Daniel

I Have a Strange Fetish

Chapter One

Once I got some privacy at home, I would strip naked, take out whatever I had gotten, and slowly, deliberately slip into my new acquisitions. If it were gym clothes, I would first put on the shorts, feel them tighten round my hips and buttocks. This was around 1980, so it would be a tight fit. I would watch myself in my full-length mirror, a skinny, blond curly-haired kid wearing just a pair of dark blue nylon shorts, then pick up a light blue plain cotton t-shirt. Pulling it over my head, I would sniff up the still-lingering scent of the boy who wore it before me, just a few hours prior, a boy I would know from school, someone I could watch from my desk, whose voice I knew, whose eyes I knew, what made him laugh, what made him mad. I would sit down and do my homework wearing that boy's clothes, pretending I was that boy doing his homework at his desk.

When I occasionally managed to get hold of a pair of underwear, I would sniff their insides, just out of curiosity. Strange thing is, I cannot recall ever having done the same with my own underwear. But checking another boy out like that was quite intriguing. Once when I was nine, I got my best friend Christian's undies home. A nice pair of blue briefs with a red waistband and crotch details. Christian was a little smaller than me, so naturally he wore clothes a size smaller. His undies were also a size smaller, so they would be quite snug around my waist. Before putting them on, I sniffed them, front first, drawing the stale urine smell up my nostrils. I went for the back, drawing back for a second; Christian had had quite an 'accident' in there. The skid mark was some one and a half inches [4 cm] long and quite crusty. I sniffed a little bit, then opened my mouth, inhaling the musty aroma. My tongue came out, wetting it up a bit, then I found I could actually peel a little bit off using my teeth. The tiny clump, no bigger than a pea, fell onto my tongue. 'Well, I got this far, might as well keep going,' I thought. So I gulped it up. The aftertaste was not very pleasant (actually – neither was the foretaste), but it was certainly exciting. Looking down, I came to inspect my willy pointing in a distinctly forward-upward direction. Feeling a little embarrassed, I took a last sniff at the urine in the crotch, then pulled the blue-and-red briefs up my legs, adjusting the waistband. I looked at myself in the mirror. They were a tight fit, but they worked. Actually, I found the tightness comfortable. My little hard-on showed clearly through the blue fabric, two small mounds appearing to be supporting a central proud pillar. Turning around and looking at the mirror over my head, I regarded my little buttocks with the little dark blue crack running through the middle. Against my fair skin, the blue formed a stark contrast. I breathed in deeply through my nose, relishing the remaining whiffs of Christian's body produce. Having put on the undies, I knew that it would never feel as good as it did that first time. But I loved the feeling. I relished it, wearing the briefs virtually non-stop for a week, taking them off only to shower, and on the day we had gym. After all, I didn't want Christian to recognize them, did I?

But I wore them, enjoyed them at night in bed, stroking my little willy stiff through the fabric, feeling as if I caressed a part of Christian, my best friend. At the time I wasn't able to understand the sexual enjoyment of it. I only knew that I liked it. I didn't realize then that I was setting off on a very complex journey, on a train that would be increasingly difficult to hop off.

When I was ten we moved to England. It was at this point that my games took on a new dimension. I got interested in the adventures of English films and TV-series. Stories in which boys around my age found themselves in danger, kidnapped, taken hostage, somehow being imprisoned, often tied up. Movies from the Children's Film Foundation like Cry Wolf and Black Island, where young boys got in trouble with criminals and were tied up for shorter or longer periods. Another particular favourite of mine was Break Out, where two boys are kidnapped by escaped convicts and have to come along on a road trip. The boys were never tied up (unfortunately), but they wore cute regular clothes that I would have loved to wear. In my fantasies I would be one of those kidnapped boys, imagining his grey clothes, white underwear and yellow and grey sneakers. Of course, in my fantasies, I would be tied up. The same thing went for the Michael Caine movie The Black Windmill, where you only had short scenes with the little kidnapped boy. He wasn't tied up either. But: he wore a school uniform! With shorts! Oh, how I longed to have such a school uniform with a grey long-sleeved shirt and a school tie (that would be used as a gag) and knee-length woollen socks, and be kidnapped and held prisoner for the longest time in a dirty, secluded place where no one would think to look. And, as opposed to this movie as well, I would be tied up all the time. Or maybe sit in a cage or a dark locked closet.

I would lie awake at night thinking up stories where I was the imprisoned kid. Soon I was experimenting with ropes and tape. As for clothing, I would have to make due with a limited supply. I didn't have the guts to take anything from my new school (which naturaly had very strict rules on stealing and other such behaviour), so mostly I had to use my own clothes, mainly those that were a little bit smaller. I lucked out that first summer as my cousin, who was about the same age and size as me, came to visit us for a few weeks. I managed to 'put away' a little selection from his packing, including, luckily enough, a pair of very worn sneakers that were actually thrown away and replaced during his stay, so nobody ever thought to ask about them. His clothes were the best of my current loot, so I used them only for special, especially exciting sessions.

The special occasions normally took place on weekend nights, when I would spend the late night reading in bed, waiting for my parents to go to sleep. Thankfully, they normally did this quite early, so around ten-thirty or so the house would be completely silent. This gave me the chance to sneak out. I had been fortunate enough to get the room with a direct exit onto our balcony, from where you had a nice view overlooking a part of the Thames. Using my boyish climbing skills and a great deal of courage and strong will, I had found a way to climb down from the balcony to the ground, thus giving me a clever escape route into adventure. Once down I had a short rush to our boat house, which was quite derelict and dreary from years of poor maintenance, but served as a perfect hiding place for my little night games. This was also where I kept my tie-up materials.

The boathouse was a two-story wooden building with mooring space for a medium-size boat. We did not have a boat, so the house was left completely alone by my parents, which suited me fine. As you entered through the side door (that was always left unlocked for fear that the lock would get stuck), immediately to the right you would encounter a staircase leading to the upper room. Staying on the ground floor and going around the staircase, underneath it you would find a storage space that was now just about empty, with the exception of a few thick mooring ropes and a few good-size fishing nets. Over the last year, both had become quite useful for my purposes. If you were to go straight ahead from the entrance, you would go through another door and down a few steps that led out to the lower level of the boathouse proper. When the water level was high you would get your feet wet walking around this concrete floor. It was also a quick way into the water.

If you didn't go through that door but up the stairs instead, as I did now, you would come into a room that was probably at one time furnished into a really cosy little guest room. Whoever had done this must have put his soul into it, because the detail work – I now realize – was ingenious. All the furniture was carefully made in wood and had actually been built into the structure, just as it would on a boat. This meant, of course, that the room still had all its furniture intact.

In one corner was a queen-size bed, now fitted with a mattress. After months of begging I had gotten my parents to give me a chance to sleep alone out there for a few summer nights. Over the winter it was too cold for that, but soon it would be summer again. As you can guess, I couldn't wait.

In the other corner, a good-size table with four sturdy steel legs had been bolted into the floor. Along the wall, seating had been provided in the form of sofas, that also doubled up as storage boxes. In one of these boxes I kept the majority of my equipment. By this time, my collection was quite sophisticated for an eleven-year-old. Except for ropes of all sorts of different lengths, widths and fabrics, I had acquired some lengths of chain as well as a few rolls of duct tape. In my father's tool collection (which I knew he would never use) I had found two packets of padlocks, put to good use on the chains.

Down in the boathouse I could roam quite freely even during the day, but at night, I had even more freedom to play. Down here, I could figure out all kinds of tie-ups, imagine different ways to be kept prisoner. One of my favorite games involved an old, brown pair of sweatpants of my own, from which I had cut off the foot cuffs so that they finished about half way up my lower legs. Add to that a likewise worn and cut-up greenish sweatshirt and a pair of old black Reebok leather sneakers (also very worn, with holes in the soles and whatnot), and suddenly I was Oliver Twist, kidnapped by Fagin's gang or, even better, by a sinister Bill Sykes. Wearing this, I would for example tied to one of the poles supporting the boathouse out in the water. The water was not terribly deep, but enough to keep me up to my waist in cold, muggy water, with my legs knee-deep in mud. Before getting out of the water I would have to get down on my knees, thus getting my entire lower body covered in sticky mud, and keeping my head just above water. Then I would have to come up and spend time 'to dry' tied up in a spot outside, reasonably hidden from view of course, but where the icy winds would 'teach me' not to search for adventures again. Naturally this would not deter me, so the next time I would be forced to do other uncomfortable things.

Throughout my first autumn, winter and spring in England I would sneak out almost every Friday night. I wouldn't just stay in the boat house of course, but I would roam about the neighbourhood, even sneaking into our neighbours' outhouses and sheds, spying and 'getting caught' and being tied up in different places. I never thought much about the risk of being discovered. I should have, of course, but when you're a kid, you don't think about consequences the way you probably should.

On a Friday night in the early summer I got into my cousin's clothes. These consisted of a pair of blue underwear with little black stars along with a plain red cotton t-shirt. Over the underwear I pulled a pair of blue football shorts with white pin stripes on the side, fashionably short and tight 'in the right places.' I pulled on a pair of light blue ankle socks with one red and one white decorative stripe, then finished with his worn, royal blue sneakers with white stripes. It was only fortunate that this mix I'd put together (stolen…) were such a perfect match.

Wearing this sporty outfit, I climbed out into the lukewarm night. As usual, my first destination was the boathouse.

Tonight one of the chains and some padlocks came in handy. I got this out along with a few one centimetre-thick [half inch] white cotton ropes – my favourites, acquired from the skipping rope collection of my old school – and a roll of duct tape.

While in my bed earlier, I had already played out the scenario of being surprised by burglars in my bedroom. They had drugged me with chloroform and then kidnapped me, and now I was setting myself up for 'waking up' in a secret, secure place.

I sat down by the table and tied a rope to one of the table legs, securing it with a knot that would be impossible to reach from the table top (where I would soon find myself. In the rope I had made a loop, through which I pulled the length of chain, already prepared with padlocks. This would serve as handcuffs. I the crossed over to the opposite side of the table, diagonally across from the handcuff-leg. I tied a longer rope to this leg. Next, I climbed onto the table which, as I mentioned before, was very solidly built. The tabletop was made of oak and was almost eight centimetres [3 inch] thick.

Once on the table, I wound a rope around my ankles, then secured that rope with a cinch inbetween my legs. I made an extra cinch using the rope I had secured to the table leg, thus trapping my legs to the structure. Next, I took the roll of duct tape. Since it was a warm night, and since I had recently acquired the irritating habit of sweating, a simple strip over the mouth wouldn't do (they don't really work anyway, I know this from experience). I decided to make it a real gag, so I wound the tape tightly over my mouth and behind my neck three times before tearing it off. I knew removing it later would be painful, but it was something I would have to take. No pain, no gain as they say, and besides, I was a kidnap victim, and that wasn't supposed to be comfortable, was it?

With the duct tape in place, I now turned around to continue with my hands. With my feet tied as they were, this meant that I effectively got down on my stomach across the table, pulling my arms out as far as I could in front of me in order to reach the 'handcuffs.' Now you are probably wondering, so I shall explain: in my preparation I had tied a thin and very long string to the middle of the chain, at the other end of which I had secured the key to the padlocks. The string was some four metres [13 feet] long, so it would take a bit of time and work to pull it into my hands, but, I did have the means to free myself.

One last thing before securing my hands. I had, as most boys in the eighties, a cool, black digital watch with plenty of functions (for younger readers, this was our version of having your own Iphone…). One of the more useful functions was and alarm clock. Bracing myself up on my elbows, I now set that alarm to go off at 11:45, leaving me with just over forty-five minutes of captivity. I had gradually increased this time from ten minutes to begin with. I could actually by this time spend two to three hours tied up, but then it would have to be in a more comfortable position than this.

This done, I now stretched my arms out and grabbed the chain. I wound the chain twice around my left wrist, then pulled one of the padlocks through all three links before snapping it shut, enclosing the chain tightly and somewhat painfully. I did the same with my right wrist. As the padlock closed I felt a tingle, as I was now well and truly caught. My first thought, as always, was whether I had remembered my 'security string' to the key. I pushed a sigh of relief through my nose as I felt it there in the middle.

Now I was almost done. To finish off, I just had to maneuvre myself around so I could lie on my back, which I felt would be the logical way for my 'kidnappers' to arrange me. Using the utmost of my boy dexterity, I managed to achieve this gymnastic and somewhat painful exercise. Now I was lying stretched out on the table, captured and helpless. I pictured myself from above, a slender, fairly tall eleven-year-old with short blond curls, dressed in just a red t-shirt, blue shorts and blue socks and shoes. Over the mouth a tightly wound strip of duct tape, the ankles tightly wound together, and the vulnerable body stretched diagonally across the strong and solid table, arms pulled up over the head, the hands finishing up in a tight metal embrace continuing down to where the knots to freedom could never be reached. I imagined waking up like this after having been drugged and kidnapped from my own bedroom, wondering where I was, who had done this, and what would happen to me. I moaned through the gag, the sound trumpeting through the silence about me. I imagined the my captor would come in through the door, looking down at me, explaining that I was kidnapped and that I was just to be a good boy and I could go home soon, as long as I didn't cause any trouble. I lay there, terrified in my fantasy, nodding to my imagined captor that I had understood.

Then suddenly something unexpected broke the real silence around me. From the staircase below. A footstep, then another one, accompanied by a slight creak which I knew came from the fourth step up on the staircase. I thought fast. Could I be imagining it? No way. Somebody was there. And that somebody would be up the stairs and in this room at any second. I realized at once that it must be my father. I would be caught, have a lot of explaining to do in the morning, and probably (definitely) I would have to stop my games, burn all my clothes, see a psychologist, go to military school. My mind raced as I resigned myself to this. I saw a shadow taking the last few steps up, more confident now it was obvious I had also noticed. And in the door there stood…

Chapter Two

I came back to reality. I may not have been showing off my best behaviour at the time, but this was my house, my property, and this boy was trespassing. I had more right to be here than he did. I had to get some control over the situation, so I started pulling the padlock key towards me. The boy noticed this, of course. His eyes traveled across the floor, found the key that was slowly moving towards me. He smiled at me, not viciously, rather michievously, and quickly walked across the room. My pulling was abruptly halted, and I realized that he had stepped on the key. I moaned through the gag, trying to get him to let it go. Of course he wouldn't, and he confirmed this by shaking his head, his smile and icy stare confirming that he was in control, that he was enjoying it, and that he would not give up that control any time soon. At least not before he felt like it.

With a swift movement the untied the little string from the chain holding my hands, pulled up the slack and showed me he held the key, then put it in his pocket. I wanted to protest, but of course I couldn't.

Having ascertained that I was now completely at his mercy, the blackhaired boy now started to look me over properly. He circled the table checking me out from every angle. He touched me lightly around my ankles, then my wrists, studying the bindings I had constructed. Having satisfied himself, he sat down on the sofa-box beside me.

"Not bad. You've obviously had a lot of practice, but of course I already knew that. I've tested some tying-up myself, but I haven't gotten as far as you."

From the first sentence he spoke, I gathered a great deal of facts about this new acquaintance of mine:

1. He spoke with Received Pronunciation, indicating that he went to a good school and was, probably, a good student;
2. He was interested in tying himself up just like me;
3. He was impressed with my work, and possibly (hopefully?) he wanted to explore this interest with me;
4. He KNEW that it was not the first time I had tied myself up, meaning he had seen me before.

As I was taking all this in, he picked the roll of duct tape up, then spoke again:

"I have a few questions I wanted to ask you, but I have a feeling I need to control you a little more to ensure I get good answers. So before I take that tape off your mouth I'm going to blindfold you." Seeing my eyes widen in fear he continued, "I understand you're a little nervous, so I'll explain something to you. I've been watching you for a while now, and I know you don't mind being a prisoner. The difference here is that you have no control of the situation. I have all the control. And I am enjoying it immensely. Do you understand?"

I nodded. What else could I do?

"I'm not going to do anything to hurt you. And I will let you go when we're finished. I promise I will be responsible, and you will have to trust me. Afterwards, I think you will realise that it was enjoyable. OK?"

I sighed through my nose, thinking it over. Obviously there was little I could do about the situation. I was caught. I knew it and he knew it. And hadn't I just reasoned with myself that when you're kidnapped, you have to do as your captor says, for your own good. I would just have to play along and hope that he was worthy of his trust. I nodded, trying my best to look reluctant as I did so.

