The usual caveats apply. If you are underage for reading this sort of thing, please don't. If you like male with male sex, but don't find rope and gag sex exciting, this will likely bore or repell you, so please don't read it. If you do like either to be bound and gagged for love-making, or to bind and gag your partner, you may enjoy this.
When he showed up in the movies and on TV, we weren't supposed to like the Sheriff of Nottingham--he was the villian--but he was rather sexy as an authority figure. A friend and I got to talking about that one day, and ... well, if you read this, you'll see.
THE SHERIFF OF NOTTINGHAM
"Leave us," the Sheriff of Nottingham said abruptly to his men.
With an exchange of glances, the two men at arms hesitated. The Sheriff looked at them in annoyance.
"I said ..." he began ominously.
Hastily, his sergeant at arms spoke. "Yes, sir. I know, sir, and we will obey, but your safety is my concern, sir, and you have made me responsible for it." He looked his lord straight in the eye, his own blue eyes showing a mixture of emotions. The Sheriff stared back at him a moment, considering. He suspected not so much defiance as a jealousy he found both flattering and annoying. He decided to ignore the question this raised for the time being. He turned from his sergeant to their prisoner.
"Do you think I am in any danger from this man?" he asked, and the tone of his voice indicated not sarcasm or offense to his own manhood at the implication, merely scorn for the man he referred to. The two men at arms and the Sheriff all looked at the prisoner.
Robin Hood knelt in front of the Sheriff, his head thrown back, his gray eyes staring hard at the other man. Stare at the man was all that he could do. His wrists were tightly bound behind him with strips of leather, and more strips bound his arms closely to his sides. A great wad of cloth was stuffed into his mouth as a gag, and a heavy scarf of black silk was folded into a wide bandage and tightly bound through his jaws and around his head to hold the gag in place. He was a strong-looking fellow, a little over medium height and well-conditioned by his life as an outlaw, but he looked, in his present state, quite helpless.
The Sheriff smiled at his prisoner. It was not a smile the prisoner found pleasant, although the Sheriff's teeth were even and white, and he was a handsome man. Those who had heard of his reputation before they met the man himself were always surprised to find him so, and then surprised at their surprise. Good-looks and ruthlessness in rule are not, as they well knew, irreconcilable human characteristics. The Sheriff was known for being ruthless, if not evil. Whether other men judged him as evil or not seemed to depend less on his actual deeds than on whose side the man who judged pledged his own loyalties. If he was King John's man, the Sheriff seemed to be a man who carried out his duties with a rigid adherence to what he saw as the letter of the law. If he was for Kind Richard, he saw things in a less tolerant light. But the good-looks of the man, by those who had met him, were not easily denied. He was in his late thirties, taller than the average and built well and big, with wide shoulders, a deep chest, and well-muscled arms and legs. He had dark hair that he wore long and clubbed behind his tall, well sculpted head, and he wore his beard carefully trimmed and shaped into a narrow dark line along his strong jaw and ending in a crisp point. His mustaches were luxuriant and carefully combed into thick curves. His features were strongly and cleanly cut. Beneath heavy, well-defined eyebrows, his dark eyes were bright and intelligent, with a steady look that some read as scorn, for themselves and everything else, and that others guessed to be the expression of an intense desire to know the why and wherefore of everything their owner saw.
The Sheriff turned to his sergeant.
"Robin Hood kneels before me. His hands and arms are tightly bound, are they not?"
The sergeant nodded. "They are, sir, for I bound them myself."
"And his lying, disloyal mouth is securely gagged, is it not?"
Again the sergeant nodded. He had taken not a little pleasure in stuffing in that cruel gag and tying up the other man's mouth, cutting off the other man's angry curses. "Yes, sir, and I gagged him myself also."
The Sheriff had a look to give the man when he said that. "And enjoyed doing so, I am sure, Geoffrey." He smiled at the sergeant, who blushed, perhaps at this use of his name rather than his title, and looked away. There was a pause as the Sheriff watched his sergeant, the smile still curving his mouth.
