thought, "Carry on like that!"

SMACK! SMACK!

I gave him two more, just the same, then paused to see if he'd say anything. When he didn't I did it again.

SMACK! SMACK!

Again I paused, but again there was no complaint, so I did it again.

SMACK! SMACK!

This time, Marc told me to stop, and got up from my lap, his lips pursed. "That stings!" He said, rubbing his bottom.

"Hurt does it?" I laughed. His reply surprised me.

"No, not really. It's more like pins and needles, really."

"Really?" I asked, "Go on, let me have a go."

We changed places. Marc sitting his skinny frame in the chair while I bent my larger body over his knee, until my head was almost on the ground, and my bottom sticking right up like his had been. Marc, however, didn't waste any time, and got right on with what he was doing.

SMACK! SMACK!

It caught me by surprise but I quickly managed to pull myself together. Not that Marc left any gaps in his spanking for me to complain.

SMACK! SMACK!

Despite what Marc had said, I found it was stinging more on each slap, and I had jeans on, not the think cotton trousers he was wearing.

SMACK! SMACK!

He was hitting hard too. Probably as hard as he could, which I hadn't done for fear of hurting him. Still, I guess he figured that I was both older and larger than him, so he had to.

SMACK! SMACK!

For the sake of my reputation, I held out for one round longer than he'd had, and then asked him to stop.

"It stings a bit." I told him when he asked what it felt like.

"Imagine what a cane on your bum would feel like then," he said, "Or on your hand."

"The hand?"

"Yeah, sometimes they caned people on the hand, at least later on they did, so they wouldn't have to take their trousers and pants down."

Suddenly the penny dropped, "You mean, people used to get spanked on their bare arse?"

"Only the boys. Girls didn't really get spanked at all. Just the boys."

"Wow!" I was genuinely impressed by that idea, and as I thought about it, continued to rub the seat of my jeans, "I bet that made it sting more."

"Well, we could try it."

I looked up: "Try what?"

"I mean we could spank each other on the bare bum, to see what that was like, but only if you want to, that is?"

I looked at him, not really believing that he'd said that. It wasn't that I was shy or anything, I thought he was, and yet, he'd just suggested that we both get partly naked in front of each other, when he always went into the bathroom, to change his clothes. And yet, here he was already undoing the front of his trousers.

"Go on, I'll go first again."

I sat back in the chair, and once more Marc slipped himself over my lap, only this time, once he was in position, he reached back, behind himself and pushed down the back of his trousers and underpants, to show me his bare bottom. A bottom that was still a little pink from the spanking I'd already given it.

SLAP! SLAP!

"Ow! He complained, as my hand smacked into his rear. "It stings a lot more on the bare!"

"You want me to stop?" I offered, slightly disappointed, as I liked the way my handprints were visible in his soft flesh.

"No, carry on. I'll tell you when you can stop."

SLAP! SPAP!

He started to move about on my lap. Not much, just a little.

SLAP! SLAP!

Then, more and more, until it was becoming difficult to actually hit him bum.

"Stop now!" he then called, "That really stings!"

"Well if you can't sit down, then I can't have my go." I laughed, as he made faces as he pulled his trousers back up.

"No way, it's your go now." He cried, "Come on get up, and get bent over."

I was still laughing as we changed places, but I stopped by the time my own jeans and boxers had been pulled down and the cooler air was blowing across my bottom, as Marc folded the end of my t-shirt up, no doubt to give him a clear view of my rear. Then, as before, without warning, he started.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

He was right. It did sting more on the bare. Quite a bit more, in fact.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

My bum seemed to be burning just in the first few seconds, but for reasons of my own macho sense I had to hang on, until I'd spent slightly longer over, Marc's lap than he had over mine. Only then, did I tell him to stop, and get to rub my aching bum.

I wondered what Marc was going to suggest next, but, all of a sudden it was like he'd lost interested in what we'd been doing, and had forgotten all about it, and said he needed to finish his homework. At which point I was banished back downstairs.

Chapter Two

I found it hard to concentrate on watching TV, following my first experience at both spanking and being spanked by another boy yet the thoughts that were occurring to me, weren't the sort that I was about to share with anyone. Still, I did now have some new respect for my cousin, so couple of hours later, when I fancied a drink, I did something very unexpected for me, and I made him one too.

Walking into Marc's room, without knocking as I didn't have any free hands, I wasn't surprised to see Marc sitting at his computer although I was vaguely aware of the screen flashing when he saw me, and the window he had been looking at reducing itself to little more than a few letters on the task bar. Letter's that said MMSA, and which didn't mean anything to me, but due to the nature in which they'd been hidden I found most interesting. However the look on Marc's face, told me that he wouldn't have told me, so I didn't ask, and having put the drink down, I left him to it.

Fortunately, the moment I got downstairs the phone rang, and recognising the number as my dad's mobile, I answered it. Now dad didn't have much to say to me beyond asking if I was still 'undamaged' and that I hadn't broken anything, but I knew that wouldn't be the case for my cousin, so even before dad had finished his standard questions, I suggested, he get my aunt while I got Marc.

Just as I knew he would Marc dropped everything he was doing, and ran to the phone to talk to his mother, who would be sure to tell him everything about our grandmother and would take at least twenty minutes which would be plenty of time for me to have a look at what Marc had really been up to on his computer.

Luckily the small window was still there, and I got to it just before Marc's password locked screen saver came on, and up popped a fictional story, on what appeared to be a web site dedicated to real life spanking stories. This one appeared to be about a modern days boy, wishing himself back in the old days, and being able to treat other boys in the way they had been treated back then. It not being until I got to the end, that I realised that not only wasn't the story finished, but from the "SUBMIT" button beneath the input box, that Marc hadn't been reading it, he'd actually be writing it!!

Another button caught my eye. This one marked "YOUR OTHER STORIES". I looked at the clock, and saw I had a few more minutes, and made some quick decision about what to do. Clearly there was much more to my cousin that I knew about, and I didn't have enough time to find about it all now. Still I had to look, so using the right click menu, I hoped the page in another window (that I could shut if I had to) and was presented with a list of around a dozen or so stories that Marc had written for the site.

Clearly there wasn't time to read them all now, but Marc did have a printer, so I did the only thing I could and sent all of them to it, and then spent another five nervous minutes, catching the paper that spewed out of the machine. Then, when the print queue was finally empty, I closed down everything I'd started, and slipped out of Marc's room.

As things turned out I didn't really have time to read all of Marc's writings that weekend, but I certainly read them during the week, in the privacy of my own bedroom. Read them several times each, in fact especially the first one Marc had written which, was clearly about himself. In it, my twelve-year-old cousin, admitted that he liked to read stories about old-fashioned school stories, so he could hear about other boy's being spanked both at home and at school, especially if they were wearing one of the old style school uniforms that had shorts rather than long trousers. Marc said that those uniforms made the boys look smart, rather than the trendy clothes most of them wore these days. Pointing out that he was one of the few boys at his school who still wore his uniform without cheating in anyway, complete with his blazer and, his shirt tucked in, with his tie in a proper knot and hanging down the front of his shirt. His shoes were proper shoes, nicely shined up even though this made him seem like some sort of freak at school (which I knew it would do!) he thought it was the right thing to do, and that he should set an example.

That, though, wasn't the only thing Marc had to say about uniforms though, as he went on to say that he thought it was a shame that boys at his school were no longer allowed to wear shorts. Not sports shorts – which he was allowed to wear but which he complained weren't really all that short – but proper, grey school shorts, that would show off his legs, and would mean people could see his long socks were pulled up. That, he said, was how all young boys should wear their school uniforms and that was what he wore when he did his homework.

It seemed that when Marc got home from school to an empty house, he didn't change out of his uniform like probably everyone else did, but instead, he changed into it. Well some of it. Taking off the long trousers he had to wear during the day, and pulling on a pair of grey school shorts that he'd apparently ordered online, and then, with is socks, no doubt pulled up correctly, he'd sit like an old fashioned schoolboy and do his homework, until his mum came home, at which point, he'd finally change into 'normal' clothing.

His thoughts soon got back to spanking, and he openly wondered what it would be like to be spanked? How much would it hurt the boy? And how such thoughts would make his 'willy' – his word – stick out in front of him. But, he claimed, his real interest was to wonder if spanking boys really did make them behave themselves. Whenever he saw some boys in his class mucking about, he said, he would imagine if they would still be doing that, if their bottoms had red welts from a cane across them.

That first biography went on in much the same vain but as I discovered not everything Marc had written was like that, or even like the one he'd been writing when I'd caught him. Some, of them, were set back in the old days, when things happened in just the way Marc wanted them to including the one, that for some reason, I found the most interesting.

In this story, Marc told of a group of boys living in the nineteen eighties, shortly after school spankings had stopped, and how, when a 'bad' boy had been forced into their school, the teachers had been unable to do anything about it, so they'd been forced to take matters into their own hands, and deal with the boy themselves. This they did by grabbing the boy, stripping him naked, and then holding him down, while they all spanked him before forcing him to cut up all his school trousers into shorts that he would have to wear for the rest of the year, despite his being fourteen, and the only one his age, in short trousers.

Sitting reading the story, for the first time, I'd felt inevitable stirring in my jeans, and by the time I reached the end, where the crying teenager, was putting his bright red bottom, into his new shorts, I was as hard as I could be. So hard that I had to do something about it, there and then. And that happened several times too, until I was thinking about the story a lot, and not in the way I would have previously thought.

Prior to what had happened at Marc's the weekend before, I suspect that if I'd happened to think about a boy getting spanked by other boys then I would have been one of those doing the spanking, but as I re-ran the scene through my head, it soon turned out that instead of that, I was the teenager being stripped and spanked to tears while everyone else watched and laughed at me. That couldn't be right could it. Surely a spanking like the one in the story couldn't be enjoyable even if the little slapping Marc and I had done to each other, had been. Sort of.

Then as I was pondering this, with my eyes wondering apparently aimlessly around my room I happened to see something that could prove it one way or the other. There was, after all, only one way that I could prove it, and that was to actually act it out, and the cheep rubber soled trainers that dad had got me to work in the garden would be perfect.

Picking one up by the heel, I gave it a test swing in the air, and then onto the side of the bed, to see just what sort of effective weapon it would make.

THWACK!

The sound was loud, so it was a good thing that dad was out, especially as it also sent shivers of anticipation through my body, and made my prick harden inside my jeans. Maybe I could spank myself, just like the boy in the story had been after all.

Slowly I started to imagine myself as the 'bad' boy helplessly cornered by all the younger boys at school, and left no option but to do what they told me. And the first thing they would tell me to do was…

"Strip!"

I did so, pulling my shirt up over my head, and pushing down my jeans so I was standing there in just my boxers.

"Everything." The voice of Marc's ringleader character instructed me.

With the imagined eyes of a dozen smaller boys looking on, I slowly slid my boxers to the floor where they stayed in a puddle around my ankles until I was told to move to the bed.

In the story the teenager had bent over a chair, but I didn't have one in my room so instead I knelt on the floor and bent over the side of my bed, with my knees pressed together, knowing that this would bring another order.

"Spread you legs open."

Marc's narration had explained that this was needed for the spanking but just to embarrass the older boy in front of the juniors as by spreading his knees apart, it mean that his more mature equipment would dangle down, and be visible to all those watching, along with his arse-hole. All of which he would be well aware of, from the cool air that would blow around his most private parts, accentuating both his nakedness and his embarrassment along with it.

With my face pressed down to the mattress, I could still picture all those gleeful young eyes staring at my tight little bum hole, milky-white buttocks, knowing full well what they were going to do with them.

"Spank him!"

Acting the part of the ringleader, my right arm, drew back as far as I could reach, and the bought the cheep trainer down as fast and as hard as I could into my own bum.

WHOP!

A jolt of searing pain ran right through my right buttocks, followed by a hot, tingling sensation that lasted until my arm came down again on the other side.

WHOP!

The second blow, to my left buttock, was slightly harder as I found that by twisting slightly, I was able to put more power into the blow.

WHOP! WHOP!

Two more blows, one to each side, and my bum was really warming up now. It was almost like I could actually feel my cheeks turning red.

WHOP! WHOP!

I was really getting into it now.

WHOP! WHOP!

And although it really hurt, my prick had gone rock hard again.

WHOP! WHOP!

As the blows continued to fall, it twitched and bounced about wildly, to each strike of the trainer.

"He's got a stiffy."

"He's enjoying it."

"Hit him harder."

The calls came from different members of the imaginary group – who I noticed all spoke in voice rather similar to Marc's – encouraging the spanking to continue. Which it did.

WHOP! WHOP!

"Ow!" I groaned as my bottom paid a high price for my try-anything-once mentality.

WHOP! WHOP!

I wasn't going to be able to take much more of this, I realised as tears appeared, unannounced in the corners of my eyes, and ran across my face.

WHOP! WHOP!

My bum was really burning now but the blows kept coming, as did the tears.

WHOP! WHOP!

My self-spanking technique had all gone to pot, as I swung rapidly and wildly in the general direction of my poor, blistered, arse.

WHOP! WHOP!

In my crouched, spread legged position, I yelped and each blow, but kept on doing it.

WHOP! WHOP!

Tears ran down my face, and my bum had taken on a life of its own, jerking around as if that would help it avoid the approaching trainer. It didn't.

WHOP! WHOP!

"Ouch!" I yelped as very tops of my thighs were struck, and at that point I knew I had to bring this experiment to a close. So my left hand slipped between my legs.

WHOP! WHOP!

The coordination was a nightmare, but as I stroked my erection I attempted to continue my self-spanking until nature had a chance to take its course, even if that took rather longer than my bum, hoped it would.

WHOP! WHOP!

Then it happened. The one thing that all this effort had been building up to. The trainer slipped from my hand as my body arched up into the air, and my prick finally unloaded itself, all over the side of my bed.