"Good," he said, picking the duct tape up again. He pulled off a nice long strip, held it over my face. I closed my eyes in anticipation and in the next second, my world was black.

"Nice," I heard through the darkness. "Now I'm going to pull the tape off your mouth. It's going to hurt a bit, but I guess you realised that from the start anyway." With that he started pulling the tape off. I lay still and just let him do it. I twitched a bit as the hairs in my neck were pulled out, but otherwise I was still and obedient, like a good prisoner. He worked swiftly and efficiently, and after just a few seconds I was able to breathe through my mouth again, although I was too scared to speak or – god forbid – scream.

"There, that should do it. Just to let you know, in case you make too much noise, I am taking my hanky out of my pocket now [I heard the rustling of fabric], and if I need to keep you quiet, then I will put it in your mouth. Now, I have had a bit of a cold lately, so it's not entirely clean. In fact – [I heard what was undoubtedly a nose being blown empty of its content] – I just added some fresh produce to it. So just think about that. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"No," he said, "it doesn't mean you can't speak at all. I just want you to speak quietly so nobody but me can hear you. We're just having a normal conversation here, all right?"

I gulped down the lump of nervous fear hindering my speech. 'Normal conversation,' yeah right…But who was I to disagree?

"I understand," I replied, in a half whisper.

"Good. Now, I'm going to ask you some questions and you're going to answer them like a nice and polite boy. And just to make it interesting, if I am not satisfied with your answers, I will introduce a bit of a forfeit. Do you know what a forfeit is?"

"No."

"Well, it's kind of like a punishment you have to pay if you don't follow a rule. Your problem, of course, is that I make up the rules. You'll have to figure them out along the way. Not very fair, I know, but of course, I get to determine what's fair. You with me so far?"

"Yes…but what's the forfeit?"

"Well, for every answer I'm not happy with, I'm going to pull one piece of your clothing off. Not all the way of course, since you're tied up. Just enough to show you off a bit."

Show me off a bit? What did he mean? "Okaay…?"

"Yeh, just a little. Don't want to ruin your clothes, do we?"

I didn't answer, in fact I was not quite sure what to say.

"Well, since you're having difficulty even with the easier questions, how about I just show you what I mean?"

With that he grabbed the bottom of my t-shirt and, before I quite knew what was happening, pulled it up over my head, hooking it behind my shoulders.

"Wait, what are you…" I managed to blurt out before I was silenced by his big hand. I noticed that his hand was very sweaty.

"Now now, what did we say about talking too loud. You get off with a warning this time, but next time you're tasting what the inside of my nose is like."

"There, that's better," the boy continued as I settled down. "My my, this is nice. Your rib cage is raised up so that I can see every bone in your chest. I can count them, see? One, two, three, four…"

I lay in silence, uncomfortable but mainly frustrated. I was caught between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand I was scared to death and just wanting to get out. I even tried pulling my hands loose, even though I knew the chain was relentless and would only offer me pain. On the other hand, I was relishing this, loving each moment of my predicament, my helplessness. I let him count my ribs one by one, up one side and down the other. I let him caress my chest, push a finger into my belly button (a slight innie), twirl a finger and push down on my nipples. He didn't pinch them though. There was, in fact, no pain whatsoever except for the one around my wrists, and that was self-inflicted. If he had hurt me, I would probably have stopped there and then. But he didn't. He just felt me up, now easing the back of his hand from cheek to cheek and over my mouth, now sliding both hands down my sides, from armpits to hips, noticing and taking care to avoid as much as possible my ticklish spots.

"So how old are you?"

"Eleven, well, eleven and a half."

"And a half," he copied me, mockingly. "When's your birthday then?" His hands now moved down to my legs, gliding down the outside of my left, then up the inside of my right. Slowly and tenderly, like he was feeling every muscle inside me.

"November." I swallowed hard again. His hand was lingering just beneath my crotch. I felt two fingers pinching the fabric of my shorts, lifting up the inside thigh part, offering a glimpse at my briefs."

"November eh? So what's with the tying up thing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, why do you do it, how long have you been doing it, how often do you do it, any favourite way to be tied up, things like that. You can tell me, I won't tell anyone else."

"Well, I've been doing it for a year or so, like since I was ten. Nowadays I do it as often as I can…"

"…which means just about every night, from what I gather. Go on then."

"I don't know why I do it, it's just a game I guess, like an adventure."

"Like an adventure? Like it makes you feel excited? Like down there, you know?"

"Down there? What do you mean?" Well, I had an idea of what he meant, but it felt embarrassing to talk about it like that. As time had progressed, I had had a few dry orgasms, and they certainly had felt exciting 'down there.' But I wasn't about to admit that to this boy. Or so I thought.

"What do I mean? I think you know exactly what I mean. That's going to lose you your shoes."

I heard him get up from where he'd been sitting on my right side and soon I felt my shoes being tugged off, first the right, then the left. He didn't bother to undo the laces first, so it took some effort. Once they popped off, I reflexively wiggled my blue-socked toes as they enjoyed their unexpected (relative) freedom.

"There. Not much more to lose now Goldilocks." The boy had moved back up to my head – now on my left side – and tousled my blond hair as if baptising me with my new nickname. A nickname I would have to live with for a long time from now.

"So. We'll try again. Do you get excited DOWN HERE?" For the end of the sentence he had pedagogically moved his head very close to my middle area, so I could not mistake what part of my body he was referring to.

"Oh, that," I answered, trying to sound casual. "Yeah, I guess I feel something weird down there sometimes. Why?"

"I ask the questions, Goldilocks. But I'll answer this one for you, just this once. Because that 'something weird' is what it's all about. It's what we boys and men live for, what gets us going and gets us through life. And doing what you do here, it's forbidden, it's naughty, and it's dangerous. After all, you could get caught doing it, couldn't you?"

Well, it was difficult denying the last part. Inside my blindfold, I listened with interest as this older, in my mind much more experienced boy explained the facts of life to me. He continued:

"I'm sure that's why you get into these clothes as well. I've been watching you going to and from school. Your parents like for you to wear nice and fancy clothes, don't they, so I expect these clothes aren't even yours. Am I right?"

I was just about to answer when a beeping sound broke through the silence. I shuddered. It was my alarm clock. I had been lying here for nearly an hour, most of that time a prisoner for real. And the way things were going, it was going to take a while before I was released.

"Sorry," I mumbled as I pushed the off button on my wristwatch. My wrists were really beginning to ache. I was hoping we would be done soon, and that he would let me go. At least I was getting the certain feeling that I was in no danger. Still, it was kind of painful lying there stretched out like this.

"That's allright. How long have we been at it?"

"It's a quarter to twelve. Nearly an hour."

"An hour. That's a long time. And we've got more to talk about, don't we?"

"I guess…"

"So, what about the clothes. Are they yours?"

I sighed, then started to explain about my interest in clothing, about stealing from the school locker rooms, about my current outfit being my cousin's, rambling on about other outfits I'd like to try but were hard to get by, such as school uniforms, nice and tight jeans, pajamas and so on.

"Wow, you are some weird kid, I must admit," the boy said when I had finished. He fell silent, took a walk around me, even sat down in the relative distance of the bed. I didn't say anything, worried (and pretty certain) that it might lose me the rest of my clothes. I wasn't sure I was ready for that…yet. Finally he got up and spoke again. As he spoke the caressed my hair, then the rest of the exposed parts of my body. As he did so, a warm feeling started growing inside me. My heart beat faster and my breathing quicker. In short, the combination of his words and his touch got me very excited. This is what he said:

"Well Goldilocks, I guess this is your lucky day – or night. It just so happens that I have free access to my old clothes. School uniforms, underwear, sports clothes, the lot. And I have a very nice, private room of my own with plenty of ropes and other stuff available. So I think we can make a pleasant arrangement. I kind of like the idea of having somebody like you around, somebody who likes being tied up, I mean. So if you promise to accept the things I do to you – and make you do – I promise you can try on any of the clothes I have available. And I will tie you up and keep you prisoner in all sorts of ways. But it will all be a game and you won't get hurt for real. Just pushed around and humiliated, but it's all for fun. Somehow I think we would both enjoy it. Do you like the idea?"

"Yes… yes, absolutely. You can do anything you want. But you have to let me go afterwards."

"Obviously. Your parents would probably start looking for you after a while, and chances are we would be discovered. Neither of us would want that, would we?"

I shook my head. "So when do we start?"

"It seems to me we've already started. It's getting late, so we'd better finish up for tonight, but if you come out here tomorrow night about the same time, I'm sure we can arrange something. Can you do that."

"Yes, yes I can. I will. So, are we done for tonight?" By now my arms were really numb, so I was getting anxious to get some movement back into them.

"Not quite. I have a few more questions and a few more things I want to do. You say you're just eleven?"

"Yes, well, eleven and a half."

"Yeah right, 'and a half.' Well, you might be a little too young for this, but… do you know how to wank off?"

"Huh?"

"Wank off, you know, toss off, jerk off, pull your meat, masturbate…"

"Oh masturbate! Well, not really. I understand the general idea, but I'm not sure how to do it."

"Understand the general idea… groan! Well, I think such a stupid answer deserves another loss of clothing, which will give me a chance to demonstrate."

With that I felt a tug at my shorts, and soon they were down around my knees, leaving me stretched out in just my blue-and-star briefs. In my excited state I am sure the middle of my body looked like a little camping site with just one tent. Starry sky and all.

"Oh good, you've gotten started already. Well, let me explain. Wanking off is what you do to get that exciting feeling 'down there,' as we were talking about before. The wanking is something you do to quicken the process, as it were. In short, you get your wanker – your penis – to grow as big as possible as quickly as possible, then try to keep it big for as long as possible. When you can't hold it anymore, you suddenly feel very very good. Here, I'll demonstrate."

I felt his hand grab onto my prick through the briefs. I started to protest, a little too loudly, and was of course rewarded with a mouthful of handkerchief. A used handkerchief. A handkerchief into which this boy had blown a fresh wad of snot less than another ago. A wad of snot that was now in direct contact with my tongue. I yelled through the gag, trying to push it out, but was hindered by a big, strong hand.

"Shh, shh, this is your first lesson. If you can keep this gag in your mouth for a while, then you've passed your first test. Then I will start making you feel good. You see, you will always have to give me something before I give you something back. That's how things will work. Now as far as the hankie. I can tape your mouth up to keep it in there, but either way it stays where it is. I prefer seeing it sticking out through your lips like this though, it looks great. So what's it gonna be. Tape or no tape? Will you keep it in there willfully?"

I nodded. Either way, I would lose. Besides, after the first shock, I was now a bit more relaxed about this our first exchange of body liquids, gross though it was. It didn't taste that bad. I relaxed, trying to show him I resigned to his wishes – again.

"Good. Now, where were we? Oh yes, wanking. Well, normally you keep your wanker, or considering your size, your little willy, out in the open, but sometimes it can feel good to just rub it through your clothes, just like this. As you rub it, then knead it, quite roughly, it get gradually harder and bigger, yes, just like this, and then you can tickle you little balls like that and it makes it grow a bit more, and then you rub it some more and then…yes, that's it! Feels great, doesn't it? Woah, easy, easy!"

I couldn't have answered, even if I had been ungagged. The whole situation, being tied up, helpless, at this boy's complete mercy, stretched out before him practically naked with nothing to do about it, chewing on a soiled handkerchief while having my first willy-massage…it was all so much. In a matter of seconds, my world exploded in an electric conjunction of feelings and emotions. Pain. Fear. Revulsion. Trust. Mistrust. Desire. I felt my body rising, stretching against the relentless bonds, shaking and convulsing. But for the gag, I would have screamed my heart out. And as I felt it, I knew that this was it. This was what I wanted. Right now. Right then. And I wanted more of it. And soon.

It was a dry orgasm, to be sure, but it was powerful. Exhausting but wonderful. I lay there, still stretched out on my back, my body completely spent after that enormous release. At the time, it almost felt as if I had passed out, but probably I was still fully conscious, just temporarily transported to another world. A dreamworld of emotions, of adventures of the past and the present and hopefully of the future.

The boy brought me back to the present. "Well, that was something else. I don't know where you went, but it sure seemed a nice place to be. And it looks like you spent most of it." He gave a little wiggle on my prick, which by now had returned back to its normal, flaccid state. His touch, even through the briefs, felt a little sore. I now felt empty, tired, ready to sleep. Yet as I was about to find out, we were not done yet.

"We have just one more thing to do, then I'll give you your key and be on my way. And for that, I'm going to give you your last forfeit for the night. But I don't want to embarrass you too much, so first I'm going to turn you onto your stomach."

And this he did, but not without protests from me. By now I was really tired, and I was getting frustrated. I wanted to go home, lie down in my bed and sleep. It wasn't to be, however, as my captor roughly turned me over so I was lying on my stomach, my blindfolded and gagged face down on the tabletop, trapped between my numb arms. Lying still for so long, I had worked out quite a sweat down my back, and I now felt it against the chill of the room. Right now nothing felt the way it had no more than ten minutes ago. Now everything was uncomfortable. Irritating. Frustrating. Right now I was really a prisoner. I really wanted to cry, but I held it back, feeling that would only satisfy this kid who was now just enjoying himself at my expense. I resigned my self to the fact that I was still at his mercy, hoping it wouldn't take long until he felt he got what he wanted.

"That's nice. And now: for the forfeit." I knew what was coming, of course, so I was not surprised when I felt a finger slowly gliding in under my briefs, in the little valley offered by my crack. The finger slowly pulled the fabric down, gradually exposing my buttocks. There was a shift, then a hand on either hip, and the briefs were pulled down to join my shorts by my knees. It didn't stop there, however, as both shorts and briefs were pulled down as far as possible, stopping around my socks where my ankles where cinched together.

"OK, that should do it…no, it's not perfect. I know, hold on. This will be a little uncomfortable, but it's just for a little while, OK?"

I actually nodded slightly, just wanting him to get on with it. What he did was to take a big coil of rope and, by getting me to lift up slightly, slide it in under my front, so that my buttocks came up some fifteen centimetres [6 inch]. This did not add to my comfort, as my arms and legs were stretched out even more, but somehow I just magaged to do it. Now I was lying face down, diagonally across the table, going absolutely nowhere, my middle raised at a slight angle to expose my butt just a little bit more.

The next few minutes were excruciating as the boy…well, the way I see it now, he raped me with his eyes. Even though I was in darkness, even though my head was trapped between my tied arms, even though I was completely inexperienced, I understood what he was doing as I felt him just looking me over, occasionally just touching slightly me with a finger or the back of his hand or the palm of his hand. Just soft touches on my curly hair, along the balls of my socked feet, between my slender shoulder blades, lightly over my crack and buttocks. No penetration, just touches. But I felt his icy eyes, ogling me. Yes, he raped me with his eyes.

Just as I felt I couldn't stand it anymore, I heard him cross over to the bed. He sat down on it, then seemed to slide over towards the wall to give him some support for his back. Despite my recent lesson, I couldn't make out what happened next, but afterwards I have figured out that he pulled his pants down and jerked himself off while enjoying the view of my trapped and exposed naked form. Probably thinking of what he could do to me should he feel like it.

Finally he got up without a word. Suddenly he got very efficient. I felt something being lodged into my butt crack, then he resolutely pulled my briefs and shorts up to where he had first found them before pulling that coil of rope away so I could lower myself down onton the tabletop. Finally, he helped me turn around, then pulled my red t-shirt back down, even tucking it into my shorts. He skipped the shoes though. He grabbed my wristwatch, and I felt him fiddling around with its buttons. Then he retied the key string to the chain, as it had been from the start. To finish, he leaned over me and said almost in a whisper.

"Thank you very much for a nice evening, Goldilocks. I have set your alarm to two o'clock, which is in about ten minutes. That gives me time to get away, so you're not allowed to free yourself until the alarm goes off. Then I hope to see you again tomorrow night. I trust that I will."

He got up and started to leave, then turned in the doorway.

"By the way, I have left you with two handkerchiefs. You can keep them and their contents as presents for now. See you tomorrow Goldilocks."