"Yes," he continued after a moment, "bound and gagged as he is, I do not think he poses any danger to me for now, Sergeant. I relieve you--for this time--of your responsibility for my safety." He smiled at the man once more, and those who thought the Sheriff of Nottingham evil might have felt some doubts, seeing that smile. The Sheriff could be persuasively charming when he chose. "With my thanks for your concern," he added. The smile went and he looked suddenly stern. "Now, leave us."
This time, without any hesitation, rather, with some haste, the two men at arms bowed and withdrew, shutting the heavy door to the Sheriff's private chamber behind them The Sheriff turned to gaze down at Robin Hood where he knelt. All this while, the captive man had watched the interchange between the lord and his men, his gray eyes intense above the heavy swath of his tight gag. He had seen the look the two exchanged when the Sheriff had teased his sergeant for the pleasure he had taken in rendering Robin Hood the helpless prisoner he was. Now he gazed back at the man who had him at his mercy. He shifted in the bonds that held him. The leather strips that secured his hands were wrapped tightly, forming snug cuffs that encircled and held his wrists inescapably. The leather bands that lashed his arms to his sides were equally tight and equally firm. The huge soft wad of the gag filled his mouth from his throat to his lips, and the scarf that held the gag in place was tied with ruthless severity around his head.
After a moment of looking down at his prisoner, the Sheriff crossed to the heavy oak table that stood beside the one window of the small, wooden-floored room, and sat down in the chair drawn up beside it.
"Well, Robin," he said in a pleasant tone. "So we meet once again, and in rather similar fashion, wouldn't you say?" He smiled. "Of course, the circumstances are a little changed from what they were the last time we met. That last time, I stunned you with the flat of my sword, do you remember? and tied you up, and gagged you, myself. This time, my loyal Geoffrey has done that service for me." His smile widened. "Do you know, Robin, I think the poor fellow enjoyed his task, but he has begun to regret it now? What do you think?"
Robin Hood looked across the room at him. He lifted his chin up a trifle in a gesture of defiance, but within he was remembering his first face to face meeting with the man opposite. The memory troubled him, since it was accompanied by a mixture of feelings he did not like to let himself think about. The Sheriff stood up and crossed to where his captive knelt. He reached out one long-fingered hand and grasped the brown-blond goatee his prisoner wore. Suddenly, he bent forward swiftly at the waist to bring his face inches from Robin Hood's face. The other man flinched involuntarily, but the Sheriff jerked at his beard and forced him to face him still.
"You do remember that episode, don't you, Robin? It has only been, what, two years since then?"
The Sheriff stared into his prisoner's eyes, a smile still curving his lips, but his own eyes had a fierce expression under their dark brows.
Robin Hood did remember, all too well. Being reminded angered him. He had tried to forget it, distressed at what it had revealed to him about himself, anxious not to know what that night had made him know. He had been taking a risk on that adventure, going alone to rob a venial merchant. He had not known the Sheriff was even in the area, for the man was said to be visiting relatives many miles off. When the tall man in black leather armor had appeared in the road with his little troupe of men at arms, Robin Hood had been taken entirely off guard. At first, when the Sheriff and his men followed him into the forest, he thought this chase would be like many another before. He had easily eluded, he thought, the pursuit, and was surprised a second time when the Sheriff, alone now, having separated from his men in his search, suddenly appeared on his trail once more. Robin Hood had fled into the gathering dusk, with the Sheriff hot behind him. The two mounted men had galloped deep into the forest, and both lost their bearings among the darkness and the shadowing trees. The stumbling of his horse pitched Robin Hood to the ground, and the other man was immediately upon him.