Collapsing, exhausted, beside my bed I found myself looking forward to my next visit to Marc's house, and as I lay for nearly an hour on my side, still naked, unable to move, with an intense yet strangely wonderful burning sensation in my crimson, arse, I wondered if my cousin would spank me again. He didn't, as it happened, but what he did do, was every bit as good.

Chapter Three

I was full of anticipation when I next arrived at Marc's house, but, if he felt the same, he hid it extremely well, sitting as he was on the sofa in the lounge apparently watching a movie. Clearly he'd already finished his homework, as he was wearing normal clothes. Well, normal clothes for him, while I, having been picked up by dad at the gates of my school, was still stuck in my slightly scruffy school uniform, about which I couldn't help feel embarrassed given what I knew about his thoughts on that subject.

Disappointed I nonetheless grabbed a drink from the kitchen and went to join him, even the movie didn't look the slightest bit interesting to me, being one of the those stupid old movies, where a boy witness a crime, but no one believes him. At the point where I joined Marc, the lad, was in hot pursuit of the villains himself, and having tracked them down to an old warehouse – where else – he was captured and tied up.

"They didn't tie him up very well, did they?" Marc said, pointing briefly to the screen.

"Guess not!" I shrugged not really that interested.

"I bet he could get out of that easily if he wanted to, don't you think, Rick?"

"I guess."

"Maybe if he was smaller he couldn't, but he looks to be about fourteen like you, and I bet you'd be able to get out of that wouldn't you?"

I looked at the screen, and for the first time realised that the boy was, in fact, older than I'd first taken him to be, but then he was wearing shorts, something that I hadn't noticed straight away. Of course, it was an old movie, in black and white, so that didn't look too out of place, but it did make him look younger. It was only when they did a close up on his face that you could tell he was older, as he had this little dark shadow between the bottom of his nose, and where his mouth was gagged, that hinted that he'd probably started shaving.

"So what do you think, Rick?" Marc burst into my thoughts, "Would you be able to escape if someone tied you up?"

Still watching the screen, I saw how the extra large rope didn't really hold the young hero, but had been little more than just looped around his shoulders, with clearly enough slack in it, so that one decent shrug and it would be fall to his ankles. His hands, behind his back, were also tied with the same, oversized rope, in a knot that was almost larger than his hands, and well within the reach of his fingers, so I had to agree, like Marc had said, he could have easily escape and no doubt probably would, just after all looked helpless for him, such as always happened in old fashioned kid's movies.

"So, if I tied you up, you be able to get free, Rick!"

"What?" I spun from the screen, realising what he'd said, "What was that?"

"I'll tie you up and you see if you can get free." he repeated, then adding, "Go on, I dare you."

Being the sporty type that I was back then, making it into a dare, virtually guaranteed that I'd do it, but there were rules to these things to be followed, so I asked what they were.

Marc thought for a moment and then said, "Well, if you can get free, then I'll do anything you want for the rest of the weekend, all the chores and everything, how about that?"

It wasn't all that much of a bet seeing that Marc did most things anyway, but it was a challenge, and like most fourteen year olds, I was never one to back down, in the face of a challenge, so I agreed although I did have one question: "And what do I have to do, if you win?"

This time Marc apparently didn't need any time to think at all: "In that case, if you can't get loose in half an hour, then you have to admit that I am good at tying you up, and you become my prisoner for the weekend."

"Okay," I agreed, "What do you want me to do?"

"First you'd best have a pee, while I get some stuff ready to tie you up with. Okay."

When I returned to the living room, Marc was waiting for me, with an odd assortment of ropes, a couple of balls, some socks and a few other things. "Hold out your hands." He told me.

"Don't you want them behind my back?" I wondered.

"Not yet. First you have to hold these balls."

Marc placed the two sponge tennis balls into each of my hand and told me to grip them in my fists, which I did. He then, picked up one of the socks and slid it over my hand and down to my wrists. Pulling it tight, until my hand was right at the end, before he started to fold back the top so it formed a sort of cuff around my wrist.

"It will stop the ropes from marking your skin," he said, when I looked up questionably at what he was doing. "Okay, now turn around and put your hands behind your back so they are crossed over at the wrists."

I did as I was asked, and felt Marc slip the loop over my hands and down to my wrists where he tightened it, until it was just biting into the sock cuffs, and my wrists beneath, but not so much that it hurt.

Marc then continued to tie my wrists, wrapping the rope this way and that, around them, until I could feel the cord coming at them from all directions. Occasionally he asked me to move my arms out from my body so he could get the rope behind them, but most of the time he worked silently, for a good few minutes until he'd used up a good four feet of rope, just on my wrists alone. It was at this point that I started to wonder if this had been a fair dare to take.

"That's your hands done." He said, after finally finishing the last knot which, although I couldn't see it, I could tell was on the opposite side to my fingers. "Now I'll do your elbows."

I asked why he needed to do this and he explained that if he didn't then it was possible for me to still slide my hands down under my bum and get them in front of me, so I could not only see what I was doing, but use my teeth to undo them. Which was pretty much what I'd been thinking of doing but I didn't tell him that, of course.

Using the sleeve of my tee-shirt to protect my upper arm, Marc first made a ring around one arm, and then took the rope he was using across to the other one, where he made another knot. That, I thought would be that, but no, once that was done he tugged on the rope, and my arms moved backwards, my elbows closing slightly behind my back, so there was no way they'd be able to come around in front again, let alone down my bum.

"How are you feeling?" he asked at this point, while he checked over what he'd done so far, "you ever been tied up before Rick?"

"Sometimes," I admitted trying to shrug my shoulders and failing, "but not like this."

Marc laughed, "Good to hear it. Okay, sit down on the couch, right at the edge, and stretch your legs out."

He started to tie my legs, not at the ankles but just above the knees, and this time I got to watch him at work, and it was a pretty impressive sight, I can tell you.

Using another four-foot length of rope, he first wound it around one of my legs and then went through the middle before he went around the other one. Then he went back to the first in the same way, so the rope became wound out in a sort of figure eight pattern around my legs. It wasn't all that tight, at least not to start with, but as he'd done before, just as he was getting to the end of the rope, he somehow managed to pull the rope in such a way that everything tightened at once and my thighs ended up locked totally together.

"You'd best lie on the floor now, so you don't fall over when I tie your ankles up." Marc suggested, but that wasn't an easy thing to do, given that my hands were behind my back, and my legs couldn't work above the knee. In the end I had to abandon trying to stand up first, and just slid down onto the rug, where with Marc's help, I managed to get myself into the centre.

"Bring your legs up, so I can tie your ankles."

Given it was the one part of me I could still move, I bent my knees until my shins and feet were stood up ninety degrees from the rest of my body, as Marc picked up the longest length of rope yet. This one had to be over ten feet long, perhaps even longer, which seems a bit of over kill for my feet, but as I soon found out, my cousin knew what he was doing.

He started like he had done everywhere else, by putting a loop over my ankles, down onto my socks, and then taking a few more turns around and put in the first of the knots. He spent the next few minutes working the lengthy rope around between my legs so that the ropes joining my ankles tightened together to form into something like handcuffs and knotted them again.

At this point I sort of thought Marc had finished, but I was wrong. Taking the length of rope that still trailed from my ankles back up my body he threaded it under the cords that bound my elbows. He then pulled on the rope, which naturally, as my upper body couldn't move, pulled my ankles down until my heals were almost touching my arse.

Finally, Marc took the rope from my elbows, back to my ankles and tied it off, in several knots on the far side of my ankles where there was no chance on earth that I'd ever be able to reach them.

"There," he said, standing back, "How does that feel Rick?"

"Like I'm tied up!" I replied, honestly.

"Good. Open your mouth!"

"Why? What for?"

"So I can gag you, of course."

"Gag me?" I was shocked, "You didn't say anything about gagging me."

"Yes, I did. I said you'd be tied up like the boy on the TV was, only properly. And he was gagged, so you're going to be gagged to. It's only fair."

Oddly, that did sound fair, so I did as he said, expecting him to use a handkerchief like I'd seen on the screen, only Marc had other ideas. Better ideas, and what I got was ball in my mouth.

It was similar, if a little smaller than the balls that were now trapped in my hands, and just like those it was pushed right into my mouth, on top of my tongue, so that I could almost close my mouth around it. It being at this point that Marc actually did use a cloth of some sort to hold it there. The cloth covering my mouth and knotting up behind my head.

"Okay. Finished. Now see if you can get out, and I'll come back in thirty minutes."

Marc didn't wait for an answer – which I couldn't give anyway – just pointed to the clock on the video recorder which was just about in my eye line and then left.

I just lay still for a moment, no doubt in a little bit of sock wondering how I'd got myself into this before I started to really test the ropes that bound me. Strangely, I soon found that although I was undoubtedly tied very tightly, I could still squirm around on the carpet. Not much, but enough. I could also make sounds through the gag. Okay, so no one would have been able to understand what I was trying to say but there was something.

The first thing I tried was to reach the some of the knots, any of the knots with my fingers but, with the ball in my hands, and the socks over the top, it soon became clear that even if I had been able to, then I wouldn't have been able to do anything with them, as my fingers were useless inside their woollen prison.

In the end, I gave up trying to escape as it was obvious that that just wasn't going to happen. Looking at the clock I saw that only fifteen minutes had passed, and I still had another fifteen to go, before Marc would come back and having won his bet let me go. Still, as there was nothing I could do but wait, that's what I did.

Lying on the floor, tightly tied up in a hogtie, and gagged, I started to wonder what would happened if our parents came back and found me like this. Dad would probably laugh, and say it was my own fault for letting a younger boy tie me up in the first place, and he'd probably be right. Not sure what Marc's mum would say, maybe nothing, although I was sure she'd have something to say if the situation was reversed and I'd tied her son up.

Then, my mind drifting, I started to think about what would happen if my mates found me like this, or a stranger, and I was totally helpless to stop them from doing anything they wanted to do to me. Soon I started to think about being spanked again, which was stupid as with my feet and hands tied the way there were no would could have got close to my arse, and yet, the thought excited me, and I felt my prick start to stiffen as it lay trapped between my bound body and the soft rug.

Great. Now all I wanted to do was play with myself, but of course I couldn't. My hands were the wrong side of my body for a start, and I was still dressed for another, but, as I wriggled around, in an attempt to get my erection into a comfortable position, I soon found a new way I could stimulate that part of my body that had recently taken to enjoying itself and the strangest of moments.

By the time Marc returned, I was still fidgeting around on the floor, not so much because I was attempting to escape but simply so I could get comfortable which was very difficult to do when nearly all of my body was resting on the cold, damp, sticky patch in my boxers, where my erection had emptied itself.

"Still, here then Rick!" Marc said, sounding not the least bit surprised. Still, even though the answer was obvious, I nodded.

"So, do you want me to let you go, or do you want more time!"

The sarcasm wasn't lost on me, as while he was saying that he was looking over the various knots that held me and no doubt noticing that not a single one of them had been loosen in the slightest, let alone released completely.

Again I nodded.

"Okay, I'll let you go, but remember you have to be my prisoner for the rest of the weekend. Do you agree?"

I nodded too concerned about hiding the damp patch that was no doubt showing in my trousers from my younger cousin, than to think too much about what he was actually saying.

It took Marc nearly ten minutes to untie me, mainly because he did actually untie me. I'd expected him to just cut the ropes, but instead he unfastened them, one by one, in the exact reverse order of how he'd done them up, starting with my feet, and finishing with my hands.

Thankfully, while all this was going on, I was able to keep laying on my front, and the moment he took the ball out of my mouth I told him that I needed to piss so that he wouldn't think it odd when I ran out the room, to get changed the moment I could. However, when I did just that, he called out that I had to sign the contract that would say I was his prisoner for the weekend.

I said, "Sure whatever. Just hurry up," whilst keeping my back to him.

He handed me a piece of paper from his pocket that he'd clearly printed up on his computer, and a pen which I used to sign it. "Can I go now, before I wet myself!"

"Sure," he said, taking the contract from me, "Oh, and I've left something on your bed, put it on before you come back down again."

I didn't have time to argue as by that time I actually did need to piss – I normally did after I'd cum anyway – so just made a dash for the upstairs bathroom where I got to first relieve myself and then make an attempt to clean up my messy boxers so they wouldn't start to smell up my travel bag, before I went home again. Then I went in search of what Marc wanted me to wear.

At first I didn't see it, as it was quite small, and jet black in colour. The name Speedo, was stitched into the side, so I knew what it was, even as I picked it up. The label said, '12-13' so I guessed it must have been Marc's own, and, he was just about the only kid I knew who would wear one as I certainly wouldn't be seen dead in something that small.

"Why do I have to wear this?" I shouted down the stairs.

"Because you're my prisoner, and you agreed to in the contract." He paused for a second and then added, "Anyway, you don't want to get your clothes all messed up, or my mum will make a fuss."

That much was true, as my Aunt often had a lot to say on the state an active boy like myself could get himself in to, so with that in mind I pulled off my remaining clothes and stepped into my first every Speedo.

Thankfully, the small black garment proved to be quite stretchy, as it rode up my thighs and onto my hips, even if the front part didn't seem quite big enough for everything I was trying to stuff in there. Still, when I checked myself in the mirror, I found that it wasn't nearly as revealing as it felt. My prick and nuts were nestled into a nice little pouch that was neither too small, nor too big, while my bottom was also completely covered, even if those were the only two parts of me that actually were.

It felt decidedly strange walking down the stairs with next to nothing on, and yet, Marco really didn't give me a second look as I walked towards him, although that was probably because he was busy with what he was doing which was to sort through a heap of chains and locks and, much to my surprise handcuffs.