I heard his quick steps down the stairs, then was left in silence. I layed there waiting for the alarm clock, not daring to break his intructions. But by the time the alarm sounded, I had already collected the key into my hand so I could dispose of the padlocks as quickly as possible. The flood of pain as the blood reentered my hands nearly made me cry. I slowly got my movement and strength back as I gingerly pulled the handkerchief out (the snot disobediently sticking to my tongue), then pulled the tape off my eyes. I slowly rose up and just sat there for a few minutes, getting the upper part of my body back together before untying my legs. This proved very difficult. Not only were my hands still not functioning properly, all the rope knots had tightened up during my struggles. Eventually I managed to get them off, by which time it was already twenty after two.

I stowed my tie-up equipment away, stepped into my (cousin's) shoes, then made my way slowly down the stairs. I was feeling a bit dizzy from exhaustion and excitement. I was apprehensive about seeing the boy again the next night, yet, in my heart, I knew I would.

I climbed up to the balcony and slipped in through my window. I got out of the clothes I had worn. As I pulled the briefs down, I was reminded of the other 'present.' Between my buttocks was lodged a second handkerchief, nicely folded and clean except for some slimy, white substance. I hadn't seen such a substance before and wasn't quite sure where it came from (pardon the pun) but the message was still clear: my butt now belonged to someone else.

Chapter Three

When I got inside, I could see no sign of the other boy. I took a quick walk round the boat house, but he was nowhere to be found. I sighed, disappointed that he'd probably gotten bored waiting for me. No adventure tonight, then. But then I saw it, right in the shady spot where I'd been lying tied up last night. A little brown cardboard box that had definitely not been there last night. I knelt down and pulled the lid off. Inside was a set of clothing. My stomach churned in anticipation as I pulled the garments out one by one. First, there was a dark blue, collarless cotton t-shirt with long sleeves, one red and one white stripe going down each sleeve from the shoulders right down to the cuffs. Next, a pair of dark blue corduroy jeans. Both garments seemed well worn, but clean and neatly folded. Under these was a set of underwear, meaning a white sleeveless cotton vest and a pair of white briefs. To top it off, I found a pair of grey woollen socks – the knee-length type that English boys would wear with their school shorts. In the very bottom of the carton was a pair of well-worn black canvas high-tops with white laces (not Converse, but in similar style and with a different, simpler rubber pattern on the undersole).

Well, there was no note telling me what to do next, but I figured it out with little reflection. Off came the clothes I'd come in with. On went the new set, once more turning me into another boy. A boy ready for adventures.

These clothes were not too tight on me. In fact, they were just my size. I figured they were layoffs from my new "friend."

As I put the right shoe on, I felt something inside it. It was a handwritten note. In the faint light of the moon, I struggled to read the pencilled writing formed in very strict block letters: A RUMOUR SAYS THAT THE BANK ROBBERS HID THEIR LOOT IN THE BARN ACROSS THE ROAD. STAY AWAY FROM THERE IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU. IF YOU DON'T, BEWARE OF THE GUARD.

"Wow," I panted to myself. My heart started beating faster. I was like a boy in a movie, following a trail on a real adventure. I put the note in my pocket (well, not mine, but the right pocket of the jeans I was wearing at the time), then carefully snuck out of the boathouse, taking care there was no one around to see me, including my parents, whose bedroom window had a perfect view across the lawn and down towards the river. I crossed the lawn, trying my best to stay in the shadows, avoiding the gravel of our driveway. I realized that I was perfectly dressed for the mission, in dark clothing and rubber-soled shoes, minimizing the noise I made as I came up to our gate. The gate was closed, of course, and some two and a half meters high, as was the brick wall protecting the property. Furthermore, the gate could only be run with a remote control. Climbing it would be a struggle; also I would risk being seen. Thankfully, my nimble body could glide through the gap that could just about be squeezed open between the double gates, so I could comfortably stay on the ground.

The paddock was right across the road from our house, so I had less than a hundred meters to the barn (which was actually more of a large shed with four doors, three for horse boxes and one for equipment). I could have gone straight there, but since I was on a secret mission, I figured I would try to stay out of sight for as long as possible. Therefore I turned right out of the gate rather than left and – always staying in the safety of the dark shadows – went to the end of the paddock, swiftly crossed the road, and dove into the trees and bushes lining the border to the field that enveloped the paddock. On the side of the field it was easy to move, and also it kept me completely out of sight of the barn.

The ground was soft and muddy in places after some recent downpours and I took care not to step in any puddles or muddy bits. As I came around to where the barn was just the other side of the trees, I slowed down, looking for an easy passage through the foliage. I found a little gap about twenty meters further down. Perfect, I thought, as I could now approach from the – presumably – less guarded back of the barn.

I eased through, staying crouched and taking care not to step on any dry branches. Quietly stepping up, my back against the outer wall, I approached the front part of the barn, the one with a row of four doors.

I carefully poked half of my head around the corner, checking about. The coast seemed clear. Slowly I eased around, staying near the wall, ready to pounce back out of sight at the slightest sound.

I came up to the first door, which I knew was the storage room. It was padlocked shut. I tried pulling it open, but it wouldn't budge. Nothing to see there. I glanced around. Still no trace of anyone about. My heart was pounding so hard, inside me it felt like church bells ringing. If the noise had been as loud outside my body, they would have heard me in London.

I took the few steps up to the next door, my rubber soles soundless on the clean concrete ground. This door was also secured with a padlock, but this time I was luckier. This lock had not been shut, so it was just hanging loosely. I quietly unhooked the padlock, switched the rusty bolt open as quietly as I could, and pulled the door up. There was nothing to be seen, apart from a pile of hay in the far little corner. Gingerly, I took a step inside to get a better look. Maybe something was hidden under the hay, I thought. One more step inside, then another, and another…

Suddenly someone pounced from behind! The wind was knocked out of me as I was pushed against the far wall. I didn't even think of screaming, but if I had, I couldn't have because of the tightly clasped sweaty right hand of my attacker. I tried to reach around, but a strong arm grabbed my left wrist and twisted my arm up behind my back, hard and painfully. Now I tried to scream, but only muffles came out. A knee pushed against the small of my back, pushing my front into the coarse wooden wall. In a few seconds, I was defeated by my much stronger assailant, who of course had the added advantage of surprise on his side.

I stopped trying to resist, realizing it was useless. Anyway, more struggling would probably only be more painful.

"So," somebody whispered in my ear. "You have a problem understanding warnings. Weren't you instructed to stay away from here?"

I recognized the voice. It was the boy from last night. Of course, I realized it was the most likely person to pounce on me, but still, in a sense it was a relief to have it confirmed who it was, that this was just a game we were playing.

At the same time, it sure was a rough game. He certainly held me in a tight, strong grip. And it hurt. Especially my chicken-legged left arm felt like it had a string of fire going through it, leading right up to my shoulder socket. If he pulled any more, I was sure to have a dislocated shoulder. This wasn't like any game I had ever played, but I had gone into it willingly, and I was determined to play it through. Because, no matter what, I liked it.

"I asked you a question kid," the boy hissed, forcing his knee even harder into my trapped body. "Didn't the note warn you of this place?"

I nodded, unable to make a sound through the sweaty, clammy hand covering the lower half of my face. I tried to use my free right arm to pull his hand away, but that only earned me another yank on my left arm, and a hard shove into the wall. I put my right hand back to my side.

"Well, it seems we have to teach you a lesson," my assailant said. "You've figured out that I can hurt you. Hurt you quite a lot too eh?" When I failed to respond, he yanked my arm up once more. I groaned as the pain caused tears to well up in my eyes, then nodded. My quiet sobs came up through my throat, but were barely audible through my hand gag.

"Well, I need to set you up differently. You're going to get down on your knees, nice and slow. Then put your right hand behind your back so I can tie you up. You with me so far?" After another nod from me, he continued. "I'm going to take my hand off your mouth, then put a sock in there instead. You will hold that sock in your mouth until I have time to tie it in. Try to spit it out and I will break you arm. Got it?"

I nodded. The knee in my back relaxed, allowing me to back up from the wall. At the same time, my left arm was also allowed down a bit, but the grip around my wrist never loosened one bit. The boy gradually shifted his weight onto me, forcing me downward. Soon I was on my knees. The hand finally came off my mouth. I could hear (and feel a bit) the boy reaching into his pocket, then he reached around and presented me with a balled up woollen sock. My left arm was still trapped and under some pressure, so I opened up and let him slip the sock into my mouth. The second he was satisfied that I would hold it there, he grabbed my right hand and pulled it also behind my back. Finally my left hand was let down, but only to join my right in a vicelike grip. Some rope was produced from somewhere, presumably his other pocket, and my wrists were tied together.

This done, the boy finally released me, but only to pull off the backpack he had brought with him. I caught a glance of it as he placed it on the floor beside me. It was a sturdy pack in all leather. A second sock was produced and wound around my lower face, then secured in my neck, ensuring that my gag would stay in its place. For final measure, I was pushed onto my back, and my ankles and knees were tied together with more rope. Finally, my ankles were secured to a welded ring in the wall, near the floor.

The boy stood up, towering over me as I lay there looking up at him, my tied hands trapped beneath my back, the sock gag secure inside my mouth. Just like the last time, the boy was dressed all in black. Despite the gloom, I could make out his pale face against a pitch-black mop of semi-long hair. He looked down at me, his ice blue eyes almost flashing at me. He looked satisfied, calm, in control. Personally, I felt quite the opposite at the time. Uncomfortable, scared, helpless. I lay there wondering what I'd gotten myself into, wondering if he would ever let me go home.

The boy crouched down beside me and put his hand on my head. I expected him to pull my hair, but instead he stroked it. His touch was suddenly tender, like he was cuddling me. His comforting touch made me relax a bit, despite my predicament.

"Feeling comfy," he asked me. Well, that if anything would be an exaggeration, so I shook my head.

"Scared then?" I thought about it, then nodded. He seemed satisfied with my reply.

"Like the clothes then?" I nodded again. "I wore these when I was like nine and they fit you perfectly. How old were you again, eleven?"

I nodded.

"Small for your age then. Well, you're some weird kid, having the time of your life like this." He gestured down towards my crotch, causing me to glance down as well. I hadn't really given it much thought, but now I noticed my stiffy under the trousers. It wasn't big, but it was certainly there. And very hard to hide under the circumstances.

"Well, I guess I'll leave you here to enjoy yourself." He stood up as if to leave. I protested through the gag, looking desperately at him. Was he leaving me in here. Tied up and trapped?

"Don't worry, I'm just going to check something. I'll be back, 'course I'm not sure how long I'll be. So you won't know either."

He gave me a little kick in the side. Not so it hurt, just a nudge hard enough to make me grunt. He picked up his backpack and went over to the door, turning back and looking at me before closing it. "See you later," he said. The door closed, the latched was pulled shut. I heard the padlock being hung up, then locked shut, then the soft footsteps of my captor going off, leaving me in the complete darkness of the stable box.

Well, this was a predicament. I had gone outside in the middle of the night in search of adventure, and I certainly got one. I shifted over on my side, getting the weight off my trapped hands. I tried feeling around for the knots. He really had tied me up tightly, and my hands were beginning to hurt as the blood struggled to pulse through my veins. As my feet were tied down, it was difficult to struggle. Each move caused my balance to shift, toppling me over.

I had no concept of time in that dark space, but it didn't take me long to realise that being tied up with no chance of escape was no bed of roses. The ropes were very tight, and I could feel the blood flow stopping up around the knots, about my knees and ankles but especially around my wrists.

After what seemed like an eternity I finally heard footsteps. The latch was unlocked and pulled, and the door opened, revealing the boy once more. He came inside, closed the door, then took out and lit a small electric lantern. I lay on my side as he stepped around me, watching me from every angle. As he came to my front, he pulled his foot back and brought it back with a kick towards my stomach. I screamed through the gag in fear and surprise, but only a grunt came out. Thankfully he stopped just before he actually kicked me, then, pushing with his toes, he made me lay on my back, once again on top of my hands, which by now were quite sore. He didn't stop there, though. He slowly lowered his right foot on top of me, right on my crotch. Gradually the weight increased, and so did my pain, in my groin as well as my trapped hands. Soon he was standing on one leg, then his left foot came down on my chest. I tried to protest, but only little moans came out. He must have enjoyed it immensely, this helpless little boy beneath him, bogged down under his far superior weight, with eyes both pleading and terrified at the same time.

He couldn't have stood there for long of course, maybe around ten seconds, but it was certainly enough to exert his power over me.

His right foot came off my crotch and onto the floor beside me. His left foot did the same on my other side, so that he was now straddling my body. He came down on his knees and lightly sat on my chest, facing me.

"Had enough?"

I nodded furiously.

"All right then. I'm taking the gag out. I don't want ANY noise. When you talk, you talk softly, otherwise it goes back in, and you will have some explaining to do when the search party finds you here tomorrow afternoon. Right?"

I nodded again, slowly and calmly this time. The boy pulled the outer sock out from my mouth, but kept it tied around my neck, so he could get it back in quickly if necessary. The balled-up sock that had been in my mouth for so long was taken out. Finally I could move my jaws and tongue again, and did so, painfully getting my facial joints and muscles back in action.

The boy took the soaking wet sock and made me watch as he rolled it around on the dirty concrete floor.

"Just so you know what you'll be keeping in your mouth if you try to scream," he said. I didn't reply, I just lay there on my back with him still straddled on top of my chest, unable to free my tied hands and feet.

"So," he said, "are you still enjoying yourself?"

I thought about it. I had been tied up, left alone in the dark, left at the mercy of this older and stronger boy who had knocked me about quite a bit, seemingly without thinking twice about whether he hurt me or not. And I was still in a predicament, trapped and threatened with being left here until my parents would find me. Yet – I was in heaven. The adventure, the tension, even the fear of being left alone in the dark. It was all a dream come true. Finally I was having a real adventure, just the way I'd fantasized about it hundreds of times before. I finally had a way to be trapped and truly unable to get loose without help. And – I felt – this boy enjoyed this as well, and he would help me in the end. I was scared, but I loved it. I nodded, getting a slap on the cheek in return. Not really hard, but I sure felt it.

"In case you didn't notice, I've taken the gag out. You can talk now, and I want you to talk, but quietly. So we'll try again. Did you enjoy this?"

"Yes," I replied, my voice barely a whisper. For one thing, I was worried he might think it to loud, and besides, having that sock in my mouth and lying on the dry, dusty concrete floor, had dried my vocal chords up. "Yes, I enjoyed it."

That earned me another slap.

"For now, you will show me respect. I am older and stronger than you, so you will call me sir. Got it?"

"Yes sir," I replied, seeing his raised hand ready to give me another one. "Yes sir, I enjoyed it, I am loving it sir."

"That's better," he said. So you want to do this again?"

"Yes sir, I mean, if you want to sir, that would be great."

"OK, I'll think about it. And while I'm thinking, you're going to show me your appreciation. To prove that you really want to do this again, you will eat this. In two pieces."

In his hand was a small zip-lock plastic bag containing – oh God, I thought – a bunch of long, slimy earthworms. He opened the zip-lock, grabbed one end of a wiggling animal and held it over my face. I cringed. The specimen in question was a good fifteen centimetres [6 inch] long, and the damp ground around the paddock had ensured that it shone with liquid.

"So, if you want me to tie you up again, I have lots of ideas to try out. You will have a chance to try all kinds of clothes as well, and I'll always let you go. You'll be perfectly safe, and it'll be fun for me as well, in a way. So what's it gonna be, yes sir or no sir?"

I thought about it, never taking my eyes off the wiggling brown slimy thing just above my mouth. I liked the tying up and the clothes thing all right, but it was obvious that these potential 'adventures' would involve a lot of unexpected things as well. Such as eating worms. But I wanted it, I really wanted it!

"Yes sir," I sighed.

"I thought so. And to seal the pact, you will finish this meal I've collected for you. Now let's see...here's what's going to happen. You will open your mouth up nice and wide, and I will let the first half of this little delicacy in. You will bite it off in half, then swallow it. Then I will put the other half on your closed lips. Once it is there, and before it can wiggle away, you will grab it with your tongue and swallow that too. Are you with me so far?"

I nodded. "Yes sir," I answered, reluctantly. I was not looking forward to this.

"And that's not all. After that I will take the rest of these out" – he held the bag up in front of me – "and drop them in, one by one. When they are all in – I think there are six of them – you will close your mouth and chew them up good. You'll have to open your mouth to show me, then you can swallow them all up. So, here we go."