The fight had been evenly matched, both men skilled and intent. But again luck deserted Robin Hood. He tripped on a half-buried tree root, and a blow from the flat of the Sheriff's sword knocked him unconscious. When he came to his senses, it was full dark. He was lying in the clearing where he and the Sheriff had fought, the Sheriff himself sitting on the ground beside him. He found he was bound with leather thongs, his hands, arms, and legs tightly lashed, the thongs knotted too tightly for him to free himself. And he was gagged, a big, soft wad of cloth stuffed into his mouth and bound in place with a scarf. It was clear that his captor had no intention of allowing him to escape or to call for help, if his men should be somewhere in the woods. They had spent the night together in the forest, the Sheriff and he. In the morning, the Sheriff's men had found them before Robin Hood's men had done so, and they had carried him off, still tightly bound and gagged, to the Sheriff's castle. He had been rescued some days later, of course, as he hoped to be rescued again. But it was the memory of the night he and this man had spent in the forest together, not his narrow escape from death by hanging afterwards, that troubled him ever after.
Still holding him by his beard, the Sheriff spoke softly. "Geoffrey is a handsome fellow, wouldn't you agree, Robin? Not so very tall, but well fashioned, and with a very well-favored face." He paused, smiling into the other man's eyes. "I've always liked men of his sort, that light-eyed, brownish fair type. Your type, Robin." He paused, still smiling. "Does he remind you of anyone, Robin? Geoffrey, I mean? But then, perhaps you don't see your own handsome face so very often, living rough in the woods the way you do. You don't really resemble each other, he's too much like a boy, and you have rather a more rugged look about you, Robin, but you two are a bit the same type."
Robin Hood glared back at the other man. His breath was loud in his nostrils and he tried to look as defiantly at his captor as he could. But he was shaken within himself. He strove not to let himself think about it, but he found this tall, dark man who seemed to taunt him and yet spoke almost affectionately very handsome. That he found the man handsome in and of itself did not trouble him. He had shared his bed in the forest with more than one of his men, and with men he had met on the road, and he had done so without shame for all the years of his exile. That he loved men did not distress him. That the man who now held him captive had raped him that night in the woods two years before, and that while he had lain bound and gagged and helpless in the other man's arms he had been more aroused than he had ever been in his life--that disturbed him, it disturbed him very much indeed. And even more, that this man knew how he had enjoyed that night, had raped him and yet had taken the time to use his captive's excitement to bring the bound and gagged fellow to the ultimate height of a man's pleasure--for all that he felt a shame he wished to forget. He swallowed, feeling how huge the gag was that stuffed his mouth. He could feel how stiff his cock was, straining at his tight leathern trousers. It had been rigid ever since that man, Geoffrey--and yes, damn him, he was handsome, and did he resemble him?--had begun to bind his hands and arms and gag his mouth.
The Sheriff released his captive's beard and slowly stood upright. He was still smiling.
"You do remember that night, don't you, Robin?" He chuckled. "You do, I'm sure, and so I'm equally sure you know why I had you brought here, bound and gagged like this, and why I wanted to be alone with you."
"Mmmmugulmph! Mmmmmummmph!" Robin Hood grunted into his gag and shook his head, but the Sheriff only smiled more broadly. He half turned and pointed to a low bed that stood out from one wall of the room.
"Over there, Robin."
The other man followed his gesture with his eyes and then looked back, shaking his head violently.
"Nugulummmgulph! Nummmmgummmph!" He grunted again into the cruel gag.
The Sheriff only chuckled again and then bent over his captive. Robin Hood struggled desperately as the other man dragged him toward the bed.
Bound as he was, he was still strong, and he fought hard. He tried to kick at the Sheriff and he grunted and mumbled angrily through his gag.
The other man never lost his amused expression, despite having to use all his own great strength to force his bound opponent across the room and up onto the low couch. Taking some more leather strips from a pouch at his belt, he used them to bind first one and then the other of Robin Hood's ankles to the side slats of the couch. When he was done, Robin Hood lay face upward, his arms and hands bound behind him, his feet secured to either corner. He jerked and tugged angrily at his bonds, and struggled to shout through the smothering gag, but it was to no avail. The leather strips were tight and unyielding, and the gag muffled his cries to pathetic grunts.