"What are those for?" I asked, pointing at what looked like real police cuffs, with the solid bit between them, rather than just a chain joining the two hand parts.

"You're my prisoner and prisoners get handcuffed." He told me, which seemed plain enough so I held my hands out.

"Not like that, behind your back. Don't you watch TV?"

It was a joke, of course, as I watched a lot of TV, so really should have known better, so I didn't say anything else, just turned around, and allowed him to lock my wrists into the steel cuffs.

"Not too tight, are they?" he asked, but when I said they weren't he tightened them a little more.

A chain came next. This was quite a thick thing, and rather cold as Marc wrapped it around my waist, and locked it closed with a padlock above my hips so that it couldn't slide down. Then he did something I wasn't expecting and he locked the handcuffs to the waist chain so I was unable to move my hands from the middle of my back.

"I'll do your ankles loose for now!" he told me, picking up another set of cuffs, only these ones not only had a chain joining them, but a rather long chain at that.

It felt strange being all chained up like I was, stranger than I'd felt when I'd been tied up in fact, even though I had a lot more room to move, although that was soon to change.

"Let's go into the garage." He said, adding that this was going to be my prison.

The chain between my ankles dragged along the floor, clinking and making me sound even more like the prisoner that I had become.

The garage at Marc's house wasn't really used for anything, as his mum never drove their car into it, and as she, or Marc had no apparent interesting in DIY or anything like that it was pretty much empty with just cinderblock walls, on three sides, and a large overhead door at the front. In the middle was a large post that went up to the ceiling and held up the rafters that spread out on either side, over what would have been the car bays, had there been any cars in there. It was also on a slightly different level to the rest of the house, and you had to go down, six concrete steps to get there from the house. It was at the foot of these steps that Marc made the first adjustment to my bondage.

Producing a padlock from his pocket, Marc knelt in front of me and gathered up the chain separating my ankles; he drastically shortened it, until there was less than a foot of space between each of my legs.

"You won't be able to get up the stairs now." Marc told me, "not that it would matter as I'll be locking the door anyway. Have fun."

And with that Marc went back into the house, leaving me standing there, in the gloom – he hadn't turned the lights on, and I couldn't reach the switch with my hands behind me – listening as the door lock snapped shut, locking me in.

Slowly I moved around, soon discovering that I could only shuffle, as if I attempted anything else then I would stumble. My hands couldn't move at all. The cuffs were really snug, I could turn my wrists slightly, from side to side, but that was about it, and if I did it for too long then the metal would start to burn against my flesh, so I soon stopped doing that.

The next time, I saw Marc he announced it was dinnertime, which was great timing as I needed to pee again.

"Over in the corner!" he pointed, at a bucket that I hadn't really noticed before, "That's the prisoner's toilet."

"But…" I protested. He cut me off.

"You agreed to do this."

"I know but how can I, with my hands behind me?"

"Fair enough." He went around behind me, but instead of removing the handcuffs he just released them from the waist chain. "Okay, now you can bring them around in front of you. And hurry up."

He had to show me how to do it but it didn't turn out to be all that difficult. All I had to do was sit down, and then I could work my hands down under my bum, and once I'd fed my legs through them, hey presto, my hands were now cuffed in front of me.

Moving over to the bucket, I peeled down the front of the Speedo, and took my prick out, aimed it, and let loose a long and rather noisy blast of urine into the bucket.

Once I'd finished, and everything was back where it should be, I returned to where Marc had been waiting, fighting a blush that came to my face when I realised that he must have been listening to me pee, and hoping that he hadn't noticed that my prick had semi-hard.

"I'll let out your ankles so you can come inside for dinner." Marc told me, but what he didn't tell me that once he'd let out the chain joining my ankles, he lifted up the slack and attached it to my handcuffs, that were still in front of me.

It was difficult to walk like that as although I could move my feet quite a way apart, the only way I could do that was by bending almost all the way over so my hands were down near my knees or thereabouts.

Arriving in the kitchen I was surprised to find just out late it was, and how much Marc had managed to do in what I had taken to be the short time I was locked in the garage. Not only had he prepared the lunch but he'd also cleared away everything else, so the place was once more spotless.

Eating proved to be a bit of a challenge, but as Marc didn't make any effort to do anything to help me, I had to find out the best way to do it myself, which proved to be, for me to sit right on the edge of the kitchen chair, and to sort of tuck my feet up underneath myself. That way I could just about manage to get my hands up to my mouth to be able to eat.

After the meal I was returned to the garage, and told to stand against the central pole while Marc produced a key from his pocket and un-cuffed one of my hands, then he got me to put my hands around the back of the pole where he soon locked them again. He then bent down, and shortened the ankle chain once more, this time by also wrapping that around the back of the pole. He wasn't finished there either.

He had a few belts in his pocket. Not leather belts, but those canvas ones that look like seat belts. He used one around my waist, but, of course he included the post into it as well, so I was pulled right back against it. Another one went around my chest, under my arms, and the third around my knees.

"Now I'm going to gag you." He announced, producing another belt, only this one he'd wrapped a large bit of cloth around the middle, which was soon pressed into my mouth. The end of the belt then went around the back of the post pulling my head tight against it, so that I couldn't move it, or anything else, at all.

That was how I spent the next few hours. Stood bolt upright against the post in the garage, unable to move, and very, very bored. As before my mind started to wonder, what would happen if someone were to find me all defenceless like that. Clearly a spanking was right out of the question now, given that my buttocks were squashed up against the post, and totally out of the way, along with the rest of the back of my body. The front, however, was very much on open display.

My arms pulled back behind the post, had the effect of pushing my chest forward. While the belts pulled the rest of my body in there was one part that was soon pushing its way forward. My prick

I could feel it expanding, slowly at first, but then more and more, as I stood there, but was unable to look down to see just how much of a show it was making of itself yet, given the skimpy garment I was wearing, I knew it the lump it was creating would have to be visible to anyone who saw me there.

Clearly the mind does strange things when it has too much time on its hands, but it was almost as if I was enjoying being treated like a prisoner by my little cousin. And not just enjoying it in a boyish fun sort of way, but being turned on by it. Of course it could have been just that, as I couldn't do anything about it, then that just made it seem worse but then wasn't that the same reason that I got hard in school and when Marc had spanked me.

Thinking about it, when I was being spanked, there had been some motion on my groin as I lay across Marc's lap, and, earlier, when he'd tied me up, I'd been able to rub myself on the carpet in order to achieve a 'happy ending' on both occasions. Now though, I couldn't do anything. And that just made being tied up seem all that much worse.

"Time for bed Rick!"

The words, shocked me for several reasons. The first one being that I hadn't heard Marc come back into the garage, and the second being that I didn't realise it was that late.

"I'm going to release you from the pole." He said, moving behind me, quickly and releasing the belts that had me so firmly for what had seemed a lifetime. Yet, as they gave way, I had the strangest feeling that I was falling now that there was nothing to support me.

"I'll undo the gag now." Marc told me even though he'd already started to do just that and soon I was gulping in mouthfuls of cool fresh air, and was able to breathe normally which is how I missed him unlocking the cuffs from around the pole and looking my hands back behind my back.

"It's your choice." Marc told me once I was free from the pole, but still chained up. "Either you can spend the night out here, or you can go to your own bed? Which do you want?"

It was a stupid question as it was fairly obvious what I was going to pick, but of course, Marc knew that, and as I was about to find out, he had everything prepared for me to do just that. However, before that happened he once more let me use the toilet, after I'd got my hands around in front naturally. It being while I was pulling my dick out to empty my bladder, that I released just how much I seemed to have been enjoying being tied up, as the entire inside of the Speedo was soaked with my own pre-cum that must have been leaking out of my dick, nearly all the time I'd been stood there. Thankfully, Marc didn't seem to notice and once I'd finished pissing, I was able to wipe some of the sticky stuff off, before we headed back into the house.

We paused in the kitchen so I could have a drink and a sandwich, both of which I had to consume with my hands still cuffed, and while Marc looked on, without saying a word which, oddly, I found to be one of the strangest things about the entire operation as, you'd have expected him to say something, wouldn't you? But he didn't.

Anyway, a short while later, Marc lengthened the chain between my ankles and I was able to walk upstairs, albeit rather slowly, as even lengthened the chain didn't quite reach to the next step so I had to go one step at a time.

Turning from the landing into the room I used when I stayed over, I got to see just what Marc had been up to while I'd been chained up in the garage. My bed, which normally had the biggest quilt on it had now been stripped right down to the bare mattress, over which a large blanket had been laid. Across this, at the top and bottom was laid a three-length of chains. Well I say, 'laid' but they had clearly been fastened in place so that they wrapped around the mattress, and probably the bed frame as well. There was one at the top, one and the bottom, and one just above the centre and it didn't take a genius to work out what they were for.

"Lay down on the bed." I was told, and I did, by backing up to it, sitting down, and then spinning my body around so I was sitting in the centre. Then I lay backwards until I was all laid out on the bed.

There followed a few minutes while, Marc fussed me one way or the other, so I would be in just the position he wanted me, and bought out a set of small padlocks and used them to fasten me down to the bed.

My ankles were pushed together, before being padlocked both together and to the chain running across the mattress at that point. Likewise, the chain around my waist was locked, to the middle chain, on both sides of my body, so that I couldn't move. Then, and only then, did Marc tell me to put my arms up above my head, where, they ended up being locked to the topmost chain, still in the handcuffs.

Marc stood back, and looked down at me laid out on my bed, "Okay, that's how you're going to spend the night, and I'll see you in the morning." And with that he turned around, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

The first thing I realised at this point was that the room didn't go dark, so clearly it wasn't anywhere near being as late as I had thought it was, probably not even eight o'clock by this point, but I'd already been sent to bed, like a naughty little boy. Mind you, if I'd thought that was embarrassing then the realisation that I had another erection, was something else completely. From the vantage point I had of looking down my body once more, there was no way Marc could have missed the lump that it was making in the front of the skimpy swimsuit he had me wear.

So that's how I spent the night, chained up to the bed, with a ranging hard on that I could do nothing about, but feel it throb against my belly. Even after it eventually went dark, and I could no longer see it within the black cloth, I knew very well that it was still there, and still doing the same thing.

I could hear other things – other than the pulse of my erection that is – from inside the house. To start with I could just make out the faint strains of the TV downstairs that, Marc was probably watching. Then that went off and I heard the front door being double locked, as my cousin closed down the house for the night. Soon after that I heard the creaky stairs make their sounds as Marc came up to bed. I half expected him to open the door to check on me, but he didn't although I'm fairly sure that he peeked in the keyhole, as the light that usually shined through there vanished for a few minutes and then reappeared, just as he went into his own bedroom.

The following time I heard Marc going to the bathroom, and then back to his room where, apparently he spent some time on his computer before he finally shut off the last of the house lights and went to bed himself. From that point on there was nothing in the house but dark, silence which was rather creepy and yet, it was at this point that I somehow managed to get to sleep.

When I awoke, the light was once more streaming into the room through the window, and I was still chained to the bed, still with an erection, but now with a desperate urge to pee as well. Thankfully, it wasn't long before Marc came into the room, and let me go.

Suddenly, just like that, my days as a prisoner were over. Marc never said why, he stopped the dare there, but he did and for the rest of the day it was like nothing had happened at all. He treated me just has he had done all the previous times I'd been over, and never once mentioned anything that had happened, other than to ask me to change out of the Speedo and to give it back to him, which I did, although I rinsed it first, obviously.

Chapter Four

By the middle of the following week, I was finding myself thinking more and more about being tied up, and as I had most of the days to myself, I took to reading Marc's secret stories more and more, especially the once that included elements of one of the boys being tied up. While this was probably just done to the fact that now I had experienced what it was like to being tied up I could identify more with the teenager in the story, but I think there was more to it than that. Well sort off.

There was one thing that being chained up in Marc's garage and spare bedroom had taught me, it was that you didn't have to wank the moment your dick got stiff. If anything, the longer you waited then the better the result would be when you eventually did get around to doing something about the stiffness you were faced for you. The only problem with this theory was that like most fourteen-year-old boys, I seriously lacked the stamina not to touch myself whenever it was socially acceptable to do so – and sometimes even when it wasn't, but that's something else. Yet, if you were tied up, then you couldn't.

The first night I was back in my own bed I tried this out and it worked. Well it would have, had I been able to keep my hands to myself for long enough but it took so much concentration not to, that I often lost the place in the story I was reading which nearly ruined it all. So, I had to think of a way I could do both, and tying myself up seemed to be the perfect solution.

When I 'd started at senior school my dad had put a desk and chair set into my room, so I could study, and it was here that I was going to have my first self bondage experience, although not while I was doing my homework, obviously.

The chair was an old-fashioned thing, that dad had said was 'grown up' but which was just old. Still it was made of wood, and had arms that rose up from the front legs, before curving back to form the sides of the backrest, so it would be perfect for what I wanted.

Placing the chair in front of the desk, where I'd already propped up the sheets from Marc's most interesting story, I collected together all the things I would need and set to work by getting changed.

For reasons that had to do with the story I would soon be imagining myself involved in, I need to be wearing a pair of shorts but, I didn't really have any. Not any that were actually all that short anyway, so I had to make to with an old pair of boxers that I'd found tucked down the back of my underwear drawer. These were a year or two out of date, and fairly tight on me, so that they clung to my thighs, and I had to suck my stomach in so I could get them up. Naturally this also squashed my nuts into a tight little pouch in the front, just like the Speedo had, which was perfect even if it did make it a little difficult to tie myself up.

Starting with a short length of rope I'd found I bound my ankles together as best I could, and although I didn't do as good a job as Marc would have done, the knots were going to hold, especially when I used the belt from dad's dressing down, to tie around the middle of the rope, and pull my ankles back to the central bar, that ran under the chair seat.