I was caught and I knew it. With a sigh I opened my mouth. As I felt the slime make contact with my tongue I closed my eyes, but a reprimand from my captor made me open them again. He wanted me to see it all in the light of the lantern. On his command I closed my teeth and bit the worm in half. I could feel the one bit wiggling in desperation over my tongue, while watching its other half curling up in front of me. Not wasting any time, I swallowed. I had to open my mouth up to show him , then close it again for the next test.

"Hurry up, or it'll escape," he said as he placed the half eaten worm on my lips. My tongue came out, and I caught the little thing against my upper lip. Somehow I managed to get it into my mouth. I gulped it down, to my tormentor's obvious amusement.

"OK, now for the big test," he said. "Open up, and don't close it until I've finished. I promise I'll be quick.

He was, as one by one, he dropped the rest of the worms into my waiting mouth (there were six of them, just like he had said). When he was done, he closed my jaws shut with a grip on my chin and leaned in on me.

"I am going to count downward from fifteen, and you will chew on your little friends in the meantime. Make sure you open your mouth so I can see. Oh, and use your side teeth, they will grind them up better.

I did as I was told, feeling the slime and bits of dirt between my teeth. The slimy mass gradually grew inside my mouth, but it didn't die immediately. It struggled and tried to wiggle away, to no avail of course. The worms were as trapped as I was. Of course, my predicament must probably rate as marginally better than theirs.

Once the count was down to zero, the boy closed my jaws shut and told me he would let go once I had swallowed it all. It took three big gulps to pass the slimy mass into my stomach. Strangely enough, I wasn't sick, but once he let me open my mouth again, I coughed hard, my throat protesting against the treatment.

"Wow, I must admit, you are one tough kid. I'm going to let you go now. You still have to be quiet though."

He turned me over on my stomach and untied my hands. Then he helped me untie my feet while I got the knots loose from around my knees. Finally, I could stand up. I hopped around, getting the circulation back into my legs as I untied the sock from around my neck.

"Good," the boy said. "Now, one last thing. I want you to go back in just underwear. Get your sweater, shoes and trousers off."

Another weird command. Well, after the worms, this seemed a simple task, so I complied. Soon I was standing in the white vest, white cotton underwear, and grey woollen socks.

"Nice," he said, looking over my body. I will contact you in a day or two, and we can have some more fun. For now, I want you to go back right across the paddock. You can keep these clothes until next time. I'm sure you'll enjoy them."

He opened the door and sent me on my way. I felt him watching me as I made my way across the muddy paddock, hurrying in case a car would come on the road I had to cross.

In what were by now very dirty socks, I quickly crossed our garden to the boathouse. When I got in there, I found that the clothes I had gone out in were gone. I was left with only what I was wearing. Resigned to this, I went back to the house, climbed up to my room, pulling the dirty socks off before entering through the balcony door. I took a look at the alarm clock. It was ten after three. I had been imprisoned and tied up for the better part of three hours. "Wow," I said to myself as I lay back. It only took a few seconds for me to fall into an exhausted sleep, from which I woke up just before ten the next morning. The first I noticed were the white undergarments I had fallen asleep in, the second was a foul taste in my mouth.

Chapter Four

But I digress. I was comfortably seated in front of the TV, sporting a dark blue collared t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans, accompanied by a pair of dark blue socks. Underneath this and out of the view of my mother, I still wore the white underwear and vest I had – willingly or not, I wasn't quite sure – acquired last night. I also wore a pair of sky blue sweatbands over my wrists. My parents had gradually become used to and accepted this rather new clothing quirk of mine, and I was now kept with an unlimited supply of this tennis garment. Of course, this meant that I was able to hide the rope marks of my nightly adventure. Although my skin was young and would heal quite quickly, I had come to notice, especially since I had begun using chains, that it could sometimes take a while, and that occasionally I would even get small cuts from my bonds.

Considering my lack of sleep of the last two nights, it should come as no surprise that I dozed off. Therefore I only heard through a daze my parents chatting about somebody coming up our driveway, followed by some conversation with a third party. Soon enough I awoke as my mother called me. I wiped some of the gristle out of my eyes and gingerly came to the door. I quickly came back to life, however, when I saw who was standing there. A boy, a few years older than me, with a mop of black hair and icy blue eyes. Today he wasn't wearing all black, though, but a white collared polo shirt to match his otherwise black jeans and shoes. This was, with a few noteworthy exceptions, the only time I would see him wearing anything non-black, and I didn't understand until later that he did this just to give my parents a good first impression.

"Daniel, this is Simon," said my mother. "Apparently he lives two houses down the road, and he is wondering if you'd like to come over and play on his computer. Simon says he plays tennis as well, so maybe you can use our tennis court (yes, I admit it, we were rich people. I was also a pretty decent tennis player, inspired by some of my countrymen of the eighties). Maybe later or some other day."

"Okaay," I said, looking the boy over, the boy I now knew as Simon. The boy that about twelve hours ago had straddled my chest and forced me to eat worms. The boy who thirty-six hours ago had given me my first wanking. Here he was in daylight, looking somewhat less sinister. Boy was I wandering what he might be up to now.

"Daniel!" I was brought back by a shove from my mother. "Where are your manners?"

"Oh, sorry," I said. "I'm Daniel, pleased to meet you." I held out my right hand and Simon shook it. I wondered if he remembered how he had tied it last night.

"I'm pleased to meet you to, Daniel. Shall we go? I just got a new computer game called Football Manager (yes, it existed back then, if only barely). Are you interested in football?"

"Absolutely," I said. "But I don't have a games computer, so it sounds like fun trying yours out. Bye mum."

"Goodbye. Hope you boys have fun. Be back before seven. You have school tomorrow."

"Oh yeah, school… OK, I'll be back at seven."

I slipped into my blue nylon Nikes and we went on our way, my mother closing the door after us. We walked side by side, me thin and blonde, Simon, black-haired, a head taller, considerably wider and obviously older and stronger. To an onlooker, however, I don't think the age difference seemed out of place. To me however, this was the beginning of an adventure, going off with this older boy, from whom I had so far gotten only an inkling of what he was capable of.

"So Goldilocks, here we are again. Did you sleep well last night?" I didn't answer him, so he continued. "Have you brushed your teeth today?"

"Four times," I said. He laughed, and I couldn't help laughing with him. As we went out through our gate and turned right, we both caught a peek at the paddock and barn across the road. Simon didn't mention it though, and I couldn't think of a good way to bring it up. So we took our short walk in silence.

We went through Simon's gate and up his driveway, which naturally was also very large. I would find out over time that Simon's family had in fact originally owned most of the land around the area, occasionally selling bits and pieces off. They had kept some of the farmland, but did not farm it themselves, since it was many generations since there had been a farmer in the family. Instead they took in the rents as an income supplement. Our house lay on a plot sold by Simon's great grandfather in the early 1900's, the last section of land the family had sold. The selling off of land had left the family with a large fortune which had not diminished particularly over time. However, this wealth was in no way obvious when you met Simon's parents, who were both university teachers and the nicest, down to earth people you could imagine. Although they owned an enormous house and were very wealthy, they seemed to live ordinary middle class lives, and seemed very content with it. I still think of that family sometimes, and of how well they handled just having all that wealth, but not acting as if it made them special.

Simon's mother received us as we entered through the kitchen entrance (Simon told me to keep my shoes on just like he did). His mother shook my hand very formally but with a smile and warm eyes quite different from those of her son. She immediately asked us if we wanted something to eat. We declined, however, saying maybe later thanks, before going upstairs to Simon's room.

And up we went. We climbed a dark, narrow stone staircase that seemed 'tucked into' the house as an afterthought. Simon explained that this was the stairs the servants had used in the days the family had kept them. This wasn't in his lifetime, of course. Instead, he had used the servants' quarters as a playroom when he was little, and a few years ago he had actually moved up there permanently.

Simon brought me through a narrow doorway, closing and locking the door behind us as he motioned for me to go up the final staircase. This lead to the attic of the old mansion, and effectively meant that we had three floors and a basement below us in this enormous building. The staircase was placed slightly off the short end of the house, so when I came up, I was faced with a room that opened almost some five metres [16 feet] to the right and some twenty-five metres [80 feet] to the left! And looking to my left, the attic didn't stop there. First I saw Simon's bed and work desk with a brand-new-looking computer. Beyond there was a wall, beyond which were another ten to fifteen metres [50 feet] which – I would discover eventually – contained a second bedroom which combined as a closet and storage as well as a bathroom with a full-size bathtub. Looking to my right, I found the principal source of light to this main room, a large window with a beautiful view towards the Thames and – I immediately noticed – my house and garden as well as the boathouse. I also saw a set of high-tech field glasses (binoculars) on a little writing desk right by the window, plus a small telescope mounted on a tripod and pointed straight at our boathouse. I now understood how Simon had learned about my interests. I felt a slight chill down my spine at the thought of this.

"Do you like it," Simon asked me as I walked around, taking in the enormity of the room. Never mind the length of the room, the house itself was also very wide, and since the attic took up the whole width, the room was some fifteen metres [50 feet] wide, twelve metres [40 feet] of which left full standing room for an adult. And Simon lived here. Any boy would be nuts over such a room of one's own.

"It's great," I said. "Is this just your room?"

"It's all mine. I like having it all to myself. And not many people get to come up here. I almost never take any friends home. In case it happens I have a guest bed over there, as you can see. But normally I'm here on my own. My mum hardly ever comes up here. I manage to keep it clean by myself."

The room certainly was clean. And tidy. Everything was in perfect order on the desk, the bed was made, although with no cover, just the bed sheet nicely flattened. Simon was pedantically tidy.

"Now, we don't have a lot of time so I think our little game should begin, don't you."

"Okaay," I replied, wondering what he had in mind. I had a feeling he wasn't thinking primarily of computer games.

"As I said the other night, I have a great place where we can play. And this is it. Up here we can do whatever we want. We won't be disturbed and nobody will hear us. We don't use the floor beneath this one either, so as long as there is no loud screaming, we'll be perfectly safe. All right so far?"

"Yes… sir." I remembered my position, gradually but quickly slipping into my subordinate position.

"Good. Now, I'm going to lay down the rules, but I think you should be placed a little better. Come up to me here and get down on your knees."

I did as he said, kneeling right in front of his crotch. I felt his authority growing on me, breathing hard and feeling my heart beat as he stepped around me, taking up a position behind my back.

"Now I'm going to take your shirt off. Lift your hands over your head."

I did, allowing him to pull my blue t-shirt off, exposing the white vest he had left me with last night. With no further ceremony, he pulled this off as well, then went over to my right side. I now noticed that from the roof truss hung a white rope which he now pulled over to me. At the end of the rope was a small noose which he now fastened to my right wrist, after first removing my sweat band. He switched sides and repeated the procedure on my left wrist. It was a simple construction, but enough to keep me trapped without any great discomfort. My arms were stretched out in a Y-shape, fairly tightly but painlessly.

"Stand up," he commanded. I did as I was told, pulling on the ropes to get me the leverage to get on my feet. Once I stood up, the slack of course got greater, and I could almost pull my hands together. Having ascertained this, Simon adjusted the ropes so I was once again stretched out, although now in more of a T-shape. He also left a reasonable amount of slack, so I wasn't uncomfortable, just trapped.

"There, that should keep you in order. Now what else? Oh yes, you're wearing your own clothes – you are, aren't you?"

I nodded. "Yes sir, I occasionally wear my own clothes, especially in front of my parents."

"Hmm, a little cheeky aren't we? Have to take that out of you. Well, here's a good start: since you don't seem to like wearing your own clothes, I think I'll have to get you out of them. Shoes off please."

I sighed, kicking my shoes off. Nothing much I could do about the situation.

"Thank you. And now I guess you need some help." Standing behind me, Simon reached around my waist and unbuttoned my jeans. Doing so, he pulled his body into me. I felt him leaning into my backside, his left hand holding me steady with my buttocks against his crotch. At the same time the fingers of his right hand pulled my zipper down, then lingered inside, feeling me up through my underwear. The effect was immediate. In a few seconds I was standing at attention in two ways: horizontally from my hip and vertically with the rest of my body, trying to but unable to move away from Simon and his fondling.

"Now now, remember what I said, some things you have to accept if you want the things you want. But I said they were coming off, and now they are. Here we go."

And down they went. In a matter of seconds my jeans were off, Simon getting me to raise my feet to get the legs through. He pulled my socks off at the same time, leaving me in just that pair of white undies. As Simon walked around me, folding up my jeans and pairing up my socks, I looked down, staring at the way my willy made the fabric stand straight out. By this time, I had figured out that this was directly connected to my excitement, my excitement over the stuff Simon did to me; not just the tying up bit but the things he did to me as well. At the same time, it ALL made me feel good. The sense of this shamed and humiliated me.

I looked back up. Simon had folded my clothes up and laid them on his bed in a neat pile. Now he was glaring at me.

"So. We got you out of most of what your wore to here at least. Shall we get the last bit as well?"

I decided to try and negotiate. "Well, you said you would get my clothes off. These aren't mine as you may recall."

He thought about this. "Well yes that's true. On the other hand they are my property, so I expect I have the right to retrieve them if I want to." He smiled viciously. "I make up the rules, remember."

Once again, I was defeated. There was nothing I could say. And again my emotions confused me. I was loving the situation as it was. I was tied up , I was with a new friend who didn't seem to think think my 'hobby' was inappropriate or shameful, and he was even prepared to help me with it. Yet… at the same time I wasn't so sure about how he enjoyed himself at the same time. His idea of fun was simply more developed and different from mine, and as opposed to my emotions, my young body and mind found it hard to accept his idea of fun. I knew that getting naked in front of strangers was shameful, it might even be dangerous under some circumstances. Somehow it seemed that being tied up and thereby letting a stranger strip you naked at will could qualify as dangerous. I was ready for adventure but not for danger. I felt tears rolling down my cheek.

Simon, seeing this, looked at me questioningly, then said: "Don't worry, I won't pull them off if you don't want me too. I just thought you might want to get into something else."

With that he produced from the top of a carton box a new garment. A small garment. A small, bright blue garment. It was a tiny pair of Speedo swimming pants. Simon held them up so I could see them. Suddenly my tears were gone as my curiosity took over.

"Do you like them?"

I nodded.

"Can you speak?"

After swallowing hard I could. "Yes. I mean, yes I like them. Are they yours?"

"Yes. I've worn them hundreds of times when I just started swimming. I still do competition swimming. Of course, nowadays my trunks are a little bigger." With that he straightened his body up fully, once again showing off his overwhelming size. His body was both athletic and muscular, a product of many hours of training on the swim team, as I would find out over time.

"How… how old were you when you wore those?"

"Oh, I started swimming for real when I was around nine… so about that age I think. I think they will fit you just fine though. You're smaller than I was when I was eleven, certainly a lot slimmer, so I think a size nine for me fits with a size eleven and a half for you."

Adding that half year the way I had a few nights ago only added to his mocking of course, since it meant I was even smaller than I should be. But I could take it, I would take it. I just wanted this to be real, that I could wear this boy's clothes and make my fantasies come true. I licked my lips, hungry for the game to continue.

"So… so can I wear them? Can I try them on?"

"What's the magic word?"

"Uh… please…? Please, please, please, please, please, please, PLEASE!"

Simon shook his head, obviously amused.

"OK then. But then we still have the problem that I will let you wear them, but at the same time I want to keep you tied up." He thought for a while, the atmosphere of the room once again backing into a serious silence.

"I tell you what. I already got a good look at your backside the other night. So since I've already seen that, it's not like this is anything new. And that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Well, as you may recall, I hadn't exactly enjoyed it. But all the same Simon was right. He had already seen me buck naked from behind. And if this was leading to a solution where I got to wear those little skimpy, bikini-like pants, then I was all for it. So I answered:

"Well, I guess if you just look from behind… I guess… it's OK…"

"Good. I'm glad you see it my way. So I shall just pull those briefs off, then replace them with these little beauties. All you will have to do is lift your feet for me a few times, then you will be all changed. OK?"

"OK, sounds good to me."

"Of course," he continued as he stepped around behind me, "you could bear in mind that you are my helpless prisoner and that if I wanted to, I could just pull those whities off and do whatever I like to you, and there would be nothing you could do about it. Maybe I could just put them in your mouth to keep you quiet. Then you would be completely helpless. Think about that for a while, while I'm being nice to you."