Taking his dagger from his belt, the Sheriff bent over the helpless man and used the sharp blade to cut the groin of Robin Hood's snug leggings. He put away the dagger and then drew his captive's stiff cock free. It stood upright, rigid with excitement, a tiny bead of precum glistening at the tip. Robin Hood writhed and strained at his bonds and made a cry more like a whimper than a shout into his thick gag. A single tear squeezed from one eye as he struggled in shame and anger and desire. Without a word, the Sheriff began to stroke his prisoner's stiff dick, his long fingers encircling the other man's tender privates, applying gentle pressure with practiced skill. Robin Hood trembled uncontrollably in the leather strips that held him helpless and whimpered into the mouth-filling gag.
For several long moments, there was silence in the room, broken only by the smothered whimpering of the bound and gagged Robin Hood. The Sheriff stroked his captive's cock slowly, keen to heighten the fellow's unwilling pleasure, but determined to prolong his control over the man's desire. Lying on the couch, Robin Hood strained in his bonds, but he knew that he was no longer truly eager to be freed from them. He relished the feeling of forced surrender, of being made so helpless and against his will. The tight bands of leather on his wrists held his hands behind him irresistibly. The bands around his arms and chest held him even more immobile. The soft wad of the gag filled his mouth, stuffed it solidly from far back between his distended jaws, and the tight binding of the heavy silk scarf sealed up his mouth, holding the gag firmly in place and defeating any attempt he made to loosen it. He twisted in his bonds, straining with all his might against them, and he felt nothing but deep arousal in discovering again and again that he was helpless, that all his struggling gained him nothing. He moaned and whimpered into the thick and smothering gag, and again he felt nothing but a yet deeper arousal at how the soft cloth and the ruthlessly tight bandage silenced and muffled his every attempted noise. The fingers in his groin stroked and caressed his trembling cock, and he opened his eyes to stare up at his captor.
The Sheriff found deep satisfaction in his ability to excite this handsome man who lay beside him, bound, gagged, utterly helpless. This was his sworn enemy, the outlaw he had vowed to bring to justice. The man hated him, had spent the past dozen years defying his orders, defying the law of the land, taunting him with his ability to escape his every scheme to take him captive. But there had been that one night two years before, when he had overpowered the other man in single combat, man to man, they two alone, and he had won. He had surprised himself when, instead of ending the conflict then and there with a quick thrust of his sword, he had instead knocked the man unconscious. He had told himself that he was acting in deference to the law, but he knew all too well that the law would have sanctioned the fellow's immediate death, and even if it had not, he was the law in this part of King John's realm. He had bound the man while he was insensible, and then, thinking he might have followers nearby, had gagged him. He had taken a very physical pleasure in doing both these things. He had long known that to take another man in physical desire while the fellow was bound and gagged and at his mercy was the most exciting act of sensual love to him. He had often taken one or the other of his officers in that fashion, but they, whatever their real feelings in the matter, had always been his willing partners. Geoffrey, his sergeant at arms, was another matter, but he was determined not to think about the sergeant on this night.
But that night in the forest, and now this night in his castle, were both something different from any other physical taking of a man he had experienced. Robin Hood was his true enemy, and yet ... and yet. The sheriff had no way of explaining these things to himself. The man was his enemy, and to have him captive satisfied some need to defend his honor, soiled by the fellow's defiance for so long, but it was far more than that. To find that the man was so deeply aroused by being sexually played with while he was truly his enemy's captive, that had astounded the Sheriff and yet it had aroused him more than anything he had ever known. It was in part the feeling of power, the knowledge that he could force this man who had so long defied him to submit to his will, and force him to want to submit, even as he tried to resist, that was part. But there was something more, something deeper. He knew that somewhere he and Robin Hood were alike, too alike, in this as in so many things else. He had long recognized that his enemy truly believed in the righteousness of his actions, as much as he believed in his own. He had come, reluctantly, to respect that truth, once he had recognized it, and with it, he had begun to respect the man.
The man. He looked down at the man beside him. Robin Hood was straining against his bindings with all his strength. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his face was clenched in a grimace of pain that the Sheriff knew was actually pleasure. He increased the intensity of his strokes on his captive's cock, and then he watched with increased arousal as the other man struggled desperately either to escape the pleasure of his captor's torturing fingers or to find some final release. His bindings and his gag prevented his escape, and the Sheriff was careful not to let the other man climax at his hands.