Sitting down now, I picked up my longest soccer socks, and tied one into a tight ball around the centre of the other one. This was then pushed into my mouth, until my cheeks started to bulge out, before I tied the end of the remaining sock around the back of my head, so I wouldn't be able to spit the gag out.

A belt came next, and this went around my waist and around the back of the chair, and once buckled tight, meant I couldn't move forward on the chair at all.

Finally two more, belts were used around the arms of the chair in slightly different ways. For my left wrist I was able to use my right hand to tighten and buckle the belt in the usual way, but for the one remaining limb I clearly had to do something a touch different. This time, I buckled the belt just around the arm of the chair, but with enough slack for my hand, and then, spent the next few minutes, slowly working my fingers and hand through the slack. When that was done, I was tied up.

Finally I got to sit back and feel the bondage I'd put myself in. The various belts and rope felt good against my naked skin, and refused to give as I pulled against them, which was great. The gag worked too. I could make sounds, but they were very muffled, and certainly nothing that could be heard outside of my room which was just as well seeing that I didn't want anyone to find me like that, especially now I had an obvious erection in my too tight boxers.

For a few minutes I tried twisting and turning my hands to see if I could make them reach the lump that had grown on my lap but, thankfully there was no way I could. If I'd been naked then I probably could have but not now my dick was trapped inside the already straining cloth. There was just no way I could have a wank until I released myself, so it was now, that I started to read the story.

Actually, by this stage, I didn't need to read the story from the pages I'd secretly printed out in Marc's bedroom all those weeks before, as I'd read the thing so many times in the weeks that had followed, that I knew it by heart. What was strange though was now as I started to play it back inside my head, I did so from a different point of view from the original story. To my mind, it wasn't the leader of the younger boys who was telling the story, but the teenage victim, who I had, somewhere along the line started to identify with possibly because he was the same age as me, although there may have been more to it than that, of course.

Anyway, when I pictured the scene I replaced the descriptions Marc had used in his text, with an image of myself, for the older lead character, and an image of Marc for the younger one. This last part not being that much of a stretch as the written description was fairly close to being Marc in the first place.

The story opened with the two boys walking to school together. The fourteen years old I'd taken to calling Rick – he was Paul in the original – wearing a standard school uniform from the 1980s of which shirts, grey trousers, stripped tie and navy blue blazer, which the younger was in much the same but for two major differences. One being the cap perched on top of his twelve-year-old head, and the other being the grey school shorts that only reached half way down to his knees, while his socks only reached half way up to them.

Naturally, given this marked difference between them, Rick couldn't help teasing Marc that he looked like a baby with is knobbly knees on show and that wasn't even to mention what he/I thought of the cap. Throughout all of the teasing, Marc said nothing out loud, but hints in the text, showed that he was planning something and something drastic.

Doing his duty Rick, was soon leaving the younger boy at the gates to his school where his young friends had been waiting for him and naturally they wore the same short trousers uniform and, naturally Rick couldn't help teasing them too as he walked off, towards his own school. Only, what he/I didn't notice was that the younger boy didn't actually enter their school, and instead slipped into step behind him.

Further up the path Rick, slipped from the path himself and climbing though the fencing surrounding the twin schools, he continued his journey to school along a forbidden shortcut which, as things turned out, was to be his downfall.

The moment Rick rounded the first of a large set of trees the younger boys pounced on him.

It happened before he had any idea of what was going on. An old PE Bag was pulled over his head and the strings tightened around his neck. Not enough to strangle him but enough for him to raise his hands up to prevent that from happening, at which point, his wrists were grabbed and tied, first with a short length of rope, and then with the ends of his own tie so his hands were stuck up by his face.

Rick was tripped over at this point. Or rather he fell, landing heavily on his knees, which made it a lot easier for his shorter kidnappers to gag him with a long strip of cloth that they pressed into his mouth, along with a fair bit of the old shoe bag. Before they knotted that behind his head as well.

"Now we'll show you who looks like a baby!" a familiar voice whispered into his ear while at the same time, fingers started to mess with the front of his trousers. Opening up the belt, the fly, and then tugging them down to his ankles.

The teenager's initial relief at hearing Marc's voice soon vanished and he struggled more against the many hands that held him. Yet, although this appeared to be pointless, it soon had its rewards as his trousers were soon being pulled back up and fastened once more. Not that he had much job in that, as the next thing that happened was, that he felt his socks being pulled up, so his ankles could be tied.

It was apparently called a clincher knot that was used on Rick's ankles, and before the previous weekend I'd never been all that sure what this was but having seen the real Marc use it on me, I now knew that it meant that the rope, once it had been wound around the outside of the ankles, was then tightened by the cord being passed between the legs a few times before being pulled tight and knotted off.

Once he was fully restrained, Rick was helped back to his – now bound – feet and the hood was taken off.

It took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust from the totally darkness he'd been in, and for him to take in everything that had happened to him, and by whom. Naturally, while this happened the small boys who had captured him, mocked him in a way that he had previously mocked them and which he didn't quite understand, until he became aware of the cool air that was now blowing around his legs.

Looking down his body, a sense of dread overcame him/me as instead of seeing the long grey limbs beneath his waist what Rick saw were two rather knobbly knees, along with a fair expanse of both shins and thighs exposed in the gap between the top of his socks and the bottom of the rather short shorts he now had on.

"Now you know what it's like." Marc told him, as the smaller boy reached up to place the junior school cap on the teenager's head.

"But…" Rick started to protest, only for the gag to immediately come back into his mouth and once more tied around behind his head.

"Little boys should be seen and not heard!" Marc teased him, "And bad little boys should be punished."

Rick's eyes widened.

"Oh yes, you've been a naughty little boy, haven't you Ricky, so you need to be punished so that's what we're going to do, understand. Here's the deal. Either you do what we say and take your punishment like a good little boy, and we can all forget this every happened, or else, we'll leave you like this for your mates to find you and see what happens then!"

At this point the original fiction went on for a bit as Rick was convinced to take the offered punishment, but I didn't have time to go through all those arguments and preferred instead, to imagine that he agreed straight away to what the punishment the younger boys had in mind. Not that it took a genius to work out what that was going to be, given the nature of the site, the real Marc had posted the story on.

"Bend over!" the short trousered teenager was told. "And touch your toes."

His hands were released from his tie – which was then straightened in the correct school fashion – but not from each other, so Rick could do as he was told. His still gagged face looking around apprehensively, as his blazer was lifted clear of his bottom, and the smaller boys went searching around the bottom of some of the nearby trees.

Soon a line was forming behind his out thrust bottom, with each of the younger boys, standing, waiting with a long, bendy, young sapling raised above their head ready to strike. Naturally Marc was at the front of the queue and it was he who got to be the first to whip the teenager's bottom with his shoot.

THWACK!

Instantly, Rick jumped up with a cry that was just about muffled behind his gag as the younger boys mocked him even more for not being able to take the punishment that he had so duly earned.

THWACK!

THWACK!

THWACK!

THWACK!

A total of five young boys took turns to wipe the teenager's bottom with such force that, although Rick managed not to jump up after the first one, he soon had tears, running down his face but his ordeal wasn't quite over, as Marc had one more surprise for him.

THWACK!

This time, Rick did jump up, and not just because the blow was unexpected, but because it was a good deal lower than the others coming as it did, right across the back of his thighs, which, unprotected by the shorts, caused a sting, the likes of which he hadn't known before.

"That's your punishment over." Marc then told him, before adding that he should now had to do 'corner time' like a naughty little boy should.

Of course the copse of trees that separated the junior and senior schools didn't actually have any corners, so instead one of the nearby trees was used instead. Rick having to hop towards it, as his ankles were still tied, and then stand with his nose pressed against the bark with his bound hands on his head where he was told to stay until someone said otherwise.

At this point in the story, the reader could read how the younger boys slowly melted away into the trees one by one, and were soon sprinting across the playing fields into their own school just in time for their first lesson. 'Rick' of course, was totally unaware of this, and would remain where he was until an early morning cross-country from his own school, happened upon him some ten minutes later, at which point the story ended with his utter humiliation of being discovered in the mocked short trousers, with clear signs of his being caned on the back of his legs by some of his own classmates. The original tale, fading out at that point, but leaving the reader in no doubt that this wasn't the end of 'Rick's problems by any means. Nor was it the end of my own.

Throughout my re-telling of Marc's story, my prick had got harder and harder, until it looked like it was about to burst through the old and worn boxers. Soon it was dribbling pre-cum, and then it wasn't so much dribbling as giving a constant stream of the stuff, until the front of the boxers was not only sodden but nearly see through.

Yet for all the straining my privates did, I managed to leave them alone, not only through the story itself but well into my own ideas about what could have happened to the trapped and humiliated teenager, at the hands – and other things – of his peers some of which probably wouldn't have been accept on the website Marc wrote for.

Eventually, however, the throbbing between my legs did get too much for me to take and I relented to finally have a wank and bring the session to an end. Not that this turned out to be all that easy to do, as it took me nearly ten minutes to be able to get my right hand out of the belt strapping it to the arm of the chair. Mind you, once it was free, I only needed to make the slightest touch to myself and my prick was shooting itself empty before I could even get it out of the boxers.

For the rest of the week I worked out several similar variations on the theme, of tying myself up before I started to think dirty thoughts, and, even started to develop my own stories that had very little to do with those Marc had written even if they did follow along similar lines.

One of these, was one I could actually act out on my own, as it was a simple tale of a teen boy being kidnapped by some younger boys he'd been bullying, stripped naked and forced to wear nothing but a thong, as he was tied up and left on display for anyone to see, kneeling down in the middle of some public place totally exposed.

The thong was an idea of my own, from when I was really younger and had been watching some Japanese sumo wrestlers on the TV and had wanted to be like them, only not as fat. Anyway, it was simply made – well I was a kid at the time – from one of my dad's ties. These he often kept pre-knotted for extra speed in the morning, so it was easy for the younger me to 'borrow' one and to slide it down to my waist. Then, using the larger part of it that would usually hang down dad's chest, I'd pull it back between my legs, and tie it up, through my bum crack, to the small of my back to form the loin cloth part and there I was a mini sumo boy.

That had all been nearly six years early and I'd grown since then so when I tried it this time the thong didn't quite cover everything as it had back then. Sure dad had some seriously large – and ugly – ties these days but even those couldn't keep all my privates in check, and that was before I even got an erection. Still, there was something about my nuts hanging out the sides that made it seem all the more humiliating so I went with it, anyway.

Anyway dressed – or nearly dressed – in the thong, I sat on the floor of my bedroom and cinched my ankles together as I had, by now taught myself to do. Then I did the same to my shins and finally to my thighs, so that my legs were totally bound all the way up.

A gag came next. The same one I always used. The sock rolled around another sock, so that one fills my mouth completely and the other holds it in place. This was followed by a belt that I pre-fastened and then slipped over my head and down onto my shoulders, working it as far down as my elbows, with my arms stuck to my sides, before I tightened it one last bit.

The final stage of the self-bondage was to take up another piece of rope, which I'd preformed into a figure eight coil and then attached to my ankles. Then, kneeling up, I reached behind myself and worked my wrists into this coil, one on either side of the eight, and then, gave a tug. This closed the coils tight and locked my hands into position.

So I ended up bound and gagged, kneeling on my bedroom carpet, in nothing but a tie that barely covered my privates and which was now pulled up very, very tight between my buttocks so that every time it moved it rubbed across my arsehole in such a way that it made me shiver. This, naturally added to my excitement, and caused my prick to get even harder which, in turned would pull the tie even tighter into my bum crack and start the entire thing all over again.

Very rapidly my excitement built until it reached such a pitch that I didn't need to use my hands to make me come. The tie, straining across my rampant erection, was all the stimulation it would take to drive me over the edge, literally. For when the orgasm hit me, it knocked me both for six and onto my side, where I would remain, still bound, shivering and shaking for some minutes until everything returned to some sense of 'normal' again.

I had to throw dad's tie away after my adventure as a teenage sumo boy, as it got too messed up with all the stuff I shot all over it, so I couldn't play that game again. Not that it mattered as I did have a few ideas for other things I could do, and I even did some of them, yet I felt there was always something missing from them. I wasn't sure what that something was, but I did know that there was one place I would be able to find out. Marc's computer. The only question was how?

Chapter Five

I couldn't have planned it any better, for the very next time I went to Marc's house, I ended up spending the entire weekend there, by myself. No one, planned it like that, that's just how it turned out. Seems Marc's mum and my dad were having some trouble with granny's computer records that they needed help with, and of course, Marc was a computer wiz, so he got a free trip. I'd have gone as well, only there wasn't room in the car, so dad suggested that I stay at Marc's and naturally I didn't argue.

Sitting on the couch, pretending to watch one of the DVDs I'd bought over, I waited for nearly two hours before I did anything, and it was only after I'd received the normal call from Dad to say they'd arrived at Granny's that I finally went snooping in Marc's room.

Naturally the computer was to be the focus of my attention; for that purpose I'd been trying to learn as much about them and how to get into them as I could. I even went so far as to track down one of the school nerds and ask him how I could go about it. So, by the time I made it to Marc's room, I had a whole wad of papers, on how to hack computers, using various techniques, one of which just had to work.

However, before I started working my way into his computer, there was something else I wanted to do, based upon the stories Marc had written. Basically, I wanted to know what all the fuss was about wearing grey school shorts. It was, after all, the focus of nearly everyone of Marc's stories and, in particular, he'd made mention of them in the bio of the story site he posted to. In that Marc had said how he liked to dress up in grey school shorts to do his homework, and while I was never likely to actually see him do it, now, with him gone, I had the opportunity to see what all the fuss was about. All I had to do was find where he kept them.