I swallowed. I was in trouble, and I knew it. I would just have to hope he didn't go through with his plans.

I felt his hands grab the waistbands on either side of my waist. "So here we go. Are you ready?"

I nodded, and slowly, slowly, the last piece of protective garment slipped off me. As they reached my feet and I stepped out of them, I noticed that Simon had in fact gotten down on his knees behind me, and that his face and nose were now very near my buttocks. So near in fact, that I could feel his breath against them. As I raised my feet to let him take the briefs off, I knew he was ogling my ass, taking in every detail of my body. The nakedness made me feel uneasy, vulnerable, scared yet… it also made my willy grow stiff once again. I had no idea back then, but if this had taken place ten years later, I would have screamed at him to take me right there, to plough his tongue into my crack, then get up and mount me, pushing his stiff cock into my cherry hole, to take me while I stood there, raping me in my naked bondage…

… of course he didn't (and I didn't ask him to either). Instead, Simon took just a few seconds, then I felt him tap my right ankle indicating for me to lift it, which I did. The procedure was repeated on my left, then the new garment was swiftly pulled up my calves, over my knees, along my thighs (I felt them hugging my legs by now), then finally up and around my waist, over my slender buttocks and my stiff willy (which thankfully Simon did not seem to consider adjusting, although you could argue for the need).

"There," he said as he stood up behind me. "But what is this?" He brought the whities I had just worn up to my face, showing off the inside. Naturally, owing to the age I was at, I had left some stains in there. Of the yellow kind as well as the brown. I felt my face flush up with embarrassment.

"Lost for words are you? Well, I shall tell you what this is. This is piss. And shit. And it's yours. And it's in the clothes I lent to you. Is this what you do with stuff you borrow?"

"No, please, I'm sorry, I couldn't help it… I… I mean, it just comes out."

"It just comes out…" Simon mockingly imitated my high-pitched voice. "Well, maybe as a punishment it should come back in. Into your mouth. Would you like that?"

I hesitated. Caught in two minds again. On the one hand, I was not unfamiliar with this. I wasn't particularly grossed out by it (certainly not as grossed out as I should be). I had, after all, even had a small taste from used underwear I'd stolen in the past. And considering what Simon had already put in my mouth over the last few nights, this was no worse.

On the other hand: when I had tasted old skid marks in the past it had been by my own free will. And on my own. Being tied up and at someone else's mercy, I was actually forced to do this. And that felt entirely different. Yet – I wanted to show Simon that he could do naughty stuff with me. This type of naughty stuff, I mean.

In the end I swallowed hard and answered him:

"If you want me to."

He hesitated, obviously unsure what to do. He had just suggested doing something really disgusting to me, and there I was complying.

"You want me to put this in your mouth?"

"Yes… I mean, no really. What I mean is, if you want to put it in, then I won't stop you. I will do as you say."

"You are really a very, very strange kid." He put the undies up against my nose, making me smell the yellow urine stains. The fabric still held my body warmth.

"You mean that if I tell you to, you will open your mouth and let me put these in there?"

"Yes." My voice came out a little muffled through the underwear and his big hand. He sighed.

"All right then. Open your mouth."

I opened wide and the white undies were stuffed into my mouth. Simon, being true to his naturally nasty character, took care to put the stained insides as far into my mouth as he could, exposing me to them as much as possible.

"There. Just a second. Keep them in there." He rummaged around in a drawer behind me, then returned and tied a blue football sock around my mouth, trapping the gag where it was.

"So there you are, tasting piss and shit and enjoying it. Well, Goldilocks, it seems we have an interesting time before us. Have a seat and I'll show you some stuff." He pulled up a stool from somewhere behind me and lifting me by the armpits placed me onto it. He left my arms stretched out towards the walls though, so with my feet now off the floor, I was having to balance myself in order not to fall off. Possibly he thought he was making me more comfortable by giving me a seat, but in fact this put a great deal more strain on me than if I had just been standing up.

"Now," Simon said, having returned to his spot in front of me. "I've done a bit of digging in my closet. My parents are not very good at getting rid of things, and since I don't have any younger boy relatives, all my clothes have just remained here. As you can see, it's not like we don't have the space, so it's not a great problem.

"Anyway, I went through my closet and picked out some stuff from when I was around nine or ten, in other words when I was about the puny size you are now, at eleven and a half."

I sat and listened intently. After all, it was difficult for me to reply, my mouth being stuffed with dirty underwear. Simon continued, opening the carton box beside him:

"So this is just a small selection. Shall we see if there's anything you like?"

Like? If it wasn't for my gag, my mouth would probably be watering. From the box Simon pulled underwear and socks of different colours and styles, he took out long and short sleeved t-shirts, with collars and without. He pulled out five different pairs of shoes. He produced trousers, both jeans and corduroy styles, a pair of jeans shorts as well as several pairs of football shorts and a few more Speedo swimwear. Finally, he took out two sets of pyjamas, one of which was the traditional schoolboy striped kind. But all this was inferior to the very first set he'd pulled out: a full school uniform with a grey shirt, grey woollen sweater, grey shorts and grey knee length socks, accompanied by a plain royal blue tie.

Having produced all of this, placing the garments one by one on the bed, he went back over to me. Standing in front of me, he untied the knot behind my neck and freed me of the sock, then pulled the underwear out.

As my mouth was freed, I almost panted in urge and excitement. For me, this was a dream come true. All the types of clothes I had ever imagined – and then some – were laid out on the bed before me. I stared in amazement at the collection.

"Can I really try all that on?"

"Calm down, you're almost drooling! Well yes, but you can't try everything today, there's no time for that. But whenever you come over you can. However, there will be some rules to follow, and that's what I want to go over with you now."

Simon once again moved over behind me. Since I was now lifted onto the stool, our heads were at the same height as he leaned into me, breathing down my neck and naked back as he did so. My arms had now been stretched out for some time, and it was causing my shoulders to ache a great deal. I figured, however, that it was now time for me to listen, so I didn't dare ask him to let me go just yet.

"Whenever you come over here you can wear some of these clothes, and some others I have yet to find, and for now you can come over as often as you like. Just tell your parents you like to play computer games. A nerdy little pissant like you probably doesn't have many friends anyway, so they'll be quite pleased I expect. Don't you think so?"

Well, he was right in principle, although I felt he might have put it more eloquently. But for now, I just agreed with him, mainly because he started twisting my ear when I didn't answer him quickly enough.

"However," he continued, "when you come over you're here on my terms. That means that I decide everything. I decide what clothes you wear, I decide how you will be tied up and for how long. Basically, I decide everything, and you just agree to everything without complaint. If something hurts too much, or you don't want to do something, you can tell me, but I will decide if you're right or not. When you're here you are just a worthless little pissant. You're worth less than that underwear you were just chewing on. In fact, you're worth less than the worms I fed you last night. Do you understand?"

He twisted my ear again, bringing me to tears and causing me to yelp in pain before answering:

"Yes, yes, I understand."

"And do you agree?"

"Yes, I agree. You can do anything. Just promise you won't hurt me for real."

"That I can promise you. After all, we don't want our parents to find out. Then we would both be in trouble and our little games would have to finish. So: do we have a deal?"

"Yes… yes, we have a deal."

"Good. Now… oh yes, another thing. If you're going to be getting in and out of clothes all the time, then we can't have you running off every time you're going to change. Therefore, from now on you will agree to show yourself off naked, meaning with nothing on at all. And there will be no complaints. And if I decide to change your clothes while you're tied up, such as you are right now, then there will be no protests and no complaints. Deal?"

I thought about it. It seemed logical. And after all, it couldn't be that bad – could it?

"Deal," I said.

"And if I decide that you are not to wear any clothes at all, for whatever reason, then you will agree to that as well. If I pull your shorts off , they stay off until I say so. Deal?"

"Deal," I muttered. Of course, that last bit should probably have shot off warning bells. Maybe I was just too anxious to play these games, maybe I was naive, but agreed I did all the same.

"Good, so are you ready to try some of this on?"

I nodded. "Yes, please."

"All right then." Simon promptly freed my left hand, then my right. My shoulders ached as I brought my arms down into their normal position. But this was of less concern to me now, as I slid down the stool to inspect Simon's treasures. Simon, however, was blocking my way. I tried to get past him, but he kept blocking my path, so in the end I just stood still and looked up at him questioningly.

"My my, don't we forget quickly. Whenever you are up here, you do not do anything unless I tell you to. What did you just do that you weren't told to?"

"Ehm… I got off the stool."

"And?"

"And I tried to walk past you."

"You did, didn't you. Did it possibly occur to you that I wasn't finished with you?"

"Ehm… no. I'm sorry, I thought you said I could try the clothes on…"

"Thought? You thought you could just do that? Up here you don't think. I do the thinking, you do the listening carefully and doing as you're told. Got it?

"Yes…" I mumbled. I understood that this was a part of Simon's "game," and if I wanted to play along, I would just have to figure the rules out along the way. It would certainly be a rollercoaster ride of learning by doing.

"For a forfeit, I think you shall… take those trunks off."

I looked at him. I was in a fix. Just a little over a minute ago, I had agreed to exactly this. Agreeing to it was one thing, but it was only now I became aware of the consequences. I felt my face going red as I realized I was going to get naked in front of this boy. This older boy. And this was not like getting naked to get in the showers after sports, where everybody got naked together for a purpose – even though that could be embarrassing enough. This was getting naked in front of somebody else, simply for the purpose of getting naked. And the other person would still be clothed.

"What are you waiting for Goldilocks? Go on. Show me what you've got down there, then you can go over and pick out whatever you want from that pile of clothes. After that I'll tie you up if you want. But first: get them off!"

I did. I grabbed the blue Speedos by either waist and slowly pulled them off. As I bent over to pull them through my feet, I couldn't help it. I started to cry. I was so embarrassed, so confused, so… scared? No, not scared in the sense that I felt unsafe. Somehow I still trusted Simon, I knew I wouldn't get hurt. I was scared in the sense that… I was powerless. I would never know what would happen, never know what Simon would think of next. I was embarrassed as I stood back up, still sobbing, looking at Simon looking at me, putting the Speedos in his outstretched hands, tears rolling down my red cheeks.

Now Simon did something quite unexpected – again. He pulled me to himself and hugged me, not in a dominant way, just comforting, the way a father hugs his son, or perhaps a big brother hugs a younger brother. He hugged me close and I let him, feeling his heart beating, his warm clothes against my chilly body, his strong, muscular frame against my skinny one. Gradually, my body warmed up once again. I felt calm, comforted. Strangely enough, he didn't say anything. He just held me, firmly and at the same time gently, letting my sobs die away. Once again that desire came back to me, that desire to go through with these adventures no matter what.

We must have stood there for well over a minute. I felt strangely warm inside. My little willy started to grow against Simon's jeans, but it was of no great concern. I knew why it did it, and by now I knew it was perfectly normal. A hand came to my chin, lifted my face up. I looked into Simon's blue eyes. Drowned in them in fact.

"Feeling better," he asked me. I looked up, nodded.

"I promise there is nothing to be afraid of," he continued. "you just have to learn to obey. Get used to being naked sometimes, in clothes sometimes, tied up sometimes. It will grow on you, I'm sure."

I nodded again. He let his embrace go. I stood still and waited as he moved out of my way.

"Go on over there and take a look then."

I walked past him, self-conscious in my nakedness and aware of his scrutinizing looks, checking me out, sizing me up, probably thinking about what he would be able to do with me. But my mind was completely intent on one thing: the collection of boys' clothing on the bed in front of me.

I didn't actually pick anything up, just made an inventory of the different coloured underwear and socks, the trousers, t-shirts, the pjs, the lot, including the school uniform. I turned around, pointing at the pile with that school uniform.

"Can I try this on?"

"Absolutely," Simon answered, obviously delighted that I was now inadvertently showing off my boner to him. Embarrassed, I put my hands to my front to cover it up but then, realizing it was silly to hide what had already been seen, I took my hands away and shrugged as instead I turned around to face him fully, my legs well spread and my hands at my hips, posing for him. Simon just stared me down, actually licking his lips. The he probably caught himself in what he was doing as well as he said:

"Allright, allright, very nice. Now get on with it Goldilocks. Let's see how you look as a ten-year-old school boy. Get that pair of red underwear on as well, I want to see how you look in red."

I picked the red briefs up and pulled them on. Then, without further ceremony, I took the balled-up pair of grey socks, separated them, then pulled them onto my feet and up to full knee-length. Next, I picked the grey, short-sleeved shirt up, unbuttoning it fully before putting it on. I turned around and faced Simon, who clearly was enjoying the show. He had now sat down in his very comfortable-looking big leather armchair and sat there, his right foot placed on top of his left knee, his hands clasped behind his neck.

I finished buttoning the shirt, then picked up the tie. Realizing I would need help here, I turned towards him again.

"Could you tie it for me? I don't know how."

"No problem. But put the shorts on first."

He didn't have to tell me twice. This was the real price. For the first (but definitely not the last) time in my life, I picked this garment up to put on. This strangely fascinating symbol of the English school boy, so particular to this country that to me it almost represented all of what made Britain British. To me, this was as English as Tower Bridge (with its dungeons, of course), as English as the rains at Wimbledon, even as English as fish and chips served in a newspaper. Still facing Simon, my heart pounding, I fulfilled a boyish dream. The cloth, with its woollen polyester feel as it glided up my legs, the very slight looseness around my upper thighs as I fastened the button by my waist and pulled the zipper up; this felt like no other type of shorts I ever wore, at this moment or thereafter.

Simon, who had in the meantime stepped up to me, now asked me for the tie, which I gave him. He gently grabbed my shoulders to get me to turn around.

"It's easier if I do it from behind. That way it's the same way I do it."

I understood this and stood still as he raised the shirt collar and reached in to see the knot he was making. And boy did he reach. He was literally breathing down my throat and chest as he fiddled with the tie. At the same time, his midsection was strangely tucked into mine. It was as if he was trying to envelop me, his arms reaching around my shoulders, his knees holding my short-clad legs tightly pressed together, as my butt made contact with his front.

"You have to help me here so I can see what I'm doing. Push your butt back against me so I can lean in. That's it. Ooooh…"

Just as he pulled the finished tie up, he almost collapsed into me. For a few seconds, I had to support Simon's entire weight. His breathing, which had been annoying at first, was now a somewhat disconcerting nuisance as he was almost panting straight into my left shoulder. Within seconds though, he stood back up on his own two feet and stepped away from me. Somehow I realized that I'd better not move unless told to, as I heard him rummaging about with the clothes he was wearing. I distinctly heard him whisper an "Oh, shit!" under his breath.

Leaving Simon for a second to deal with his newfound problem, I stood still, now left to enjoy my new role as an English school boy. I looked down my body to see what I now looked like. It was all grey. Light grey cotton parted down the middle by that royal blue tie just hiding the buttons I had just fastened. Beneath this the darker grey of the shorts in wool-looking sturdy material, tightly showing off my little frontal bulge. Then those two skinny skin-coloured pillars of naked thighs and knees finishing in a foundation of yet another insert of dark grey. I felt something was still missing, though, so I grabbed the pair of black, lace-up plimsolls and put them on. Now just like in everything else, Simon had likely had bigger feet than myself at age ten, so the plimsolls were probably from when he was even younger, and didn't come in any larger size than this. This meant that even for my more delicate feet, it was a somewhat tight size. Not painful, just enough to remind me that these shoes were for little boys, not big boys like I was. I gently put first the right foot up on the neat bed cover, then my left, lacing the shoes up one at a time. I stood with both feet on the floor. As I put my weight towards the fronts, my toes couldn't quite straighten out in the too-small shoes, so were slightly curled up. Walking or running any long distances in these would be quite painful I thought as I pulled the grey wool sweater on.

As the sweater passed over my head, I heard Simon approach me from behind. With no prior warning, he pulled my hands behind me, and I felt a coarse rope envelop my wrists, then being cinched tight before it was knotted up. My hands were now firmly crossed behind my back. I realized that despite the surprise, I had made no attempt to stop him from tying me. And just like the night before, there was no way I would be able to get free without his help.

Saying nothing, Simon pushed me along towards the smaller room towards the other end of the attic. We stepped into what had probably been a bedroom for the previous servants, but that had now become a large walk-in closet. Along the walls were drawers, cartons, and racks with hanging clothes. There was also a large mirror, in front of which Simon now placed me.