The Sheriff stilled his fingers and sat looking down at the outlaw with a smile. Then he took another length of leather from his belt, and he used this to bind up his prisoner's privates. He tied the thin strip first around the base of the man's cock and balls, and then he looped the soft leather around the base of his balls alone, pulling it snug and forcing the man's testicles into a tight globe, the tender skin of his sack stretched smooth. For a moment he simply sat there, gently caressing the man's balls, while Robin Hood twisted in his bindings and whimpered softly into his gag. Then, abruptly standing, the Sheriff bent over his captive's feet and quickly unbound the strips of leather that fastened his ankles to the couch rails. Robin Hood was still too aroused to fully realize what was happening, and before he could respond, the Sheriff had flipped him neatly onto his stomach and was already binding his ankles down once more, but this time with his captive face down on the couch. Robin Hood began to resist, but too late, and, bound as he was, his resistance was hampered and unavailing.
In a moment, the Sheriff had him firmly secured. Reaching to the top of the couch, the Sheriff pulled the bolster from under Robin Hood's head and pushed it under the bound man's hips, being careful to ensure that the fellow's leather-tied privates were positioned over the thick roll of cushion, his cock pointing straight up his taut belly.
The Sheriff now took out another long leather strap, and this he used to bind his prisoner's shoulders down to the bed. He passed the narrow band under one of Robin Hood's strong arms and up over his broad back, then under the opposite arm and through the armpit, like the first. Then he pulled the two ends of the strap tight and down over the top rail of the couch, where he tied them in a secure knot. Without pausing, he reached behind his captive and Robin Hood felt with surprise the leather bindings on his wrists being freed. The freedom was useless to him, however; with his shoulders secured, and his upper arms bound to his sides, and his feet tied to the bed, he could do nothing to help himself. And even this hampered freedom was short-lived. The Sheriff immediately used the leather strip to bind his right hand down to the frame at the side of the mattress, and then, taking another strip from his pouch, used that to bind down his left hand on the opposite side. Then he stood back to study his handiwork.
The outlaw lay face down on the couch, his body stretched taut between the bindings on his shoulders and those on his ankles, forced down tight to the mattress except at his hips. The bolster under his hips forced the man's ass up, exposing its rounded contours to the Sheriff's appreciative eyes. The bindings on the fellow's upper arms kept them pulled closely to his chest, and his hands were immobilized by the bindings that held them to either side of his hips. The Sheriff watched with aroused satisfaction as his captive strained at the leather straps and was unable to do more than twist slightly from side to side. He was utterly helpless and vulnerable. The Sheriff came around to hunker down at the top of the couch, and Robin Hood forced his head up to lie with his chin on the mattress, glaring back at his captor.
The Sheriff cupped his hand under the bound man's bearded chin and rubbed his long thumb gently over the tight swath of the heavy silk scarf tied through Robin Hood's mouth. He smiled into the man's angry gray eyes.
"Quite helpless, aren't you, Robin? Bound so that you cannot move, gagged so that you cannot speak or cry out. The handsome and famous outlaw, Robin Hood, is just a man, after all, isn't he? A very handsome man, but a man for all that. And at my mercy now."
"Mmmmugulummmph! Mmmmummmummph!" Robin Hood struggled with the huge gag, angry and ashamed to find that doing so stiffened his bound cock even more. To be made a prisoner of the Sheriff in this manner, to be bound down with his cock tied into violent erection, to have his mouth stuffed full of a huge gag, to be utterly at the other man's mercy in this way deeply angered him yet deeply aroused him, and he was uncertain if the anger were not merely a shamed response to his arousal. His cock lay pressed tightly between his belly and the cushion, and he felt desperately impelled to rub his stiff member against the firm but yielding mound. But to do so would be to acknowledge openly, to himself and to his captor, that he was aroused by, even as he resisted, his bound and gagged helplessness, and he refused to do that.