Marc's room was, as always, overly neat and tidy, with everything having its place and everything in that place. Marc's mum had told me on a previous trip how Marc looked after his own room, did all the cleaning and vacuuming, etc, so she never needed to go in there. Well, there was obviously a reason for that, given all the secrets her son was hiding, but I had no such scruples. Clearly Marc felt he didn't need to hide anything so finding things should be very, very easy.

Opening the cupboard I was presented with a fine array of clothing your standard 12-year-old boy would wear, including Marc's full school uniform, all neatly washed and ironed, and ready for his next day at Coverdale Comp. Of course, that had long trousers with it, but it didn't take much of a root through the pile of assorted trousers in the drawers to the side to find what I knew to be there. The shorts. Hidden along with the very Speedo that he'd tied me up in the weekend before. Perfect.

Slipping out of my normal clothes, I quickly slipped my right foot into the Speedo and gently slid them up until they were fitting snugly on my hips once more. At once all the memories about the sensations of being tightly bound, sent a tingle through my body that, resulted in my privates starting to expand.

Finding the long grey socks, with the coloured rim around the top, Marc had mentioned in his bio, I sat on his bed and pulled them on, and up, until they reached to about two inches below my knees, where the elastic ribbon sewn into the tops, under the banding, held them in place.

The shirt was next. I had to unbutton it, before I could put it on, and probably should have wondered how I was going to return it to such a pristine condition once I'd finished wearing it, but of course I didn't. Instead I just shrugged it up onto my shoulders and started to fasten it down the front.

I needed a tie to finish off the shirt, and the only one I could find was for Coverdale comp, so it didn't really match the socks, like Marc had mentioned it would, but I wasn't going to waste time looking for the real one, now. So I just put that one on, under the collar, although I had to leave the top button slightly undone, or else I wouldn't have been able to breathe.

Finally it was time for the shorts, which like the shirt had to be undone before I could get into them, and have them pulled all the way up to my hips where I carefully tucked in the shirttails before taking a deep breath so I could fasten the shorts in place. Thankfully they must have been rather baggy on Marc, for although they were a snug fit on me, I could still wear them without too much discomfort.

I was going to stop there, but then I saw, in the bottom of the cupboard, a pair of highly shiny black shoes, that were dying out to go with the uniform – I couldn't think of any other reason Marc would have them – so although it was a bit of a squash, I managed to cram my rather larger feet into them, and lace them up, using a much smaller bow than I would have done on my own trainers.

Turning I walked over to where Marc had a mirror set up and saw at once that two things were wrong with the image I was projecting. One was the lump in the shorts made by my erection, about which I could do very little, but the other was my modern gelled up hair, and that I could fix.

Using Marc's comb, I wrestled with my hair, in order to first flatten in, and then to put in the sort of centre parting that I thought an old-fashioned schoolboy would have. Only when that was done did I finally step back from the mirror to have a good look at my transformation.

The results were somewhat startling. I looked like a short trousered schoolboy. Okay, so that wasn't so surprising given the clothes I was wearing, but what I hadn't been prepared for, was just how young I would look. Even though Marc had written about how shorts made a boy look younger in most of his stories, I hadn't really believed it until this moment, but now I could see it was true.

Staring back at me from the mirror was a boy who looked no more than eleven or twelve. No one would guess that I was fourteen year old in this get up, not even me. My legs looked so long, and slender as they stuck out from the bottom of the shorts, before they disappeared into the tops of the socks. And, as I turned around, I got the amazing sight of my own buttocks so tightly clad in the rear of the shorts that they practically begged to be spanked.

This thought giving me a tingle that seemed to go all over my body from head to toe and it was all I could do, not to drop the shorts and Speedos right then and there, to have a wank. Only that could wait. For now. I had something else to do.

Moving over to Marc's desk I sat down in front of his computer, and instantly felt the shorts both tightening over my buttocks, and riding up my legs. Then the bare backs of my thighs were pressing down on the chair itself and I sat fully back into the chair, so this would continue as I studied the layout of Marc's computer.

At this stage I had many options open to me about how to hack into my cousin's machine but, just as the nerd had suggested, I started with the simplest, which was to over ride the log in screen with the escape key, and, do you know what, it worked. Not only did I end up with total access to Marc's files, but I got to go just about anywhere I wanted on his machine.

The first thing I did was to search for the stories I already knew about, by name, as that would tell me where he stored his secret files, and sure enough, there were all the titles I knew, plus quite a few others that he clearly either hadn't finished yet, or had been working on since I was last there. Of these latter ones, two caught my attention straight away, for they seemed overly familiar.

The first one – which according to the notes attached to it, had been uploaded to the website, two weeks earlier – featured a young boy tricking an elder one into allowing him to spank him, and how that led to the younger one taking control of the older one's life, including putting the teenager back into shorts and, several more spankings. The similarities, right down to the dialogue, to what had happened the first time I'd stayed over, were very obvious. As they were in the second one.

This time, the younger boy tricks the older one, into allowing himself to be tied up, after which the teenager becomes the prisoner and then the slave of the younger boy for the rest of the story. Again, this included all the things that had happened to me, only in the fictional version, there was no Speedo, and the teenager was left naked whilst bound in the garage, so his captor could easily see the erections he was spouting. The teenager then realising that he liked being treated that way by the younger, boy.

This second story, like all the others, had a note attached saying where it had been uploaded, but the URL was different to the spanking stories, so firing up Marc's internet connection I followed it, just to see what sort of site it would be and wasn't all that surprised to find it was a site for boys who enjoyed what the site called "Tie up games". These varied in subject matter from playful games of "cowboys and Indians" to much more intense things, like the one Marc himself had written. And, just like on the first site, Marc had his own author's page there.

Thankfully, Marc clearly thought no one would be able to get into his computer, for he had it remember all his passwords, so I didn't need to do anything, before I was logged into his personal account, and was able to read, not only all the stories he'd written for the site, but also his favourites, and some of the comments he'd either left, or which had been left for him.

It soon became apparent, that like the spanking stories, nearly everything Marc wrote, featured at least once character very much like himself, who got to tie up and then control an older boy one way or another. This was either by trickery, or blackmail, or some such underhanded way so that the teenager would have to endure whatever Marc then had done to him without being able to do anything about it.

Clicking link after link I soon ended up on the PM section of the site, and instantly noted that Marc had been having a long exchange of views with another user in which Marc laid out how much he liked thinking about other boys being tied up, and had even attempted to tie himself up on some occasions, only to find it not that exciting so he wanted ways in which he could get someone else to play his tie up games with him.

Marc and his friend mentioned many ideas between themselves, some of which I recognised from the other stories I'd read, and one I knew very well as that was the one that had been used on me. Along the way, the other friend gave my young cousin advice not only on how to carry out his various plans, but where to get the equipment to use which was something I'd wondered about.

The solution suggested was as easy as it was obvious. The internet. Of course, being twelve, Marc didn't have a credit card or even any income to finance one, or so I thought, anyway. Turns out, he was actually getting paid for all the stories he was writing, so all he had to do was put that into an online account and then use that to pay for things he wanted. The only thing he had to worry about was making sure he got to the postman before his mum did, which apparently he always had done.

Naturally, once I'd finished reading this, I followed the link to the site that was mentioned, and spent the half an hour or so looking at all the weird and wonderful things that were available to tie people up with, from ropes, to chains, cuffs, and all sorts of other stuff. It not being until I'd explored each of the various sections that I noticed a button in the top titled "Your Orders". When I clicked on that, I was once more, automatically logged into Marc's account, and could see everything he'd bought from the site.

The list wasn't all that long, although I did have to check back to the catalogue pages a few times in order to work out what some of the items were but I was soon discovering what the correct name was for all the things that had been used on me the previous weekend, plus some other things, like ball gags, thigh cuffs, ankle spreaders, and so on.

Resting my eyes from what was, by now, nearly two hours of staring at the screen, I sat back in the chair, while my head spun with all the things I was learning about my cousin. The things he liked to write about, to think about, and it would seem to try out, were both bizarre and yet deeply interesting to me and, it would seem, to his PM mate as well who seemed desperate to have Marc try them out on him. Thankfully, Marc seemed too bright to meet up with someone from the net, but that didn't stop the other kid from going on about it, and even to make out that he was doing the things he'd like Marc to do to him, to himself, by – get this – freezing a key to the locks he was bound with, in ice, so he wouldn't be able to let himself go until it had melted.

Deciding it was time for a food break, I got up stiffly – in many ways – from Marc's desk, and made my way down to the kitchen, not once thinking about the way I was dressed until the cooler air of the downstairs rooms, started to blow around my exposed knees. Yet, even then I didn't think about changing back into my own clothes, and used went about my normal business of making a snack, dressed in the schoolboy uniform.

I don't know if it was being in someone else's house, or that I feared the wrath of my Aunt, or what it was, but as I made myself a sandwich I found myself being so much neater than I would have been at home. Clearing up my mess as I went, and even doing the washing up – what there was of it – before I returned upstairs to see what else I could find out about my cousin.

Standing once more in the doorway of Marc's room, I looked over to the still open door of his cupboard where he'd hidden the shorts I was now wearing, and a thought hit me. If Marc had bought all these restraints, then where did he keep them? Surely nowhere his mother could find them, which meant, they had to be in his bedroom somewhere. But where?

Under the bed, seemed the most obvious place, but, as it turned out, that was probably too obvious, as there was nothing there but it was while I was down on my hands and knees that I spotted a suspicious looking box, under a chest of drawers and pushed right to the back. That, it turned out, was where my cousin kept his secret stash of chain's locks and other bits and pieces.

Sitting on the bed, going through the box I soon found most of the items from Marc's online shopping list including handcuffs, the ankle shackles he'd used on me, plus, various sizes of lockable leather belts, that had rings fixed to them so chains could be attached, and a proper ball gag.

Holding the soft rubber ball in my hand, I wondered why Marc hadn't used it on me, before I realised that he probably didn't want to freak me out with it as, unlike everything else he had used, it wasn't really something most young boys had, with its adjustable neck strap, in black leather.

It wasn't long before I was offering the black ball up to my mouth, and not long after that I'd pushed it all the way in only to find it was a really tight fit and to be surprised just how much it stopped me speaking. The ball expanding to almost totally fill my mouth so that my lips could only just curl over the top and bottom of it. Two small straps came out from either side of the ball, and these connected up to the neck back which ran around the back of my neck, and was a little tricky to adjust on myself, but I soon had it tight enough so that I couldn't spit the ball out, even though I wasn't sure I could have done that anyway.

Handling the chains, locks and straps, while gagged made my excitement get even harder in its Speedo and school shorts prison, so it was pretty much inevitable that I would end up putting some of the bondage equipment on myself before the day was out. Yet I wasn't stupid enough – even in this aroused state – to do something like that without first checking that I could let myself go. So before I went any further, I checked that the keys in the box actually fitted the locks that were there. Only there didn't seem to be enough keys. Sure there were enough keys for the locks but while some had two, others only had one, which I found a little odd, until I remembered something from the PM messages.

A second trip downstairs in the schoolboy get up, proved my suspicions to be correct, as tucked away at the back of the freezer, behind a pack of something organic that was well passed its sell by date, was a cup containing all the keys that were missing, frozen solid in ice. Clearly, Marc had, at some point, being intending some self-bondage, but now it was my turn.

Returning to the bedroom, I painstakingly match up the frozen keys to the locks they come from to be doubly sure, and then I used those restraints to plan what I was going to do to myself. And where.

Having already been hog-tied, chained to a post, and strapped down to a bed, and chair, I fancied doing something different, and the most obvious thing seemed to be, to have myself standing up with my hands chained above my head. Only for that, I clearly needed something to higher than I was, which could take the weight of the chains, and myself beneath it. There was nothing in Marc's bedroom, or in the one I used, and the garage had a smooth ceiling but, the house did have a long landing at the top of the stairs that I could use, so that's where I fastened the first piece of chain I was going to use.

Carefully, I measured out the length the chain would have to be, and took care to wrap some cloth around the banisters so the chain wouldn't mark them, which meant I had to take several trips up and down the stairs until I had it just right, but it would be worth it in the long run, I was sure.

By the time I moved the rest of the things I was going to use downstairs, there was a duel lengths of chain hanging down, just above my head. Onto the ends of these I fixed an extendable spreader bar, that had a metal cuff fixed to each end. These would eventually hold my hands, so I had to make sure that the ice containing the keys, would be in reach of at least one of the cuffs. The keys themselves, also hanging down from the upstairs banister.

With my escape plan in place, I picked up and other spreader back, again with cuffs at the end, and fastened these around my ankles, so that my legs were permanently fixed three feet apart. But that wasn't all. The spreader bar had a hook in the middle from which a chain ran upwards to a smaller spreader bar that was fastened to two leather thigh cuffs. These went around my legs, just below the bottom hem of my shorts and once everything was tightened up meant I couldn't close my legs at all. But was forced to stand there with them totally open.

Standing up, I felt a little out of balance, which increased as I reached up with my left hand a slid it into the cuff hanging above my head. The ice was already starting to melt, I noticed, as I practised reaching for it, with my right hand, resting against the other cuff. Then, satisfied that I would be able to let myself go and would be still standing there, when Dad, my cousin and his mum, came home, I locked my right wrist into place.

My arms were now spread out in right angles from my body, and held up in the traditional 'surrender' pose, but now they were locked to the chains hanging down from the banister, I found my balance was restored and the entire set up, made it a lot easier to stay standing there, which was just as well, seeing that I couldn't actually release myself.

Taking stock of my situation I soon found how very little of my body I could move. The shoes were tight enough to keep my toes still, while the ankle and thigh spreader bars, prevented my legs from going anywhere. I could, however, sway slightly from side to side, and, move my hips, but there really wasn't much point in that as all it was ruin my balance, and put a touch too much pressure on my wrists.