So there I was. My golden locks topping off a grey school uniform with a plain blue tie – and tied up, my black-haired captor standing behind me, holding me still by the shoulders. Standing directly behind me like this, Simon looked imposingly larger, easily a head taller and shoulders more than half a time wider than mine – and no fat, just muscles.

After a few seconds of admiring this scene, Simon pulled up a sturdy-looking wooden chair, the type you would have at a dining room table. Having sat me down in it, he took out some more rope. My upper arms and torso were tied to the back of the chair, a knot secured out of my reach. Then (moving quite stiffly and awkwardly, I notice, almost like he had wet his pants), Simon got down on the floor, crossed my ankles before tying them together and then, having cinched the rope off, pulled the slack up and tied the rope off also to the back of the chair, pulling my feet up off the floor leaving them hanging under the seat. I enjoyed the view, watching myself in the mirror being tied up.

"There," he said. "I was going to do this a bit differently, but I just got something I need to do. We'll save that for another time. Let me just silence you a bit, then I'll leave you to struggle on your own for a while."

A strip of grey duct tape was produced from somewhere, and two large strips were placed over my mouth, the second wider than the first to secure the tape gag better.

"I'll be back in a while. Enjoy yourself."

With that I was left alone. Simon went over to the big room. I heard him rummage around for a few minutes, then he returned to my room, but only to go straight into the bathroom. I heard him turn on the shower in there. I figured he needed some time to clean up properly, so I was left to my own devices.

Of course, there was not much I could do but watch myself in the mirror. But what I saw excited me to no end. I was now able to see myself as a kidnapped school boy. The clothes I was wearing were picture perfect as from a schoolboy adventure book. As I saw myself from the bottom up in my strict and fairly exhausting bondage, I could at the same time feel the clothes I wore. The polyester ending halfway down my thighs, the wool going down to my tied wrists. The sticky grey tape matching my outfit and keeping me quiet.

I tried the bindings with which I was tied but, just like the night before, I was expertly tied. I had a good sense of where the knots were, but no matter how I twisted and turned in the chair, I was unable to reach any of them. My struggles were constantly disrupted by the way my feet were tied. Hanging above the floor, they kept swinging around as I shifted, giving me a sense of losing my balance. Also, each tug on the rope seemed to tighten the knots around my ankles. They did not enjoy much circulation at the time.

After a short while, Simon reappeared from the bathroom, now freshly showered and once again dressed in a black t-shirt, having discarded the previous, uncharacteristic white one. He stood in front of me and I looked up at him. He stared into my eyes, staring me down, his lips closed and breathing quite heavily. I could tell he loved this. Watching me helpless, both physically and mentally. I was his prisoner, he had all the power, could do anything to me. And no matter what he did to me, I would come back for more.

But right now, I would be defiant. I stared back at him, wouldn't look away for a second. Sure, I blinked, but so did he. Finally, needing for something to happen, he grabbed the duct tape and drew both strips off in one move. I gasped as I felt the stretch on my skin, but made no other sound. And I didn't stop staring.

"Enjoying yourself," he asked me.

"Yes, did you?" I spat the words back at me and was rewarded with a hard slap on my left cheek. I had to let an "Ow!" go as my head was twisted away by the force. Having recovered, I looked back up at him, but I could feel that my look had lost its confidence. His hadn't, however.

"That's better," said Simon. "Well, you're not a cry baby, I can tell. You took that slap like a man. Well, like a little man anyway. But it doesn't alter things, does it?"

He clasped my fingers around my jaws and squeezed. "DOES IT?"

I struggled to answer through my trapped jaw. "No, I know it doesn't. Sir."

"Good. Well, I guess we'd better get started on that computer game. We don't want you going back home and say you haven't tried the game out, do we?"

With that he untied me from the chair. My hands still tied behind my back, he led me by the shoulder back into his bedroom. Apparently I was to remain tied up. Well, this was fine with me.

Simon pulled a regular chair up by his desk and sat me down in it. He sat himself down in his more comfortable office chair and booted up the computer. (In those days we didn't just turn computers on. We 'booted' them up, which seemed more ceremonial. Essentially it was the same thing; you pushed a button and waited. You just waited a lot longer than now, and a lot of the time it didn't work, and you had to RE-boot. Ah, those were the days!)

Once the game was started we were both able to play. Football Manager, in the early days, basically involved using your budget to buy players, and then picking teams to match against your opponents, then watch the games unfold. During the games, you only watched, I think you could do substitutions to change game plans somewhat, but nothing more advanced than that. It turned out Simon and I both supported Liverpool (who wouldn't), so we had interesting and quite giving discussions on the players' qualities. The best thing was, of course, that we could play this game just as well despite my still being tied up. So there we sat, picking teams and watching the season's games unfold. We played for a couple of hours, then it was time for me to go home. Simon told me to get out of the chair, then, before untying me took me over to the collection of clothes.

"OK, it seems you enjoyed yourself today Goldilocks." I nodded. Well, this is the end of the weekend, so our games are over for a while. If you want I can come over and get you on Saturday morning, and we'll play again. Would you like that?"

"Yes, I would… sir."

"OK. I am going to untie you now. If you want, you can pick out what you want to wear the next time, so I don't have to bring everything out."

I was freed and instructed to undress from the school uniform. Simon told me I could keep the red briefs I was wearing, but that I was to wear them next week when he came to get me. After picking out my suggestions for the next weekend, I got into my own clothes, then Simon guided me downstairs. I said my goodbyes and thank yous to Simon's mum, then sprinted home, elated and full of energy. YES! I had finally found a friend near my house. And at that a friend who wanted to play my kind of games. When I got home I told my parents about Simon, his parents and his enormous house, my words stumbling over themselves as I let them know I was going over there next Saturday. They protested that they were planning a trip into London.

"No problem. I can stay at Simon's place. We'll play computer games, watch sports, maybe play some football in the garden or something. Please can I stay here, please please please!"

Well, as the week progressed, and having made a quick courtesy visit to Simon's parents, they softened a bit, and so when Saturday morning came, after my shower I could confidently slide into the red underwear (which I had actually been wearing for most of the week anyway), get into my equally all-red Liverpool outfit – complemented by red sweatbands around my wrists, and then sit and wait. Simon came around at nine-thirty as had been agreed during the week. He expressed approval at my choice of clothing (he wore all black, of course). It was agreed that my parents would call when they got back, which would be around six o'clock, then we went on our way.

At first, going down our drive, we walked side by side, talking of Liverpool's mid-week cup game exchanging interpretations of the goals. In the eighties, football on TV was to a large extent reduced to BBC:s Match of the Day consisting of short, five-minute compressed versions of the games. So the little snapshots we got to see gave vivid impressions of the most important highlights. In a sense, this also made Football Manager more realistic, as this also centred around compressed games.

As we turned right into the street, Simon slowed his pace and told me to walk ahead of him. He lingered back, then paced up again when he was about ten metres [30 feet] behind me. I realized I wasn't to look back, so I just walked on. I knew he was ogling me, staring me down. The outfit I wore, the all-red Liverpool home strip was complete with stockings pulled up to just below my knees. My parents had been stingy last Christmas, so they only got me the yellow away strip (yes, it was yellow in those days, not grey as it is now). Consequently, the strip I had chosen to wear was last year's and naturally a size too small. Given the natural tightness of clothing in those days, the red shirt looked almost painted on when looking from a distance. So did the shorts, and they only reached down to just below the buttocks. In fact, I am sure even my little "Christmas hams" were peeking out a bit.

Walking behind me, I am sure Simon was enjoying the view. Once again, he was taking control over my body and my will by doing nothing but watch me. I felt it too, being looked up like a puppy in a store, wanting to be noticed but at the same time hoping for the good-will of my intended master. The situation made me uncomfortable. At the same time, I hoped I looked good.

As we reached the end of the three-hundred-metre [1000 feet] walk to Simon's gate, he once again caught up with me. As he came up towards me, I tightened and wiggled my butt, just for extra show. He opened the gates with an electric remote, then – as we were still hidden from the view of his house, gave me a hard shove on the shoulder, almost throwing me over. "Poofter," he hissed at me, then said no more as we walked side by side up to his enormous house. Being around Simon certainly added some useful jargon to my English vocabulary.

We came up to the house just as his parents and little sister were getting into their car. They were going to visit Simon's grandparents and wouldn't be home before tea. In England this means – contrary to what you might think – the evening meal. In other words we had all day. This meant no parents at either end – perfect! We received instructions to have fun and not to burn the house down. We promised to follow both and let them go. As the car pulled out through the gate I felt a strong arm around my shoulders.

"Right," said Simon. "Let's have some fun."

And fun we had. For the next eight hours I was tied up, tied down, stripped, clothed, pushed around, pulled around. Simon used the control he had over me to the fullest, and I let him. Having the house to ourselves was helpful, since I was introduced to several of its intriguing secrets. There were also some clues to explain certain aspects of Simon's personality. I was his prisoner for the whole time, and it was quite an ordeal for me, but the memory of that day remained with me for a long time (apparently, since I still remember it).

Chapter Five

Simon took me up the stairs to his room. This time, he didn't use the main staircase, however, but the smaller servants' staircase in towards the corner attached to the kitchen and storage rooms and heating facilities. This staircase did not have the elegance of the residential parts of the house. It was a dark and dreary, stone-enclosed space with a damp feel and scent that led from the former coal cellar and conveniently all the way up up to the final narrow staircase leading to Simon's room.

Once upstairs, I was stood in the middle of the room, facing Simon's bed. Just like last weekend, the room was spotless. I noticed that there was even a vacuum cleaner in the corner, presumably already used by Simon in person. Not a speck of dust was seen anywhere. The cartons of clothing I had been demonstrated a week ago were not to be seen anywhere, although I expected they were probably tucked away in one of the little built-in cupboards that ran almost the entire length of both sides of the room.

The only thing that was on obvious display was the stuff that was apparently to be used at this moment. On the bed before me was the assortment of clothing I had picked out last week, neatly folded of course. And beside them was a set of neatly coiled rope. Soft cotton rope of different lengths, perfectly laid out in order from shortest to longest, and I knew what they would soon be attached to. I felt a lump in my throat and swallowed hard. This was a dream come true. At the same time, it felt creepy. Very creepy.

Now Simon gently pulled off the sweatbands from my wrists and placed them on his desk, which was slightly behind me and to my right. As he took the few steps over to the bed, he spoke.

"I had planned for you to get into this other outfit straight away, but on second thought, I think you shall keep the football strip on. You look just fine in that. Very fine."

He didn't ask me if I approved, and I knew it was not my place to protest. My muscles tensed up as he bent down to grab and stretch out the shortest coil of rope. My heart started pumping blood at an enormous rate. My entire body was setting up to flee danger. But I stood still, unable and unwilling to move.

"Enjoying yourself, Goldilocks?"

"Yes…I mean yes sir." Despite the tension, I certainly was. The natural and for the time period fashionable tightness of the waist area of my shorts confirmed this. I unconsciously brushed my hand against the 'hard' evidence.

"Glad to see it," said Simon. "But I don't want you making a mess in those shorts, so I think I'd better help you control those hands.

If I had been more experienced with the type of body fluids he was referring to, I could have protested that I did not in fact as yet produce the goods. Of course I wasn't. So I didn't. I wouldn't have anyway, for the feeling I got was exhilarating as he pulled my hands back and made me put them together with the palms facing outwards, before tying them together in such a manner, and very tightly too. This awkward position was a great deal more strenuous on my arms and shoulders, but Simon didn't seem to care as he maneuvred me down on my knees and then flat on the floor on my stomach. He brought the other coils of rope over and tied my ankles together, then my thighs just above the knees. I was turned over onto my back, then sat up against the bed, but still on the floor. Sitting up like this was very difficult with the palms forced outwards (try it, you'll see), but slowly (though not painlessly) I managed to wiggle my wrists around to a more comfortable position within the knots, so that finally I got to where my inner knuckles touched. Much better.

I the meantime, Simon, had picked out a roll of duct tape. He brought a chair up and placed it in front of me, its legs placed either side of my tied feet and knees, my legs stretched out in front of me. Simon sat down, facing me.

"I could just cover your lips with this," he said. "But I don't think that would keep you quiet enough. So…" He began to methodically unlace his sneakers, then pulled them off, revealing his black dress socks. He pulled these off as well, tossing one aside, then gently folding the other one up into a little ball. I did not like the look of this.

"There," he said. "I've been wearing these all night and all day yesterday, just for you, Goldilocks. They were really getting sweaty and uncomfortable. Just feel how hot my feet still are."

He brought his right foot up against my face. The smell was…well, not revolting, but it wasn't exactly the latest after shave fashion either. And I did feel the heat as the foot made contact with my face. I tried to turn away, but the foot kept following me. Eventually, Simon managed to grasp my nose between his big and second toe, and used this grip to turn my head back. I looked pleadingly at him. He gazed back, holding his foot there.

"Go on," he said in a whisper. "Give it a kiss. Lick my foot for me. Give it a try."

I shook my head as best I can, feeling tears beginning to well up. He immediately pulled his foot away, allowing me to plead.

"Please, no, I can't. I just can't."

He ruffled my hair a bit as I recovered, just ahead of starting to cry for real.

"No, I guess you can't. Not yet. But you will, I promise you."

"But you're not getting away from the preview, Goldilocks. Now open up."

I tried to clench my jaws shut as he brought the balled-up sock up, but of course he just clasped the sides of my cheeks, pushing hard and painfully until I was unable to resist. My mouth opened and the warm, sweaty material was placed on my tongue. Before I had a chance to recover, the duct taped sealed my mouth. He tightened it with three tight laps around my head, then bit off the rest of the roll and adjusted it neatly under my nose.

"There, that's a nice gag," he said. "It's a shame it means you can't smile for the camera."

"Nnnngh?" What camera? Apparently he understood my unintelligible question, for he grabbed the sides of my head and turned it to my right. There, in the dark corner on the other side of the room, stood a camcorder on a tripod. Apparently I hadn't noticed that Simon had switched it on as we entered the room. The way it was positioned, I realized that it had recorded just about everything we had done since entering the room. All the time, Simon had kept my focus the other way, towards his bed and desk, so it had mainly gotten a clear shot of my tightly clothed backside. All the same, I felt somewhat embarrassed that I had been shown off like this. Of course, it had recorded us from the side as Simon had turned me towards the bed to tie me up, then as my legs were tied as I laid flat on the floor, and finally, as I watched Simon preparing what was now kept in my mouth. The gag that prevented me from giving Simon a good piece of my mind. He hadn't told me he would be filming me. I felt outraged at the idea that he would be able to keep this for later, watching as I let him tie me up, then be gagged and completely helpless.

All this I couldn't tell Simon. I don't think he would have cared anyway, and it probably wouldn't have stopped me even if I had known about the camera in the first place. Still, it was a betrayal, and only one of many I would be subjected to over our times together.

For now, Simon wanted some action. This he got by pushing me down on the floor and out onto the open floor space in the middle of the room. Aiming the camcorder towards me, he told me to try and struggle out of the ropes. As I did, he followed me closely with the camera. I was told to make some noise. I did, producing the muffled sounds of trying to cry out through a thick sock gag. It sounded like a whimper, even to me. I whimpered and I struggled, struggled and whimpered. Within minutes I stopped, exhausted and convinced my efforts were futile. Simon edged me on, however, telling me not to stop, that I could do it, if only I tried hard enough. And tried I did. Was that a slight slip along my left wrist? Was it coming loose? Maybe, if I could just…

And I stopped again. Gave up. Had a rest. Whatever. But Simon wasn't satisfied. He stepped up to me, pushing me over with his one foot, then gave me a kick on my right thigh. I groaned through the gag, looked up , pleading with him. It-really-was-useless-to-struggle. The knots were too tight, and I was only hurting myself trying. My arms ached and my lungs were burning from lack of oxygen. Still he knelt down beside me, grabbing my hair, making me listen.

"Look, I don't even have ten minutes of action from you here. How do you expect me to enjoy myself if you just keep giving up. Either you get your act together and do a good job struggling for me, or we'll call it quits and you can go back to your house and sit on the front steps 'til your folks come home. It's up to you."