The Sheriff stood up and took out his dagger. With a careful stroke, his slit the his captive's leathern trousers up the center of his ass and then cut the heavy leather belt that encircled the man's waist. Putting away the knife, he peeled the soft leather away, revealing the other man's firm and rounded backside.
"Mmmmmmugulummmph!! Mummmmmmmummmph!!" Robin Hood grunted into his smothering gag.
With a private smile, the Sheriff took up a flask from beside the couch and spilled from it onto his long fingers some thick oil. Putting down the flask, he began to oil his captive's asshole, gently rubbing the slick lubricant around the tightly constricted entrance. With the tip of one finger, he probed at the man's hole, forcing the finger end inside and rubbing more oil around the opening.
"Mmmmmmugulummmmph!!"
After a moment, the Sheriff took up the flask once more and spread more oil on his hand and spilled some into the crack of his victim's ass. Then he began again to caress the bound man's asshole, and then to probe it once more, first with one fingertip, and then with two, thrusting his long fingers in slowly, first part way, then all the way, to their full length.
Robin Hood struggled, but he was bound and gagged and unable to defend himself--and half or more unwilling to defend himself as well. He found he was beginning to struggle to push his hips back against the other man's caressing hand. Then he caught himself, and stopped, jerking at the leather strips that held him nearly immobile and whimpering in shame into the huge mouth-filling gag.
"It's all right, Robin," the Sheriff said softly. "It's all right, my handsome outlaw. You struggled the last time, too, you know, but I took you just the same. I have you bound down so securely, there cannot be any thought of your escape, and I have you gagged so tightly you cannot even plead for mercy. What will be, will be, Robin." As he spoke, he continued to probe and stroke the helpless man's asshole, thrusting in three long fingers and rubbing around and around the slowly loosening circle. After several long minutes in which the only sounds were his own increasingly rough breathing and the gag-smothered whimpers of his captive, the Sheriff reached down and slowly unlaced the leather thongs that fastened the groin of his leather pants. As he did so, out sprang his long cock, which had been straining in rigid arousal long since, from the moments when he had sat in his room, waiting for Robin Hood to be brought from the dungeon as he had ordered. With a deep sigh, he now oiled his own cock, and then, using his left hand, stroked himself gently while he once more probed his victim's ass.
"I am going to take you now, Robin," He murmured. "I am going to take you the way I did that night in the forest, while you struggle in your bindings and grunt and whimper into your gag. I will even tell you, Robin, as I did that night, that having you this way, bound, gagged, helpless but straining to resist, to do that arouses me more than anything I have ever known in love-making with another man. I might fear that by telling you I would lessen your will to struggle against what I am going to do, lest your struggles heighten my pleasure, as I promise you they will, but I know very well that you desire me to take you just as you are, bound, gagged, and helpless, as much as I desire to take you in this fashion."
Robin Hood stiffened in his bindings, and he felt hot tears leak from the corners of his eyes despite all his efforts to suppress them. But even as he felt the welling of shame fill his chest, he felt the other man's cock probing his asshole, and he struggled, whether to resist or to help he could not understand. The Sheriff had mounted the couch and was now lying close over his bound prisoner, his hips over the other man's hips, his fingers guiding his stiff cock against the other man's asshole. With a sudden thrust, he forced the swollen tip past the tight circle of muscle, and then he seized the other man's hips and held himself tight to them as his prisoner bucked and struggled to throw him off and out.
"Mmmmmugulllummmmph!! Mummmmmmugummmph!! Mugulummmmmmmmmph!!!"
The Sheriff held hard to the other man, riding his struggles, and at the same time slowly thrusting his long dick deep into the other fellow's ass. At last he sank down to wrap his arms over the other man's bound shoulders.
"Ah, Robin, my poor man, resist me if you can now. Escape me if you can now. You are truly my prisoner, now, you are my bound, my gagged, my helpless prisoner," the Sheriff whispered into the ear of the handsome man beneath him, and he began slowly to stroke his cock up and down again in the fellow's tight asshole.