Of course, my wrists weren't the only part of me feeling pressure by this point. My teenage boyhood was now rampant as if fought against the tightness of the Speedo and shorts that attempted to hold it down. Just like when I'd been tied to the post in the garage I was able to look down by own captive body, and see the swelling at the front, that sure didn't look like it belonged to the sweet little schoolboy that I'd looked at in the mirror earlier that morning.

Glancing to once side, I saw the ice was now dripping down onto the floor, where no doubt it would leave a puddle that I'd have to clear up once I was free, but that, it would seem was a fair time off yet. And in the meantime all I could was stand there and wait.

With nothing else to do but think it wasn't long before my mind was wondering onto scenarios in which Marc would appear from somewhere in the house, not having gone to granny's at all, but laid in wait all along. How he'd laugh that his plan to trick me into self-bondage had work. He'd either start to take photos of me, or show me those he'd taken earlier when I'd thought I was alone. These he'd blackmail me into doing whatever he wanted, for as long as he wanted. I'd struggle, of course, in a vain attempt to get free, but of course, I would have tied myself up too well for that, so I'd have to agree to whatever he wanted which would start with a spanking, on my short-trousered bottom, until tears would roll down my face from a mixture of the pain and the humiliation of it all.

In the middle of this mental spanking the situation finally became too much for me. One second I was happy to stand there, and the next I was twisting this way and that, against the bonds that held me, and before too long you feel like you are going to blow up, from the inside.

All of a sudden I was totally away of all the locks, cuffs and chains that held me. I could feel the grey school shorts uniform stretching and clinging to my skin. The ball gag filled my mouth. My prick twitched. My nuts ached. And one of the best ever orgasms totally engulfed my entire body from the tips of my toes crushed into too small school shoes, up to my neatly combed and parted hair.

Sweat broke out spontaneously all over my body even though it wasn't overly warm in the hallway where I was bound. Not that the outside temperature mattered anything to me, given that I was slowly boiling over from the inside out in pure lust.

My orgasm probably didn't last for as long as I thought at the time, but once it was over, I was totally exhausted. So much so that I actually think I dozed off for a while. Or perhaps I passed out from the excitement of it all. Whichever it was, time passed and I knew nothing about it.

I have no real idea how long I spelt for, but when I woke up, for a split second I forgot where I was, and why I was tied up. However, no sooner did I remember doing it all to myself, than my prick started to harden again.

Looking over, I noticed that the ice had almost all melted and that the keys were only coated now in a thin sheen of translucent material that I was sure I could break if I wanted to. The question was, did I want to. Or did I want to wait until after things had run their course for a second time and I had once more filled the Speedo with what had felt like a gallon of teenage cum?

There was only answer to that question, and it was another hour before I was finally free cuffs, spreaders, ball gag, and down on my hands and knees mopping up the chilly pool of water from under where I'd been standing. I was still dressed in the school uniform, as I would be for the rest of the weekend, up until I got a call telling me that the others were on their way back, at which point I reluctantly changed back into my own clothes. However, by the time I did that, I'd found out even more about my cousin's interests.

Chapter Six

Laying in bed a few days after I was left alone at Marc's place, I found myself thinking more and more about my bum hole, and wondering what it was like to be fucked. Now this may seem a strange thing for a twelve year old to suddenly start thinking but, it wasn't really all that sudden, as I'd thought about it a lot ever since, I'd made one final discovery in Marc's bedroom.

It had happened while I'd been clearing up all traces of what I'd got up to while my cousin was away, and I was making a slight adjustment to the position of the box of bondage gear, when I spotted a second item hidden beneath his furniture. This time it was a cloth bag, and it was tucked into the narrow space under the wardrobe. Only this one didn't have bondage gear in it, but something completely different. Dildos.

I hadn't been able to open the bag there and then, as just as I was about to, I heard the sound of a car coming into the drive, so I had to make a split second choice, either to put it back and forget about it, or to hid it in my room, have a look later, and then return it when I could. Naturally I went for the later.

The cloth bag eventually made it home with me, as the only place I could hide it, was in my own overnight bag, so that when Dad didn't even bother to get out of the car, just sent Marc and his Mum in to send me out, I took it with me. Therefore you can imagine my surprise when I later opened up the bag, back at home, to find the four items it contained.

As I lay there that morning, all four of them were once more tipped out on the mattress next to me. The jar of lubricant was open and I had a glob of the cold gel on my finger, which I was running back and forth, between my legs, under my nuts, and it wasn't long before I'd noticed – as I had before – that whenever I touched my hole the muscles around it would contract slightly allowing the very tip of my finger to sing in a little.

This was as much as I had ever done before – I mean what boy doesn't play with his bum at some point or other – but as I looked at the two dildos and the butt plug beside me, I wondered how much more there could be.

Then, suddenly, my finger slid right up my bum. Naturally, this was down to the lubricant more than anything else, and even though that's sort of what I'd been trying to do, once it happened, it didn't half give me a start.

For a minute or so, I just lay there with my finger up my bum surprised that it didn't hurt in the slightest. Yet, at the same time, I could feel the muscles of my bum, pulsing around my finger, as it rested there.

Eventually, I pushed my finger further in, using it to explore my own bottom. Moving the tip around the inside walls of my rectum. It was surprisingly soft in there, and my finger felt good in a strange way. So good in fact, that I was soon spreading my legs open so I could get every bit of my finger deep up my bum. Which is when it happened.

An electric shock shuddered through my body as my finger happened to press upon what I now know to be my prostate gland. This shock caused my finger to slide a little way out of my bum, but it wasn't long before I was pushing it back in again, just so I could touch that secret spot, and get the same feeling of pleasure once more.

It felt so good that I couldn't believe it, and soon I was pushing my finger in and out of my bottom in a steady rhythm while my other hand, grab hold of my prick and started to move that in steady time to what I was doing to myself around the backdoor. The combined feeling of both of these actions being better than anything I'd done before, by a long way.

The levels of my pleasure built and as they did then so did the speed with which I played with myself, both front and back. My left hand wanking my prick while my right pushed its primary finger in and out of my bum hole.

Gasps of pleasure escaped from my mouth as the build up built and built inside me until I was actually shaking in delight as my climax started to peak.

I attempted to hold back but it was no good. There was nothing I could do to stop what was about to happen as with a rather high pitched squeal my body spasmodic gyrated, and as my sphincter muscles clenched onto my finger, I came with a thick glob of gooey cum, that flew high up into the air before coming back down, in a splash across my chest, neck and even little on my face.

By the time my orgasm finally ended I was totally exhausted, even though it was still morning, and I hadn't done anything else since I'd woken up less than an hour earlier. Somewhat reluctantly I removed my finger from my bum, and allowed my legs to come back together, in a more relax full pose.

The day passed more slowly than most. Somehow I managed to get to school on time, but by the time I came home again, not only was I horny once more, but I was wondering that if my just my finger could feel that good, then how much better would something bigger feel?

The natural thing to try at this stage, of course, would have been Marc's sex toys, but even the smallest of those was a fair size bigger than my finger, not to mention an odd shape being less cylindrical than its much bigger brother, having a rather rounded end, that then shrunk down to a tube.

Quite rightly, as things turned out, I guessed I would need to work up to that, and from there, perhaps I would be able to attempt the much larger version, and the cone shape of the butt plug. Before that, however, what I needed was something with which I could practise, so I went on a hunt around the house for things I could stuff up my bum.

Three items appeared to match this criterion. One was a long handled ladle from the kitchen which had a smooth round, plastic handle. The second was a screwdriver, which had something similar, and the last one was a candle that was, smooth all the way down.

Up in my bedroom, I stripped off my school uniform and, naked, lay down on my bed, selecting the candle to be the first to try as it was the closest in size to my finger.

Using the lubricant from Marc's bag, I greased up the end, drew up my legs, and pressed the end to my bum. I couldn't actually see what I was doing at this point, so my aim was a little off, and started a little high, but soon got it back on line and slowly started pushing.

At this stage I didn't know that if my bum pushed out against the candle, then the candle would have gone in easier, so whenever I felt resistance I just pushed harder, which hurt.

"Ouch!" I yelped, but even as I did the candle passed through my sphincter and into my bottom.

Strange thing was, even though it had hurt going in, once it was in, it felt okay and I continued on pushing it inside, surprised at just how easily it was now sliding up, deep inside me until there was barely enough for me to keep a hold on the end.

At this stage I had little option but to take the candle out of my bum, as after the initial insertion, there really hadn't been any further feelings from it, even though I could sense it moving back and forth inside of me. Perhaps, I reasoned, the other items would have a better effect.

The ladle handle was the next up in size. It was only a little bigger around at the widest point than the candle, but rather shorter. The concave shape of the grip, making it easy to slide it all the way in, and allow my sphincter to close around the metal shaft that connected the handle to the rest of the ladle. This however, just felt rather funny and not all that different to the candle at all. So didn't last long.

I picked up the screwdriver next but the hexagonal shape didn't seem all that natural so, in the end I didn't use it and instead moved on to the main deal, and the smallest of Marc's sex toys.

Greasing up good, paying special attention to the two-inch diameter ball at the end, I then pressed this ball to the entrance to my hole. Took a deep breath and gave a shove.

Surprisingly, the ball went right inside me without any trouble, and my sphincter got to close around the half size of the shaft of the flexible sex toy.

I let out a groan as the ball pushed itself further and further inside myself, until finally it did something none of the other experiments had managed to do. It rubbed against the secret spot.

No doubt grinning widely to myself by this point I started to slide the toy in and out of myself. Pulling it back until the underside of the ball pressed against the inside of my sphincter, before pushing it all the way back inside again, as far as I could so it would bang against my prostate.

Soon my left hand was reaching for my already leaking prick, and I found myself wanking into time to my own self-fucking before I even realised what I was doing.

This felt so much better than my finger had done, creating yet another finest sexual moment that I would struggle to pass but which I was going to have to try.

My orgasm built faster this time, even though I was doing myself slower than before. In less than a minute since I really got going, I had no option but to speed up my hands, until Marc's secret sex toy was being slammed in and out of my bum, rubbing itself back and forth over my prostate, while my left hand did its best to keep up with the pace around the front.

By the time my orgasm hit, I was trembling almost to the point of having a seizure. My mouth hanging open, as I gasped for breath and then, letting out a scream, as a stream of cum spurted out from my prick with so much force that it shot clear up to my head, and spread itself all over my face until it trickled down my cheek and across my ear.

The orgasm faded fast, but the memory of it didn't and I was left in a daze, with my head spinning so much that it proved to be quite difficult to remove the sex toy from my bum, and lower my cramping legs. It wasn't long before I nodded off, only to wake up some time later when I heard dad's key in the front door which left me in a blind panic to put everything away before he noticed.

The following day I was ready to take the experience to the next level, but, due to my oversleeping had to once more wait until I came back from school before I could get going. This time though, I was going to use Marc's butt plug on myself even though it was quite a bit wider than anything I'd used before, but then that was the challenge.

Stripping naked I ignored my erection that was more than ready for the experience that was to come, and instead snatched up the lubricant as I first sat, and then leant back on my mattress with my head propped up on my pillows.

Raising my feet to the mattress, I folded my legs in half and spread them open to give myself clear access to my bum hole, onto with I rubbed a good coating of the lubricant ready for the penetration by the rubber object.

Then, with a finger still embedded in myself, I picked up the butt plug with my other hand and jammed the end into the lubricant tub, swishing it around to ensure that it was coated all over and was about to start the process when I had a thought. Who had ever heard of a boy being fucked in the position I was now in? I certainly hadn't. In fact the only position I knew about where a boy got fucked up the bum was when he was bent over so, thinking that this would make things easier – after all there had to be a reason why things were done like that – I took the time to reposition myself.

It took rather longer than it could have as I made sure that I was able to see myself reflected in the mirror I borrowed from the bathroom for this occasion. It wasn't a big mirror so I had to get it just right in order that I'd be able to see myself, but eventually it worked and I was able to look back at myself bent over the side of my own stripped down bed, with the curves of my bum, showing deadly white against the rest of me where the sun had tanned my skin.

Sweat appeared on my forehead, as I reached once more for the butt plug and not for the first time I wondered if it was a touch on the big side to go inside my bum, but given that someone had made it for that purpose then it must be capable of going in. Not to mention the matter of Marc owning it. Had my little, skinny twelve-year-old cousin, been able to get the cone shaped object up his own tight little rear end? If he could do it then I was sure I could, and I was going to one way or the other.

Measuring at a good six and a half inches in length, the girth of the butt plug started off at something very similar to my finger and then gradually increased to something a good size bigger, before suddenly dropping down again for the final bit, which then ended in a flat stopper that was clearly designed to sit between the wearer's buttocks, once the rest of the plug was inside him.

Getting the tip of the butt plug into place proved a little tricky, as I'd lubricated everything so much that it kept sliding to either one side or the other. This turned out to be such a problem that in the end, I had to rest my face on the mattress, and use both hands to locate it at my bum hole at which point the tip slotted right on in a good half an inch on its own.

That was the easy part, for from that point on the butt plug's girth increased rapidly, and already I was starting to get that full feeling from my sphincter, so I paused here in the hopes that my insides would be able to get used to what I was feeding them, and so make what was to come all that easier to bare.

Gripping the base of the plug between the thumb and forefinger of my right hand, I started to make little circular motions, first by accident, and then as I found it eased the 'full' sensation, I did it a little more. This not only helped to widen the hole itself but as the tip moved around inside me, it gave me a warm feeling that would make things easier. Or so I hoped anyway.

Soon I was adding the occasional forward push to the rotation, and slowly but surely the butt plug started to move into me.

And then it stopped.

Suddenly, and without explanation, it seemed like the butt plug just couldn't go any further which I knew couldn't be right, as the candle the day before had gone in further than the plug had, so there had to be another reason. Yet, I just couldn't get it in.