I yelled out in exasperation. It wasn't impressive, giving my small size and the voluptious gag with which I was fitted. But it was a lion's roar. I was frustrated. This was a tough game to play. But at the same time, I was a pretty tough kid. And competitive. Simon's words brought out my wildest instincts of contest. I was mad at him, it was true. But I would not let him defeat me. I would show him that I could take anything he would throw at me. I started kicking and bucking, moving all over the floor in renewed efforts to get free. I hurt myself, sure, mostly from accidentally kicking into tables and chairs and an opened drawer. When I got home later, I would have to quickly sneak up the stairs and change before my parents saw me, as my shorts would reveal a few bruises that would be difficult to explain.

"That's better, I heard Simon say through a daze. And then-lo and behold-that looseness about my left wrist proved to be correct. Suddenly, my hand came loose just a little bit more. I turned my head back, looking at my captor. In defiance I raised my eyebrows as I made my hand as little as possible, wiggling it out of its bonds. At long last, I could see my hands again. I turned around to sit on my butt, getting to work on my leg bonds. I cast a glance at Simon, glaring at me. I could tell he felt defeated. Even though he was standing right in front of me, I had escaped him, showed him he wasn't Superman. If I had realized how my cocky glances would affect him, however, I would have been more tactful. Yet another adult lesson to be learned.

I had not learned as yet, however, so I diligently freed my legs, then my ankles. Not without pain, I pulled the tape from behind my neck to free me from the makeshift gag as well. Once I was all done, I stood up, letting the ropes and sock gag hang loosely from my now free right hand.

"Now what do you say," I asked Simon in a voice I wanted to make spiteful, but in fact only came out as a boyish squeek. "I got out of your ropes in no time. You'll have to do better than that!"

Simon just looked at me, saying nothing. He walked over to the camcorder to switch it to standby, then went to have a seat by his desk. It seemed that by coming free, I had disrupted his plans, and right now he was having to deal with the situation. He stared into his computer screen, its blank emptyness matching his eyes.

Still enjoying my triumph immensely, I walked across the room, letting the ropes and gag swing slowly from my hand. As I stood by the desk, I let them dangle for a few seconds right in front of his eyes, before dropping them onto the table top.

"Want to try again," I asked. I put my hands at my sides, mockingly snickering.

And then it happened. His eyes, up til then dull and empty, suddenly came back to life. A glimmer came back into his gaze as he looked up at me, then started smiling.

"Sure," he said. "Why not. Turn around for me, will you."

I did, letting him pull my hands back once again. This time he crossed my hands over, tying me up the way he had before, in a cinch that tightened as I brought my hands down in attempts to struggle loose. Once he had tightened the cinch up properly, I knew I had no way of getting loose from this.

He told me to sit down on the bed and wait. From there I had I had an intriguing study of the construction of Simon's 'new invention,' as he called it. This was an ordinary golf ball around which he wrapped a layer of skin-coloured foam held fast to the ball by a liberal selection of thick rubber bands. This combination was then covered by a bright red silk scarf that Simon explained his mother had unknowingly 'lent' him. The ball and foam were rolled into the central part of the scarf. This central part of the scarf was then tightly tied shut with an equally bright red sturdy shoe lace. Once the shoe lace was knotted off properly, Simon cut the ends off with a pair of scissors, then held the finished contraption up in front of me.

I beheld my first ball gag, staring wide-eyed. I didn't know what it was called, of course, and my imagination had never managed to suggest such a thing, but as I saw it, I realized there was only one place it could possibly go. Obediently and without even a prompt from Simon, I stood up and opened my mouth wide as he got in behind me. The ball, which by now was about half-way in size between a golf ball and a tennis ball, filled my mouth up good, pushing my cheeks out and my tongue down. In contrast to the sock gags I was used to, this type of gag did not give as you bit into it. There was a hard resistance that kept your jaws always uncomfortably open, and any attempt to close then only pushed the whole contrapment back towards your throat and just about into your windpipe. To begin with, my sensory system did not quite send the right signals to my breathing apparatus, and I panicked a bit as I felt I could not breathe. I struggled and squealed out what little noise I could.

"Relax," Simon said calmly to me. "I have tried this on myself before and I know you'll be fine. Just breathe slowly through your nose."

I did-and there was the oxygen I required. I tried a few more slow, deep breaths until my body decided there was a way to handle this.

It is strange, I realize now, how your body sometimes plays these tricks on you when faced with a completely new situation. That when your instincts are wrong-footed, so to speak, you are at a loss to handle the situation. I think many people, especially adults, find it difficult to handle new situations, both physically and psychologically, and then panic and make bad choices.

But maybe we're on to a solution here. If your body and mind are conditioned at a early age for handling stressful and unfamiliar situations, then maybe this makes it easier to handle them as an adult. Perhaps there should be a law proclaiming that all children (especially boys around age eleven) should be subjected to the same treatment I was, in the interest of preparing them better for adulthood, of course. I wonder if you could get EU funding for such a study. I am certain there would be a large supply of willing (and unwilling) guinea pigs.

But I digress. As I forced my body to breathe normally, Simon tied the scarf off tightly behind my head. To finish off, he took up the slack and wrapped it gently around my neck, tying it off with a much gentler knot. He adjusted the fabric so it sat snugly but not tightly about the neck, then got up and stood in front of me.

"Very nice. Just like a little dog collar." I glared at the insult, but received only a sneering smile in return. "Not so cocky anymore, are you." I puffed some air out in response, but Simon ignored me, instead putting his sneakers back on, skipping the socks though. He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me towards the door.

"Let's go Goldilocks. Time for a tour of the house."

I diligently followed as I was led down from the attic. This first spiral staircase, as I have explained, was very extremely narrow, and each individual step was very short. The construction was barely more than a round ladder. Thankfully, Simon had the foresight of walking ahead of me, so that he was always below me as we went down, since for obvious reasons, I had some difficulties keeping my balance.

At the bottom of these stairs was the door that I found out Simon often kept locked when his family was home-especially while I was being held in his room. On the other side of this door was a small room that did contain some extra closet space, but essentially this was just a small link between the door to Simon's room and the sturdyer stone 'servants' staircase' that led down to the kitchen and basement.

There was also a built-in serving board on which it would be possible to place food for the second floor apartment. This became logical to me as Simon opened the door leading onto this floor. I gasped through my gag as I beheld the enormous room behind. This had probably at one time been a combined dining room and lounge. The furniture was still intact, and I realized, without really understanding such stuff, that this stuff was old. As I followed Simon, he explained that this floor was never used. It had once been the private quarters of his great-great-grandfather, whose father had originally built the house in the first half of the nineteenth century. Most of the furniture was actually from that time, and as they didn't seem to fare too badly in there, they were just kept there. Twice a year some women in the village were hired to clean everything up, but basically it was never touched.

Awe-struck, I beheld this glorious time-capsule from pre-Victorian times as Simon led me through the large room which contained an enormous dark-wood dining table as well as a red satin sofa group near the elaborate fire place. Opposite the fire place two glass doors opened onto a balcony with a glorious view of the river and down towards the village. I realized, of course, that Simon's deceased relatives of that era would have controlled the lives of most of the villagers, and this was simply a perfect spot from which to experience that control from a distance. I could also see from where Simon had inherited his character.

Simon gave me a hard shove, then caught me by the shoulder just before I got out of his reach, pulling me back against him just as hard. The whiplash made me grunt in surprise and pain, but my master ignored this, instead pushing me along this fabulous floor. We passed through into a library, dreary with dark oak panels and thick, red satin curtains pulled shut against the window. Simon explained that this collection of books was extremely rare and valuable, and the curtains were always closed in order to protect this treasure from sunlight.

At the other end of the library was another door leading to the grand hall of this floor, with a white marble floor and the beautifully ornamented top of the main staircase. Here the curtains were pulled back in full, allowing the light to flow freely through the enormous, floor-to-ceiling windows. Coming from the dark library, the contrast was striking. I was given little time to admire this, however, as Simon continued our tour, pulling me across the hall and into a darker hallway. Here we found the private quarters, with an enormous master bedroom on the side facing the river, and two smaller bedrooms (each only about twice the size of our living room…) facing the garden. As we inspected the former closet, now an exclusive if old-style bathroom, Simon casually related the traditional village rumour, the type that is hard to silence. Apparently his great great great uncle, who was the older brother and therefore the head of the household, basically lived alone on this floor, leaving his brother's family (Simon's great great great grandfather) the two bottom floors. The uncle never married, and so it was a mystery who actually used the smaller bedrooms. But according to the rumour, the rooms were occupied by guests of the gentleman. These guests were often a selection of young farmhand boys from the families tending to the fields around the village. If the uncle felt they had worked particularly hard, he would invite them in for some 'vacation time'. Apparently, few families felt they could refuse such a generous offer, so they boys would tag along and spend a few nights, even weeks, in these fabulous quarters.

"Wouldn't you have liked to be one of those boys," Simon asked me in the kindest and gentlest of voices. I couldn't answer of course, so I just glanced at him. His look was icy and sinister, and I felt a shiver up my spine as I contemplated what that 'generous invitation' might have entailed. Thankfully, my imagination was not so well-developed at that time as it is now. If it had been, I would have shat my pants.

Simon didn't wait for an answer, but instead brought me along, guiding me down the grandiose staircase to the floor where his family lived. Suddenly we were back in the eighties, with wall-to-wall carpeting in all the rooms except the grand hall, also marble-floored. The layout of this floor was a replica of the floor above. Here, the library was brightly coloured and let in a bunch of sunlight. In the living quarters-to which I was not privy a look-Simon's parents had the master bedroom while his little sister kept the two smaller rooms as a bedroom and playroom. Simon had moved to the attic when he was nine, and loved having the room all to himself, a full empty floor separating him from the rest of the family.

After showing off the living room at the other side of the library, complete with a modern family altar (commonly known as a television…), Simon basically ran me through the bottom floor with dining room and drawing room (seldom used except when the whole family came to visit for Christmas) and the country kitchen and parlour. Except for the occasional meal in the kitchen, I would rarely come see these last two floors I described. Simon certainly wanted me to himself, so we rarely 'disturbed' the rest of the family.

Having completed our tour of the more official parts of the house, Simon now opened a door in the servants' staircase. This led down a rough stone staircase into the basement. This was a part of the house I woud become more intimately acquainted with as time progressed. And why not? It looked so inviting with its grey concrete walls, uneven concrete floor and atmospheric lighting in the shape of naked lighbulbs casting off hard shadows as we trundled along. Nearest the kitchen were (naturally) some food cellars and other storage. Here Simon also showed me something that would come in very useful for us. There was a door to the outside in one of the store rooms, and Simon now showed me where the key was hidden. This way, I would be able to slip into the house by myself and then-quietly, of course-sneak up the servants' staircase, giving me direct access to Simon's room.

Next came the coal cellar, now rarely used as the heating system had been modernized by Simon's parents. The furnace still worked, though, and was used each winter just to make sure it did so. Consequently, there was a plentiful supply of coal in the-very black-compartment.

"But that's not quite what I wanted to show you," said Simon, as he pulled me along the central aisle, towards the far end where a low, sturdy oak door was bolted shut with two crossing bars. I stood and watched as Simon pulled the two bars away. By this time, I was getting pretty tired. I had been tied up and ballgagged throughout the house tour, and my arms were aching from the lack of movement, as were my jaws. Relief was not at hand quite yet though, as Simon grabbed me gently by the neck and pushed me through the thick vault behind the door, into a pitch black space.

"Owwch!" I grunted as I came up two steps and tried to stand up straight. In here, the ceiling was a great deal lower (or rather, the floor a great deal higher) than the other end of the cellar, a fact that became more obvious as Simon plugged an electric contact into the socket of an extension cord. Instantly the space came to life through a system of halogen building site lights on tripods, revealing a widening of the aisle to a square space around five metres [16 feet] across both ways. To the sides and towards the end were metre-[3ft.]-thick walls with vaults leading through to spaces behind, some wide open, some closed off with solid oak doors and some-with doors of welded iron bars.

"Welcome to the oldest part of the house," said Simon, as he sat me down beside him, both of us with our backs against against one of the walls. I had to fiddle around not to sit on my hands against the rough floor, decorated with thousands of small round pebbles fastened with concrete. "It is said that this cellar dates from the middle ages, which was before my family took over the land. Our house was built on top of the ruins of an old castle that burned down during the civil war, and apparently this bit was considered a good enough foundation, so they just kept it. It doesn't come in useful anymore since the ceiling is so low, but I think it served an interesting purpose in the past."

I looked around, intrigued. So this had been the basement of a building that had stood here until the mid-sixteenhundreds. Which made the space and the house that had once stood there, well, very old. And my knowledge of history was good enough to set my imagination off. This was essentially a castle from the middle ages. And what did castles in the middle ages have? Well…

"It's not known if this was used as a dungeon, or just for, ehm…, other storage. But to me, it certainly could have been a dungeon. I do know one thing, though."

Simon left me sitting as he, crouching slightly, went over to one of the low oak doors that was locked with a modern padlock. Pulling out a key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and opened it. I couldn't see much more than his jeans-clad backside as he got on his knees and put his upper body in. I heard him pick something up, giving off a strange, ghostlike metal clanking sound, then he reappeared holding a canvas sack. He pulled it back over to me (I could tell the contents were heavy) and sat back down, keeping the sack between his outstretched legs. He put a hand in and I could tell he grabbed something, then looked at me.

"Want to see?" Once again, I felt my heart start thumping hard. I nodded. Was I curious? You betcha.

The sack gave away the same clanking sound and Simon pulled some of its contents out. It was metal allright, a set of three centimetre [>1 inch] thick black cufflinks. Or at least they had probably been black once. Now they had a brown, rusty patina to them, but other than that they did not seem too damaged by age. They were sure to be able to do their job well enough.

"My parents can be quite naive sometimes. They told me when I was really little that the basement was off limits, and especially this last bit. They probably figured the dark would keep me away anyway, so they never actually locked it, as they probably should have. Because of course, I was quite nosy, and on one of my explorations I found these building lights in one of our storage sheds. So I set them up a little discretely to make my own little hideaway here. Then I found the key to that padlock-it was just hanging on a wall with a bunch of other keys in the storage at the other end of the basement. It looked like it fit so I tried it. And lo and behold! I found this, and plenty more. It's all in there."

I beheld Simon's words, looking at the cuffs in his hands, and the thick chain link connected to them. Against the bare stone walls, his breaths and mine echoed off in a joined waltz of excitement and adventure. I realized what this was, but felt a cold shiver as he confirmed it out loud.

"You know my great great uncle? The one I told you about? Well the rumour said that he didn't just invite the boys here for vacation time. And it was said that some of them were quite unwilling. And when they were, he would lock them away for a while, until they were more… well, compliant."

Simon and I had both been focusing on the cuffs and chains, but now I sensed his head lifting as he looked at me. In response, I lifted my head as well and turned my face towards him. He gave me that stare again, that icy stare as he whispered, almost hissed it out at me.

"This was where he kept them. This was where they had to sit. This was his dungeon."

He turned his head to the front again, staring at some point on the far wall. I couldn't take my eyes off him though. He spoke again:

"And this is where I am going to put you now."

We sat in silence for a minute or more. My mind raced. What did he mean put me here? This was one scary place to 'be put', and I wasn't terribly thrilled with the idea.

"Don't worry, it won't be for long. Just twenty minutes or half an hour or so. Just to give you a feel for it. I have a feeling you'll like it. OK?"

He looked over at me again. Gone was the icy stare, now his blue eyes were calm, calming, friendly. We were buddies once again, just playing games. I nodded. "Auh-gaugh," I responded, as best I could.

"Cool," he said. Now, let's see, there are plenty of ways to keep you in here, but I think we should try a less painful way to begin with." This sounded like a good idea to me, at least. "Besides, I expect you don't want to have your hands behind your back for much longer now, do you?" I shook my head.

"All right then, just for a few minutes more though. Now I know what to do with you. Come on."

He got up and helped me to my feet. I could almost stand up straight, but not quite. He led me over to the same space he had pulled the canvas bag out from. This opening was even smaller, in fact it was more like a hole in the wall only about a metre square. Simon went in first, then pulled me through head and shoulders first so I could land softly on my butt.