Robin Hood strained against the leather bindings and moaned into the gag. His cock was rigid with excitement, pressed now between his belly and the cushion with the other man's heavy weight crushing down upon him and the man's cock thrusting in his asshole. Each slow pulse of the man's strokes rubbed Robin Hood's aching dick against the firm bolster, bringing him just a little closer to the edge, a feeling he struggled to control but found he could not. As his arousal grew, he ceased even to think of his shame and simply rose up on the pulse of his desire, straining against his bindings and relishing how the tight lashings of leather held him pressed to the couch, whimpering and moaning into his huge gag and savoring how it silenced him, the great wad filling his mouth, the thick scarf holding the wad firmly between his jaws.
"Mmmmmmmummm. Mugummmmmmmph."
Above him, the Sheriff gradually hastened the rhythm of his strokes, pushing his cock in and out of his captive's ass. He lay full length upon the other man, and being the taller of the two, he covered the man's upper body completely with his own. He gripped the fellow's shoulders hard in his strong hands, and laid his head close beside the other's, and began once more to croon into the bound man's ear.
"Feel me in you, Robin, feel me there inside you. This is for all those times you ran away from me, hid from me, escaped me, but not that one night, and not tonight, no, not tonight. I have you now, Robin, you are mine tonight, my prisoner, my captive, my defiant outlaw made helpless. You were fighting me before, Robin, just the way you did two years ago, but you're not fighting me now, are you, Robin? Yes, struggle, that's it, I want you to struggle, yes, that's it, try to shout, try to curse me through that gag that fills your mouth, that's it, try, Robin, fight me, come on, fight me."
Aroused to anger and to desire by the taunting words murmured in a tone so confusingly tender in his ear, Robin Hood jerked and struggled with his bindings and grunted into his gag. His struggles served only to rub his straining cock harder against the bolster, and he felt the pressure of his cum rising inside him. Above him, inside him, the Sheriff thrust harder and harder, breath rasping in his throat. Suddenly the man rose up, pushing back on his arms as his hands gripped his captive's shoulders, and he flung back his head. His strong frame jerked rapidly and then shuddered, and then he pumped his cock into the other man's ass in an unseeing frenzy, wordless shouts burbling from his mouth. Beneath him, as he felt the other man's hot gism flood up inside him, Robin Hood felt his own hot cum burst from his straining cock, spurting not once but twice, three times, four times, five, and he shouted into the huge gag. His body jerked and trembled in his bindings, and then, as the blotting fever of his climax fell away, he felt himself crushed tight in the strong arms of the Sheriff.
"Robin, Robin, you bastard, O my lord god, O you fucker, you bastard, I own you, I've taken you, surrender now, surrender, you bastard, I've had you and you are mine now, I'll have you again, I'll not let the law have you, you bastard, you're mine."
Robin Hood half heard and half understood the man's stumbling words choked out harshly into his ear, and he found himself bucking against his bindings, striving somehow to force himself back into the other man's arms, afraid of his desire, but desperate to remain joined to the strong man above him. He groaned and wept into the huge gag, his emotions at war within himself and burning his heart. The Sheriff brought up his hand and roughly caressed the other man's thatch of sandy hair. He murmured again into his captive's ear, his voice calmer now and yet the more intense for that very reason.
"I mean what I say, Robin, I'll not let the law hang you. I am the law, and you are mine."
The Sheriff clasped his bound captive deep in his arms, a long sigh escaping him as he drifted toward sleep. Beneath him, the outlaw lay still, listening to the other man's deepening breath and drifting away with him into the safe dark. Tomorrow, he told himself, he would try to understand tomorrow.
Outside, in the hallway, the sergeant at arms stood guard. He had held himself stiff and erect all the while, no motion, no sound betraying that he heard his lord and his lord's captive within the room he guarded, or, if he heard, that he felt anything at all. In the moonlight, the glint of a tear showed at one eye. He blinked, and the glint was gone. He remained standing, listening to the silence. The slanting moonlight moved slowly on the stone floor at his feet.
Complaints, compliments, brickbats or kudos: dbrown@ggu.edu