I tried twisting it, turning it and even dragging it out all the way, and then shoving it back in but it just wouldn't go any further than it had been already. However, it was far enough in, so that it would stay there and wouldn't slide out again if I let it go, which gave me another idea.

Turning myself around, I stood with my back to the mirror and used my hands to spread my buttock apart so I could see my penetrated bum hole up close, watching as the red pulsating ring of my sphincter throbbed around the rubber sex toy, that was stuffed inside my bum.

Every so often my fingers would slip in the lubricant, and I'd loose grip off my one buttock or the other which quickly got to be frustrating, causing me to be rather sharper in putting them back then I had to be.

Smack!

It sounded like I was being spanked, as my hand slapped itself back into position, only to leave a red imprint of itself on my buttock. Not to mention yet another shiver running up my spine to my prick.

Smack! Smack!

I did it again. Not because I had to this time, but because I wanted to and it wasn't long before I wanted to do more than just smack my bum, which is when I remember something I'd found the previous week.

It had been while I'd been looking for things to tie myself up with, that I'd come across the old junior ping pong bat from when I'd been much younger. This was about three quarters the size of a regular ping-pong bat, and, at that time I'd thought it might make a good spanking thing so I'd bought it up to my room, only to promptly forget about it as I tied myself up. Now though, it was perfect for what I wanted so I went to get it.

Walking with a butt plug half in and half out of your bum, was something of an experience, but soon I was back on my knees with the bat in my hand, and I was taking aim at my own sticking out bum.

SWOT!

That was better. So much better than my hand, as it not only delivered a more uniform blow than my hand could at that angle, but it also covered nearly my entire buttock in one go.

SWOT!

Twitching hands, I was able to twist myself around to the other side and give my left buttock equal treatment.

SWOT! SWOT!

Soon I was warming up. Taking two strikes at each side before changing hands and doing the same thing again.

SWOT! SWOT!

My bum was heating up to. No longer glowing white in the mirror's reflection, but taking on a pink glow that I knew would darken as things continued.

SWOT! SWOT!

"Ouch!" I yelped from time to time, as I continued.

SWOT! SWOT!

Soon my bum felt like it was burning, but that didn't stop me.

SWOT! SWOT!

I kept my bottom pushed out, as if wagging it at the paddle that was punishing me.

SWOT! SWOT!

My aim was getting bad as the shivers started to signal that the end was coming much faster than I could have expected.

SWOT! SWO…!

A particularly bad swing did three things at once. The first was that it caused me to lose my grip on the paddle and to send it flying across the room. The second, made me yelp and the third made me orgasm. None of these had to do so much with the spanking my buttocks had endured as that last blow hadn't actually landed on my flesh. Rather it had caught the end of the butt plug which is what caused me to react in such a way.

It was a few minutes before my brain came back on line from the orgasm, and I was coordinated enough to once more reach around behind myself to check for damage.

Thankfully there wasn't any, although my bottom did reel rather warm to the touch, but that wasn't all there was. Or rather that was. The butt plug seemed to have gone. Well, not gone away, but gone in. All the way in.

My fingers pushed between my spanked buttocks and sure enough there was the base of the rubber sex toy, sitting snugly between my cheeks right where my hole should be. I'd done it, and now all I had to worry about was how to get it out again.

Chapter Seven

By following week I was pretty much used to the way the butt plug felt inside me. There had been no trips to Marc's that weekend for some reason to do with the paperwork over granny's business, so I had plenty of time to think about what I was going to do the next time I was there. And, if I was going carry it out, then I was going to need to take things to a new level.

I'd grown accustomed to but plug and could pretty much put it in, and take it out, without too much discomfort – although there was some whenever the widest part slipped through my sphincter – and had even been able to wear it for a few hours without too much trouble, so I figured it was time I moved on to the larger dildo. Only I knew, that wasn't going to be so easy, but that was the point wasn't it.

In all the stories I'd read in Marc's secret files, the teenager involved never really wanted to do any of the things that were done to him, at least not as much as they were, even if they did show an interest to start with. In fact, there seemed to be an entire genre of stories that involved some teenager experimenting with some sexual practise on his own, and then getting caught by a younger boy doing it, and forced to take whatever he'd been trying to do to its logical conclusion. So that if, for example, he'd been trying to spank himself with his hand, then the younger boy would force him to bend over and cane him. Or, if he'd been tying himself up, then the kid, would bind him so tight that he couldn't move. And, in this particular case, if the teen had been pushing something like a pencil up his bum, then the kid would end up screwing him with something much larger.

That's what I decided I'd pretend was happening to me and as I'd already done the initial work with the small dildo and the butt plug, I could move right onto the bigger thing although, of course, I'd have to imagine the kid blackmailing me into doing it. At least for now, anyway.

The first problem I had was how to make the dildo stand up on its own as I wouldn't be able to hold it once things got going and the thing had a rounded bottom so kept falling over.

A big dollop of putty proved to be the answer. I'd found an old board that I could use for a base, and onto that I moulded a putty base for the dildo which I then used a hairdryer on, so that the outside would harden but which would keep the inside still soft so that the dildo could have a little movement around, just in case it needed it.

Fixed to the back of the board was short bungee cord that was meant to hold things on the luggage rack of a bicycle. This was eighteen inches long but could be shortened to around half that, but flicking a switch in the either end. Currently it was stretched out, along the length of a stick that would keep it taunt until I needed it.

Then, when that was done, I got out now nearly empty jar of lubricant, and coated the bottom two thirds of the dildo in a thick layer off it but leaving the crown part clear for a reason that I'd get to in a short while. First I had to tie myself up.

After I'd taken off my clothes – well it wasn't like I was going to do all this fully clothed was it – I got out the few bits of rope I would need, and made short work of tying my ankles together. Not completely together as I needed to leave a bit of slack between them so I'd be able to do the things I wanted to later. This I did by wrapping tape around the rope between my ankles so that not only wouldn't they be able to go further apart than the rope would allow, but I wouldn't be able to get them any closer together either.

My hands were next, and by now I was a near expert in tying them in front of my body and then passing them under my feet so they'd end up behind my back. This still meant I had to struggle a little in order to get the knots tight enough but at least I could use my teeth to do that which, naturally once my hands were behind my back I wouldn't be able to do to get them undone until I could get them back in front again.

Sitting on the carpet I did a little bit of rolling around so I could get my hands over my feet, especially now I couldn't get my feet together. This proved a touch uncomfortable especially if I happened to roll onto my front, as my erection would get bent in the wrong direction, but even that seemed to turn me on so I had to stop doing it, not so as to avoid the pain, but to prevent myself from coming.

Moving onto my knees I rested for a moment savouring the sensation of being tied up, with my erection pointing out in front of my, in desperation, knowing full well that there was no way I could get my hands to it to do what it wanted. Then I turned my attention to the dildo which was now in front of me.

Bending over, I worked some spit into my mouth and then spat it onto the seemingly large crown before my eyes and watched as the it worked its way down over the top, while at the same time my bound hands reached out for the item I had left for them. Then, when I had the paddle clasped in my bound hands, I slowly bent myself over, and pressed my lips onto the top of the dildo and started to work the end in.

WHACK!

My bound hands flapped upwards and then down sharply, bringing the ping-pong bat down fairly firmly onto my up turned buttocks as I worked the dildo into my mouth.

WHACK!

"Oh!" I moaned around the rubber, at the stinging pain in my bum, imagining myself being spanked by some younger boys into sucking off the sex toy.

WHACK!

In my mind's eye I flicked from being in the centre of a group of young lads laughing at my, to there just being one, and that one was, of course Marc.

Whack!

However the reality was that, although the self-spanking blows were becoming rather regular, they were also getting lighter, as I had to ease up on them and not because my bum was warming up, but so I didn't choke on the dildo as each blow pushed me a little further onto it.

Whack!

My mouth was already open as much as it could be, enabling me to slide the head of the dildo back and forth between my lips.

Whack!

Each time the dildo pulled back I ran my tongue over the end to moisten it some more, as sucking the fake prick wasn't the end game on what I was doing by a long way, that would be coming next, just as soon as my bum started to feel the fire from the spanking it was getting. At least that was the plan.

When I accidentally dropped the bat a few minutes later, I had little choice but to move onto the next stage as it would have been difficult, yet not impossible to pick the bat up again. I just couldn't be bothered. Not when there were more exciting things to be done.

Staying on my knees I walked myself forward as pest I could, bearing in mind that my ankles were still tied together.

From where I had been facing the dildo, I shuffled right up to it, and then raising myself as high up on my knees as I could I continued on, so that it would pass between my legs. The tip, warmed by my own saliva, tickled passed my balls as they hung down from my groin, but that was good, as it proved the height would be about right for the experiment to work.

Soon, the putty packed base of the dildo was pressed up against the taped up cord that separated my ankles, telling me I was in position. Or part of it anyway. Now I had to line the rest of myself up to the sex toy.

With the crown of the dildo slick with my spit, and my bum hole previously lubricated, it took a few minutes to get the two of them together without one or the other slipping out of the way, but soon I had the crown position correctly at my hole and started to push down on it.

At this stage it soon became apparent that all the preparation work I'd done with the butt plug and other sex toys had paid off. Just a week or so earlier I would have had no chance of getting something as large as the top of this dildo into my bum, even a little way, but now I'd loosened myself up, back there, it went in with very little trouble at all.

This though was only the start as the dildo, like the butt plug started off smaller and then got a touch larger an inch or so down its length, before slimming down again, and, as far as I could tell I had yet to reach that widest part. What's more, I soon wouldn't be able to get off the dildo until I'd gone all the way down to the bottom of it, and released the bungee cord that was going to also help me get there.

Up until this time the bungee cord had been itself standing up on its support stick, behind my back, just waiting for me to reach for it, which I now did.

My thighs were already straining slightly as I wriggled my hips to ensure I was firmly in place before I fastened the final part of my self-bondage into place.

Reaching with already bound hands, I had to lean back slightly in order to clasp the bungee cord, and it took a minute or so of fumbling before I was able to get the hook at the end, onto the ropes that already bound my hands and then to get it free from the support stick. The bungee cord instantly went taut and I felt a little more of the dildo slip inside me.

Turning my head I looked at the mirror I'd placed on the floor and caught a good view of my own bound body, kneeing on the floor, with a big black dildo clearly visible rising up from between my ankles and then disappearing between my buttocks. You couldn't see just where it went from that angle but you didn't need to be sexual pervert to work out that it was up my bum and that with my bound hands and feet there was nothing I could do to stop it going the rest of the way.

Wriggling around caused another bit of the dildo to slip up inside me, so I did that for a few minutes until my sphincter had slipped right down to where the dildo started to widen. At this point I knew I was going to need extra help to go any further.

In the story from Marc's secret files I was basing all this on, all the younger lad had to do was push down on the bound teenager's shoulders and the dildo was pushed all the way up his bum, but, of course, I didn't have anyone to do that for me. Which is where the bungee cord came in.

Once more, I started feeling around the end of the bungee cord, seeking out that trigger that was almost instantly tighten it up as much as it could go and impale me on the dildo once and for all.

I flicked the switch.

Instantly the bungee tightened and first my hands, but then the rest of my body was pulled down towards the floor. This all happened in a split second, but, what happened underneath me, didn't. In agonising slow motion, I felt the greased up, slippery, widest part of the dildo, forcing its way past my sphincter until with a sudden leap it pushed right through my last line of defence, stretching my bum hole to a new limit. Then the elastic nature of a boy's sphincter muscle came into play, and as the dildo narrowed once more, my ring tightened around it, seemingly sucking in the rest of the sex toy up my bum.

My body dropped down, allowing my aching thighs to relax along with my hole, as the dildo slipped deeper and deeper into my rear end, until I came to rest with my spanked buttocks down on the backs of my heels and the dildo wedged all the way inside me.

I was well and truly impaled now but I was no longer stuck. The bungee cord that had been so taut as to pull me onto the sex toy, was now loose enough that I was able to un hook it from my hands and just sit there with the dildo pressed into my rectum, which continued to pulse and throb around it.

It took a few minutes for me to calm down enough from what I'd do before I could do anything else and for the shivering and shaking that my body had undergone to subside. Once it had though, a sweat started to build over my now quite upright torso, while my prick pulsated and throbbed on its own, alone, jutting up and out from between my legs with no one and nothing to help it relieve the strain it was no doubt under.

Soon my bum was clenching at the thick invader inside it, grabbing and squeezing it as if it was trying to send messages. Messages that were going directly to my prick until my head was starting to shake from side to side with the tension that was mounting deep inside me from several different places, all at once.

Fireworks, rockets, and explosions, went off first in my head and then quickly followed by the rest of my body, as the mother of all orgasms crashed into my body from all directions at once. My limbs strained against the ropes that held them, as the scorching physical thrill of a non-masturbation sexual release shattered me from head to foot.

For several minutes I became a shivering, stuttering wreck, that couldn't see, do, sense or feel anything at all other than the dildo imbedded in my bum, the post-orgasmic tingling in my nuts, and the continued throbbing in my prick that would continue until well after I'd finally got myself un-plugged from the dildo and was waiting for dad to come home, dressed once more like a normal fourteen year old boy. Albeit one with an itch in his anus that was going to be needed to be scratched sooner rather than later.

Chapter Eight

It was another two weeks before I put what was to be my final plan into action. Knowing that it involved a fair amount of risk on my part, I had to make sure that it would work, which is why I didn't put it into action the very next time I was at Marc's place. Instead I used that trip to put into place a few of the things I need, and also to add, slightly to Marc's secret files.