This space was smaller, about three by four metres [10x13 feet]. Strewn around the walls were more canvas bags, each hiding its own secrets. Simon though, true to his efficient self, pulled me over to the center of the room where the pebble-patterned floor rose slightly as a soft mound, the top at the center just some ten centimetres [4 inch] higher than the floor along the walls. Welded into the floor were four iron rings, some two metres [7 feet] apart in a square formation. They were prepared; from each ring led a chain with a solid metal cuff at either end.

Placing me sitting on my butt right on the top of the central mound, Simon slid down towards my feet. He bunched my red football stockings down around my ankles, then pulled the leg over to the first chain and cuff. Once again the clanking sound filled the stony space, giving off a chilling noise. Simon closed the cuff around my ankle, over my sock, then screwed the cuff completely shut using a wing nut. Done with this, he went over and did the same to my right leg. In order for my legs to reach the cuffs, I had slid down the mound a few centimetres, so I could now sit up relatively comfortably and watch. The thick cuffs were quite a tight fit, so as the wing nut of the right cuff was also tightened, I was fully aware that I was going nowhere. My legs were stretched out so far from my upper body that I would never be able to reach either of the locking wing nuts even if my hands were free. Which I expected would happen soon, as Simon had shifted up behind me. First, he undid the ballgag, however. It took him some time to undo the very tight knot he'd made in the red silk, but finally it was undone and the gag was pulled out. Reflexively, I closed my mouth back to its normal position, eliciting a frightful pain in my jaw joints. I slowly moved my jaws around, trying to get them back into their normal gear. Gosh it felt good to retain some control over my mouth. I didn't dare speak until given the go-ahead, however, for fear that it would go back in. I didn't have to wait long though as my captor told me what would happen next. He did so as he was untying my hands.

"Now, time for our next game. As I was saying, I don't know if this was really used as a dungeon, but the rumour says my great great great uncle would lock people up for a while to make them obey his wishes. And I do know one thing. I didn't weld these rings into the floor. They were here when I found the place. And the chains and cuffs and some other stuff in here. It all fits. So I'm pretty sure there's some truth to it. With me so far?"

"Yes Sir," I replied in a rasping voice. I was busy rubbing my wrists and moving my stiff arms and shoulders around. Simon moved around to sit in between my outstretched legs.

"The stories say that wherever the boys-for the stories only mention boys, young boys, like you-were locked up, nobody could hear them cry. So life could go on as normal as the boys contemplated being imprisoned for longer, or giving in to whatever the castle master wanted. Nobody gave a second thought to the boys, and besides, in those days nobody would dare say anything against the head of the castle, even though people must have suspected things. They probably even knew. Keeping the boys where nobody could hear or see them probably eased their conscience a bit.

"And this is where you come in. I want to make an experiment to see if anything could be heard from down here, especially from a high-pitched boy soprano like you. So I'm going to leave you down here, then go upstairs and check all the different nooks and crannies that I know of in the house. In the meantime, you're going to scream as loud as you can. Scream for help, mercy, whatever, as long as you make a lot of noise. Understand?"

"I understand," I replied, suddenly feeling excited. I would be imprisoned in a dungeon, forced to serve my captors wishes, not knowing how long I would be imprisoned-or, for that matter, what would happen to me next. This felt right up my alley, and I would make Simon proud of me.

"I'll do it," I said, my throat still dry. "But that gag and the dry air in here… I really need a drink of water, otherwise I won't be able to get any sound out."

"No problem," said Simon, getting up from where he'd been sitting between my legs. Not until then did I realize, he'd been caressing my right thigh the whole time. As he'd been doing it, I hadn't noticed but now, when it stopped, I felt as if I would miss it.

"I'll be right back. Don't go away." With that quite redundant cliché he slid out the narrow opening and disappeared, leaving me alone, my hands and mouth free, but my ankles cruelly caught in the jaws of those nasty-looking iron cuffs. I made a few leisurely attempts to reach them, to see if I might release the wing nuts. But I was right the first time. Given the fairly extreme angle created by the space between the floor rings, my legs were kept completely straight. Consequently, by bending my upper body as far as I could possibly go, I could only barely touch the wing nuts with my middle finger. But it would be impossible, even if I could get one more finger to touch, to stay in that position for more than a split second. So despite the fact that my hands were free, these ankle cuffs were enough. I would stay here until somebody released me. Of course, I realized that my hands would go into the other cuffs as well. I wasn't to be just trapped here; locking the door would probably suffice for that. No, I was also going to be held down on the floor, unable to move at all. I was to be uncomfortable and vulnerable as well as imprisoned. My mid section began to throb at the thought. I gave my willy a slight tug, responding to its eagerness. Just then, Simon returned, carrying a plastic sports bottle filled with water and-oh great, I thought-a camera.

"There we are, Goldilocks. A full bottle of water just for you. But first, let's have a Polaroid moment." Snickering at his own joke, he lifted the camera and took a snap of me, my legs outstretched to the sides and leaning forward at the waist, gazing into the camera with a look of defeat. I know, because he showed me the picture the week after, when it was exposed.

Having laid the camera aside, however, he now gave me the bottle and let me drink. As dry as my throat was, I could actually feel the cool water slithering down my throat. I finished half of the bottle, then gave it back to him.

"Is that enough," he asked. I nodded.

"Ready to be tied down good?"

"Yes Simon." With the water, my voice had recovered a great deal.

"OK then," he said, sliding over behind me. He gently guided my upper body down until I was laying flat on my back. It took a little adjustment of my leg position-closing the angle ever so slightly-to allow me to lie down completely. Now, owing to the fact that I was lying on this small mound, my outer extremities naturally fell lower than my middle. Or rather, my middle was highly exposed on top of the mound. I would see this later, when Simon showed me more pictures of my predicament. Of course, that meant my stiffy was very obvious inside the red nylon fabric I was wearing. And stiff it was, oh yes.

As Simon pulled my right hand out, he explained to me that he had enveloped the hand manacles with foam and secured them with rubber bands. "Otherwise you would get the most awful bruises. The edges of these cuffs are quite sharp." Using a wing nut, he tightened this cuff up, then continued with my left hand. As I was tied down, I felt the tightness of the cuffs. It dawned on me that if I had been a grown-up, these cuffs have been too tight to close. They were, in fact, made to trap a kid my age. I shuddered at the thought.

"There," said Simon as he slid away from me. "That should keep you still. In fact, I know it will. So, another couple of souvenirs, and I can be off." He picked up the camera and took another four pictures of me, from different angles. Already the spread-eagled position was having effects, both mental and physical. To begin with, being spread out like this does have the effect of leaving you completely vulnerable. Dressed or naked, it doesn't matter. You have absolutely no way of moving you limbs, absolutely no control whatsoever. No sitting up, no walking, no running, not even scratching your nose. Whether exposed to a pack of wild wolves in a forest or a lone eagle in the desert or, as in my case, a horny and bondage addicted preteener in a basement, I was there for the taking.

At my request, Simon gave me another swig of water, then got up and went to the door. Before sliding out the door, however, he picked up the electric plug connected to the lone light of this compartment.

"There wouldn't be any light down here in a hundred years ago, would there?" With that, he pulled the plug, leaving just the feint light slipping in from the central hall of the basement.

"Don't forget, give me some good screaming. It shouldn't take long. Wait for a few minutes so I have a chance to get upstairs, then start shouting. I won't be more than fifteen minutes, I'm sure, so the rats won't have time to finish you off completely. Bye!"

With that he closed the oak door to my prison cell. Now I was completely in the dark. Following his instructions, I didn't start screaming yet. Instead I just lay there in my spread-out position. Slowly, in the dark, the physical strain of the bondage began to speak to me. Actually being stretched out was not so painful in itself, although, I figured it would be if I were left here for hours or days. But lying on that small mound meant my body wasn't lying completely flat as it would on a bed. Consequently my body couldn't quite orientate itself, especially in the dark. Moving my head back down a bit to relax my neck muscles, I found the floor with a painful bump.

Secondly, the slight rise in the floor also put a great deal more pressure on my chest muscles, affecting my breathing. The only way to take full breaths was actually to raise my body up a little bit which, given the position of my arms and legs, was very tiring. And every time I relaxed, I seemed to hit the back of my head.

Thirdly, as I mentioned before, the floor was decorated with thousands of little smooth pellets concreted into the floor. Each of these little pellets stuck up a centimetre or two [~1 inch] from the floor, poking into my back and buttocks in somewhat painful but certainly the most inconvenient ways. After a few minutes of enduring that poking, I realized that if this had been for real, I would be going mad in very little time. All the same, I had been instructed to protest, so I did. I started shouting for help. At first I was astonished by the enormous echo off the stone walls, so I held back. After a while, though, I was getting into it, raising my body up on my elbows as far as I could to get plenty of air in my lungs. I screamed for help, shouted in outrage, pulled against the very slight slack the chains offered me. I had no idea how long I'd been at it, but soon I felt it must have been at least fifteen minutes. By this time, I was absolutely exhausted, and my throat was dried up once more. So soon I was laying back once again, only uttering the occasional loud moan.

Not long after I'd settled down, Simon, true to his word, returned. I heard the latch in the door turn, then the feint light from outside returned, and I saw Simon's head through the opening.

"Oh good, you're still here," he observed, snickering at his own joke. "I must say," he continued as he plugged the light back in, giving my eyes a blinding shock," "if you were really screaming as loud as you can, the house really is soundproof. I couldn't hear a thing-except in one place, and there it was really clear. Very interesting. I'll show you later.

Simon came over towards me, crouching down between my spread legs for a while, contemplating.

"So, are you going to let me go," I asked him. I wasn't sure I wanted him to, mind you, but I really wouldn't have minded a change of scene at the time. That floor was really cold and uncomfortable. Unfortunately, so was Simon.

"I will, in a minute. I was just thinking about something."

"About what?"

"About something. Don't worry, it's not like you won't find out, now is it?"

"Well, will I find out before or during?"

"Hmm, 'during,' at the latest."

"Great," I muttered. "Simon, I am asking you to please let me go from here. It's really uncomfortable."

"I think that's the idea."

"Yes, well, I guess so too. But there must be other ways you could tie me up. Maybe even some better ones."

He thought for a while. I looked up at him, pleadingly.

"Oh yes, I'm sure there are. Plenty of ways, and much better. But probably not more comfortable."

I gulped. So these were the ashes, and there was fire to come. Simon finally got down by my feet and started to undo the cuffs.

"Anyway, that's not what I was thinking about."

"Really? What were you thinking about?"

My legs were freed, and I gratefully slid them together.

"Well, I'm thinking that we need a change of costume. You look great in those clothes, but it's not quite right for the scene. I think you should get out of some of them at least."

With that he swiftly pulled my shoes off. Then, straddling my legs, he stepped up and crouched within easy reach of my crotch. His right hand quickly found the waist of my shorts.

"What are you doing," I asked, a little worried now, but mainly intrigued.

"Like I said, I don't like these clothes right now. Especially the shorts. I'm putting you in something else for a while, but in order to do that, I have to get you out of these first, don't I?"

There was little I could do about it, although I did protest some more as he grabbed the bottom of the shorts on either side of my thigh, then pulled. The shorts came down, of course, and so did the back of my undies, so my butt was now rested directly on the little pebbles. This didn't help.

Working his way gradually down, Simon pulled my shorts all the way through my sock-clad feet. Noticing my predicament with the underwear, he slid back up, straddling my legs which I kept together and pointing straight down. I lifted my backside up off the floor to help him pull the undies back on.

Of course, I was disappointed. Or rather… maybe not so disappointed after all. Either way, the undies did not come back up. Instead, they went south on my bodily compass, down my legs and then right off leaving me with… well… an additional compass needle if you get my drift. And if my legs were to the south, then as the socks also came off, this needle immediately started pointing north.

I groaned. "Oh God," I muttered, ogling down along my by now highly exposed lower parts. I could sense a chill, both outside my partially nudified body, and inside it, down my spine. My captor, meanwhile, was methodically folding up what I had just worn, then pulling out new clothes from a plastic grocery bag he had brought with him as he last reentered the cell.

"Don't worry, it won't be for long," he said. As he spoke he folded the new outfit out beside me. This was what I had selected the week before. I drew an inward sight of relief. I had realized by now that Simon was quite unpredictable, so there was no knowing what he might pull out of there.

"See, no need to be nervous," he said. Yeah, right, I thought. Easy to say for someone who's not chained to the floor half naked and at the mercy of someone older and much stronger. I didn't say anything though, even though I was-for the moment at least-ungagged. Nothing to say really. And talking would probably render me a gag at any rate. And just for the moment, I could do without that.

So I laid back and Simon dress me. First came a pair of white standard no-fly briefs. They stuck very tightly to me as Simon adjusted them.

"I exchanged these from last week, since I figured these would also fit. I think I wore these when I was about eight and a half. And look Goldilocks! They fit you just fine."

As he spoke, he massaged me through the briefs, which of course did not exactly increase the already tight space inside the cotton fabric. Apparently satisfied that my prick was as hard as it would ever be, he left it to its own devices as he unrolled a pair of grey knee length school socks. Still straddling my legs, he turned his back to me as he pulled the socks on and all the way up, then bunched them back down around my ankles. Next came the pair of light brown corduroys I had picked out. This may seem like a strange choice to you, but I preferred the softer feel of corduroy over regular denims. And corduroys still felt ordinary compared to dress slacks, which I thought were entirely wrong for boys on adventure.

Now, given that Simon still kept his back to me, the act of pulling the pants up naturally caused him to move up my still stretched out upped body. As he finished up by pulling the fly shut and fastening the top button, he in fact came to be just about sitting on my face. Consequently, I now had the backside of a pair on not entirely clean black jeans pushing up against my nose. Somehow Simon must have caught on to this predicament, for all of a sudden he just relaxed, gave himself ample support on his knees-and gave off a lengthy and voluminous fart. It was so powerful, in fact, that I thought I could feel the vibrations through the jeans. I groaned out loud, but was only met with an ice cold glance over his shoulder. At the same time, an unmistakeable odour began to spread about my lower face.

"There, I've been holding that in just for you. That took some effort on my part, so I think that before I let you up, you should thank me. What do you think?"

I said nothing. By this time, the smell was quite gruesome, and I wondered again what I had let myself into. I looked up into Simon's ice blue eyes, glancing at meover his left shoulder.

"Go on Goldilocks," he whispered. "Show me how much you liked it."

"How?"

"Give us a kiss. That's how you say thank you."

"What, you mean right there on your pants?"

"Yes, right there, on my backside. Right on my butt. On my filthy jeans."

Reluctantly, I placed a little peck on the black, thick fabric. The odour had just about passed away by now, of course, but just the thought that it had just been there was quite revolting.

"Aw, wasn't that cute. A little kiss right there on Simon's arse. But that's not good enough. No commitment. Give us a lick."

"A lick? Right there? No way Simon, I'm not licking your butt."

"Oh yes you are. Whether you want to or not, you will. You can do it now and get it over with, or I can make you do it later. Of course, I might not be wearing anything then…"

I didn't have to think for long. I took a deep breath, lifted my head to reach and stuck my tongue out to make contact.

"Harder," he said. "I want to feel it."

I complied and so satisfied Simon's wishes for just half a minute or so. He never let on, but I suspected he was enjoying himself more than I was. Once he was apparently satisfied, he resolutely got up and came around to where my hands were still shackled to the floor.

"Right, I'm going to release you now for a while, and you'll see why in a minute. Primarily it's so you can change shirts, OK?"

I nodded, busy trying to diminish the grossed-out feeling of having kissed my captor's butt. Meanwhile, Simon slowly unscrewed the wing nuts, and soon first my left and then my right hand refound some freedom. Following Simon's instructions, I sat up and pulled the football shirt off. I put on the white sleeveless vest he offered me, then topped off with a long-sleeved collared t-shirt with horizontal alternate stripes of bright red and black, with a black collar and black cuffs. Typical eighties.

I hadn't picked out any shoes the last time, so Simon produced a pair of dark green Reebok tennis shoes. They were actually exactly my size, and already laced up, so I could comfortably slip into them.

"There, all dressed up and ready to go. Do you like your new outfit, Goldilocks."

Still sitting down on the hard stone floor, I looked it over. The clothes felt and looked great. I was highly satisfied. "Yes Simon. Thank you."

He tousled my blond bush of hair. "You're welcome, Goldilocks. Now, I guess you're dying to get out of here. And besides, time's pressing on, and I've got a little mission for you. Come on."

Leading the way, he crawled back out through the little opening and out into the larger space just outside.