By the time the weekend in question came around, I'd discovered a great way to make sure I got the house to myself, without arousing Marc's suspicions. It was easy, as all I had to do was live up to the image of a teenager that he so often used as his 'before' example in his stories. Therefore, when it came time to do the small bits of shopping our parents wanted, I just told him I couldn't be bothered, knowing full well, that Marc – as a good boy – wouldn't be able not to do it himself. Thus I was left alone, first to explore his secret files, then add to them, and, that last weekend, to make sure Marc got, one hell of a surprise. Me.

I waited nervously for Marc to come home that day, not entirely sure how he would react, but with our parent's trips to sort out granny's business nearly at an end, it was now or never.

Hearing the front door open, I knew it was too late to go back now, as there was no way I could have released myself and put my own clothes back on, before, Marc discovered what I was up to. In fact, there was almost no way I could release myself anyway, but that was beside the point.

"I'm back Rick!" my cousin shouted from the bottom of the stairs, no doubt then pausing for me to answer that I didn't care. Only I couldn't. Not with a bright red ball in my mouth and locked behind my head.

There followed a few minutes while Marc put away the few items of shopping I'd convinced my Dad we need for our return home, and then I heard him coming up the stairs.

The creaky stair, in the corner signalled that he was at the top and from there should be to see into the room I usually used, and see it was empty. From there, I worked out, he'd first look across to the bathroom, the door of which I'd purposely left wide open, so he could see I wasn't in there.

By now, Marc would be wondering where I was, and would look towards the remaining rooms, neither of which I should be in. His mother's door was, as always closed, but his, at the end of the landing was wide open, meaning that I had to be in there. So, at this point, I stamped one of my chained feet to confirm his suspicions.

"Hey Rick, you know you're not allowed in my room." He instantly shouted, his footsteps increasing in both volume and speed, until he reached his own doorway, at which they stopped dead as they caught sight of me over in the corner.

I'd had to move a few of Marc's things around in order to stand in the corner directly opposite his door, but I don't think that is quite what made the twelve year old freeze on the threshold to his own room, with his mouth dropped open. In fact anyone would think he'd never seen a traditional short-trousered school boy, chained and ball gagged before.

It had taken me ages to get myself ready – in fact I'd started before I'd left home that morning – as it wasn't just a case of changing my jeans for shorts. Not this time. No, I did it right. Removing all my modern clothes in my room before walking naked into Marc's. Once there I quickly sorted out all the things I would need before redressing in a mixture of Marc's secret clothes and his real school uniform.

A crisp white shirt, that had been ironed and starched within a inch of its life went first, buttoned all the way up to the neck, of course, so the blue and white striped tie could be fastened, in a small knot, beneath the collar. Long, knee socks, followed, pulled up to just below the knee where a coloured stripes that matched the tie, were neatly folded down, to hold them in place at the top of my shins.

Underpants should have been next, but as there were the only things I didn't really have, what with boxers being no use for all the reasons mentioned before, I had to make do with the black Speedo Marc had had me wear while he'd tied me up that time. Still, I was sure he'd appreciate the irony in that, if indeed he even noticed given everything else I was going to be shocking him with. The main part of that, being what I did next.

The shorts were probably the thing Marc had kept most secret from anyone who he didn't know on line, but as they were also clearly a central part of his interests, they were clearly something I had to include. Mind you, I think I may have done so anyway, but that's another story.

Anyway, I stepped into the grey school shorts and pulled them up to my waist, where I carefully tucked in the shirttails, before fastening them closed, and sucking in my stomach a bit so I could close the zip over my already throbbing erection.

No doubt seeing me, his teenage cousin, as a traditional schoolboy would have been a shock for Marc, but there was more, as I was also going to chained up and gagged, so I would be completely at his command, just like he so clearly wanted.

For my bondage this time, I'd selected two familiar items from Marc's secret stash, along with one of his newest items. For reasons that will soon become clear, I started with the older items first. The ankle shackles Marc himself had used on me, so they felt strangely familiar as I locked them around my socks, just above the polished shoes I'd bought from home to complete my image as a naughty schoolboy.

I was slightly disappointed when I discovered that the ball gag, Marc owned couldn't really be locked in place, as it only had a buckle as a fastening, but a bit of research showed me a way I could add a tiny padlock to it, so that it couldn't be removed so that's what I did. The ball stretching my mouth open, before it slotted behind my teeth. The straps then emerging from either side, to be locked around the back of my head. Silence any protests I may have been inclined to make before I added the final part of my costume.

The latest device Marc had ordered had surprised me, as I hadn't been expecting it to be there, but as soon as I'd seen it, I had changed my plans so I could incorporate it into surprise. I had been intending just to handcuff my hands behind my back, but the new set of neck-wrist shackles was just so much a better idea, as it would not only ensure my hands were out of the way, but pretty much ensure that I'd have to keep them on my head, just like a naughty schoolboy would.

I had to raise my head, and keep it raised, in order to fasten the collar part of the neck-wrist restraints above the school shirt but, having the shiny metal next to the crisp white, made for a great contrast, especially with slender locking mechanism, kept at the front, so the single key hole was directly above my tie.

The collar was completely smooth all the way around, apart from two rings, fixed to either side. Onto these rings were short chains that lead to simple cuffs in the same design, of smooth metal, with just a single key hole for release. Pushing up the sleeves of my shirt a little, I soon had these fastened around each of my wrists, and locked into place finalising my schoolboy bondage.

After a final check that everything was in place – although what I'd been able to do about it with my hands stuck up by my head is another matter – I went and stood with my nose pressed to the back corner of Marc's room and waited for him to, come home, find me, and then to spot the note I'd left him.

"Rick? What?" Marc finally said after what had seemed an eternity to both of us. His eyes no doubt travelling up and down the rear of my body, from the socks, over the bare knees, to the amp, and hopefully spank-able rear packed into the short grey shorts. Up over the white shirt to where the chains, and ball gag strap were fastened behind my head.

"Is that my…?" the twelve years old started to say, before he realised that be doing so he was admitting to some of his darkest secrets.

"Who said you could look…" again his voice trailed off, as he finally entered the room, to check if his computer had been compromised, which, of course it had and he not only found it switched on, and hacked into, but a message was being displayed on the screen addressed from me to him, using the formal version of his name that no one, not even his mother used, and signed with one I usually hated.

Marcus,

I have been a bad little boy. I have snooped in all your private, secret files on your computer.

I found all your stories and pictures, as well as everything else you have been doing.

I also found all the things you have been buying on line, and have tried most of them out, as you can see.

"Oh god!" Marc mumbled under his breath as he mentally saw his entire world crashing down around him, but there was more to the message, as he read on.

It would seem that you and I like the same things, so don't worry, your secret is safe with me, as are mine with you.

So that we cannot go telling tales on each other I've taken some pictures and added them to those you already had of me on your computer.

I hope that these will enable you to write some new stories about boys being tied up and spanked, by their juniors.

"Oh god!" my young cousin repeated, as, no doubt, he'd thought the photos he'd taken when he'd tied me up, hadn't been noticed by me, which they hadn't. Not at the time, anyway, it had only been later when I'd found them and these had given me the idea to do the same. Not just to prove myself to Marc either, as he would soon discover. However before he went looking for what I'd done, there were a few more lines of the message to go.

In the meantime, I hope you will agree that I've been a naughty little schoolboy

I also hope that you will take it upon yourself, to make sure that I am punished.

And that, from this time on, will continue to do so, whenever we are alone.

Your naughty little schoolboy.

Ricky.

With my face still pointed towards the corner, Marc probably thought I couldn't see what he was doing, although I actually could, thanks to the way I had positioned a mirror over to one side. In that I could see his reflection, as he pondered what to do for a few minutes, looking at his computer and then over to where I stood and then back at the machine and the message written on it. Then, it was just like seeing the penny drop inside his head, and he turned his back on me for the first time, so he could access his computer.

I didn't need to see what, or where he was going as he navigated through the many formally secret directories on his hard drive, to know where he was going, as I'd been there so many times myself, up to and including just after he had left for the shops that very morning. There, amongst the photo archive he'd created for himself was the one I'd made, the only one he didn't know the contents of, and naturally the first one he looked at.

Inside the new folder was documented proof of everything I'd been doing over the previous two weeks with pictures of me dressed up, and undressed, trying out all the new things I'd learnt. There were shots of me tied up in various ways, and in various forms of undress. Close ups of my face with my mouth heavily gagged, my feet chained, my bum reddened from self-spanking, and, of course, in all of them, my own enjoyment of the situation was displayed by the erection pushing out the front of whatever I was wearing. Then there were the final shots that showed me playing with the toys I'd 'borrowed' from his collection, several weeks earlier. And playing with them in the 'proper' way to, both top and, especially bottom.

"Shit!" Marc said when he saw the one with that days date superimposed in the corner, of me pushing his largest butt plug, up my bum before I'd started to get dressed up for him. This, believe it or not, was, I think the first and last time that I ever heard him swear, which should give you a pretty good idea of what he was thinking at the time. Not that he was in shock for long.

As I said at the start of this tale, Marc was always one for thinking problems out, while I would rush in and try them out without a second's thought, and this occasion, despite all the shock he was undoubtedly going through was no different. True, it took him a few minutes to pull himself together, and a few more for him to decide what he was going to do with the opportunity I was giving him. It then took him a few more minutes to get himself ready.

"Wait there!" he told me while he had a quick rummage around the room, before departing, along with the things he'd found.

Him leaving wasn't quite in the scheme of things I had thought would happen, but, I managed to stay in character and waited for him to come back. This was just as well, as one of the things Marc had taken with him was the keys to the shackles I was locked into, and to the padlock securing the ball gag in place. However, that was nothing to the surprise Marc had in store for me, when he did return, as by that time, I wasn't the only one dressed up.

"Turn around Ricky!" he instructed me from the doorway, where he remained as I complied, so that the first look I had of him was with him silhouetted by the sunlight shining onto the landing behind him and if my mouth hadn't been fully gagged then I think it would have dropped open every bit as much as his had done when he'd first seen me. He no longer looked like my little cousin, but more like an elder one.

Marc also wore a slightly out dated school uniform only while the one I had on, with the tiny shorts, made me look younger than I really was, his made him appear older, thanks to the long, slender fit grey trousers and the dark blazer, complete with school crest on the breast pocket. His, shirt and tie matched the ones I had on – as well they would given they were his own – but what set the entire thing off was the single simple badge he wore with obvious pride the lapel of his blazer. PREFECT.

"I am your new Prefect, Ricky," Marc said, his voice sounding both deeper and more masterful than I'd ever heard it before, "And from now on you will do EVERYTHING I tell you to. Is that understood?"

After swallowing a lump in my throat, caused by the final part of my plan slotting into place, I gave a single, simple nod.

"That's good because you have been a very bad little schoolboy haven't you Ricky?"

Again I nodded.

"You've been snooping into thing which you shouldn't have, and making free with other people's property some of which you are currently wearing, are you not?"

Another nod.

"That uniform, for example, that isn't yours is it?"

My head moved from side to side.

"Neither are the restraints you have helped yourself to?"

The shaking continued.

"Or, the item that I believe you are wearing inside your naughty little bum?"

I paused the shaking of my head for a second, confused by the question, and the realisation that he knew about the butt plug that had been inside me since I'd left home that morning, and which now I was almost totally used to, having inserted up my arse. Then, I nodded, and Marc smiled.

"That's what I thought, well you know what's going to happen now, don't you?"

I nodded, even though I wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say, but could guess that whatever it was, I was going to enjoy it. Sort off.

"You are going to have to be punished, and as your prefect it falls to me, to bring you back into line."

My nodding continued, even though he hadn't actually asked a question this time and had continued to talk.

"After that has been done we shall see what else needs to be done in order to change you into a good little boy who can honour and serve his prefect, whenever his prefect wants it."

Given the tightness of Marc's trousers is was fairly obvious just what it was that he thought a good little boy would be doing for his prefect, and, to be honest, my own thoughts weren't all that far away. I didn't need to look down at myself to know that there was an similar lump in my own, equally tight, but much shorter trousers. That said, my erection nearly disappeared when Marc showed me just how he was going to punish me.

The cane had been hidden on top of his wardrobe, which was somewhere I'd never looked in all my snooping, so it came as a surprise when Marc, still standing on his desk chair in order to reach it, swung it through the air, so it made a near evil swishing sound.

"I'm going to cane you." He informed me, as if I couldn't have worked that out for myself, "And I'm going to cane you hard for the things you've done so bend over and prepare to be punished properly."

Another lump appeared in my throat that needed swallowing down, but it just wouldn't go, as I shuffled my shackled feet around away from my cousin, and bent over. As I did so, I could feel the shorts tighten across my bum, pushing the butt plug even more into my stuffed hole, as I got ready to be captured on film having my first ever caning as a naughty little boy.

Marc had his digital camera, set up in seconds, pointing it at me, with the pictures it took, displaying themselves on his monitor as and when they were automatically taken, so we both not only got to feel what it was like to give and receive a caning, but also to see one as well.

And so, with a swish of the cane that had never been used before the scene was set between Marc and me. From that moment on, our relationship was never going to be the same again. The balance of power had shifted from where it had rested with me, the oldest by nearly three years, over to my younger cousin whose duty it now was to order me about as, and when, he saw fit.

I never got to wear long trousers again, at least not while I was with Marc – or Marcus as he was soon calling himself – and we were alone. In fact, on a lot of those occasions I didn't even get to wear them, or anything else, come to that. Marcus insisting on keeping me naked instead, and more often than not, tied or chained up, in some way or other, gagged and plugged as well.

And, just like I'd predicted, Marc wrote stories about everything we did, and from the money that it created, we were able to buy more and more toys, to use, which fuelled even more money for more toys. So everyone ended up happy, even if it meant I would end up having trouble walking and/or sitting down, for one reason or another, whenever I returned home. But we were happy. Very happy, now that we'd found our roles in life.

The End