The usual caveats apply. If you are under eighteen, you shouldn't be reading this; please go away (although this is a tale of a young man whose history you may in some way share). If you don't like male to male love and sex, what are you doing here? If you don't find ropes and gags proper enhancements to lovemaking, you probably won't enjoy this. If you do like ropes and gags, this may intrigue and excite you.
Please do not copy this story to any other page or web site without permission, and please do not claim my stories as your own, as some have done. They are the fruit of much labor, and I enjoy having the credit. Alan Katz, this means you!
TOM'S TALE
Tom majored in music in college, and he did well. In the first semester of his sophomore year, he took a course in European history for his elective. Tom was hooked on his new professor at first sight. James Colton was a man in his mid-thirties, sturdily built but trim and fit, of medium height, with well- modeled features and merry gray eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles. He was prematurely bald, the dark hair receded well back on his well-shaped skull, and he wore a neatly trimmed beard. In the chest pocket of the tweed coats that he favored wearing with open-necked sports shirts, he always had a large, colored, and patterned silk handkerchief in an ample puff. The night after the first meeting of the class, Professor Colton appeared as the hapless hero in one of Tom's nighttime fantasies. He was set upon by a gang of three robbers, all of whom were dressed in chinos and sports jackets with big colored silk handkerchiefs puffed in the chest pockets, just like their victim. He was overpowered, not without a struggle, his hands tied behind his back, and his arms bound to his sides. Despite his angry protests, his captors took out his own hip pocket handkerchief, large and white, gathered it up with two of the villains' own big white handkerchiefs into a huge puffy wad, and stuffed that into his mouth as a gag. The third villain took his big white handkerchief from his hip pocket, folded it wide on the diagonal into a thick swath, and bound it over the professor's solidly stuffed mouth, knotting it with brutal severity behind his head. Struggling uselessly and grunting into his cruel gag, he was forced into a waiting car and taken . Tom knew not where, for he climaxed explosively as he imagined his new hero hustled away in helpless bondage.
Tom's days began to revolve around Professor Colton's class. He was too conscientious to neglect his musical studies, and he practiced with the same enthusiasm as always. But he gave his heart to this new class, working hard to make his papers and his tests the best he possibly could. During class meetings, he gave Professor Colton his undivided attention. He memorized how the man looked, spoke, carried himself, and especially how he was dressed, at every session. Thankfully for him, Professor Colton was just that bit of a dandy. He never failed to show up for class dressed in what for him was clearly his workaday uniform of chinos, sports shirt, and tweed coat. And always, in the chest pocket of his coat, there was a silk handkerchief, colored and more often than not patterned as well, and amply, even a bit foppishly, displayed in a large puff. He carried as well, in his hip pocket, a large pocket-handkerchief for use, white almost always but occasionally with colored borders.
At night, Tom's fantasies became concentrated on Professor Colton to the exclusion of all others. That first night, he had imagined the man as the victim, seized, tied, and gagged. On a few other nights, he imagined Professor Colton as the leader of a trio who attacked and kidnapped him, the three men setting upon and binding and gagging him before carrying him off he knew not where. Most nights, however, it was Professor Colton who was the victim, grabbed, overpowered, bound, and gagged, and then carried off.
Once or twice, Tom fantasized about his professor being robbed at home. He knew that the man must have a good number of handkerchiefs, and he imagined the fellow being taken prisoner in his own home, tied up, and gagged with the handkerchiefs from his own bureau drawers. This last fantasy became Tom's favorite after Professor Colton held a seminar in his flat about half way through the semester. The class was small, hardly more than a dozen students, and their professor invited them over for a discussion before the half term test. Tom was saddened by the fact that in his own home, his professor put off his tweed sports coat, but he was compensated for this by learning exactly where his hero lived. And by discovering that he was a bachelor. He lived in a two-bedroom apartment not far off campus, in a well- kept, four flat building from the twenties. His living room was furnished with comfortable chairs and a leather couch, and was lined with bookcases that were stuffed full of books. The bookcases were the only untidy aspects of the flat. Every thing else was neat and cleanly. Tom took a stealthy glance into the bedroom when he excused himself to go to the bedroom. There were bookcases in that room as well. It was hard to resist crossing the room to peek into the drawers of the dresser, to gaze at the handkerchiefs he knew must be there, but he did, too fearful of being caught.
From that night on, Tom imagined his idol robbed at home. Grabbed as he came in the door, a huge gag of his own white handkerchiefs thrust and bound into his mouth, tied hand and foot, and lashed down to the chair of his big oak desk, Professor Colton was overpowered again and again in Tom's dreams. Tom found himself unable to resist imagining himself as one of the two or three robbers he thought necessary to overcome his hero's struggles. All of them, of course, were dressed in chinos and sports jackets, and all of them had big silk handkerchiefs puffed in their chest pockets. Tom imagined himself and his companions as masked with black silk handkerchiefs to disguise their identity. One night he had the idea that he and two fellow students would go to the professor's flat to steal the answers to the final exam. This fantasy became his favorite, and he took pleasure in imagining different young men from among his fellow students as his companions in this petty crime. Always it was he who had the privilege of gagging his hero. He would take half a dozen big white handkerchiefs from the man's dresser drawer and fashion them into an immense puffy wad. He would fold yet another big white handkerchief on the diagonal into a thick, wide swath. Then, while his fellow criminals held the bound professor, he would gag the man. Tom would imagine this act in great detail: how he would cup the back of the man's head in his free hand and shove in the great bolus of soft cloth with the other, the professor's frightened and indignant eyes starring up at him as he was silenced. Then he would take the folded handkerchief and bind it with exacting care over the man's solidly packed mouth. He would fit the band between his nose and chin, wrapping the long ends over his bearded cheeks and around his head, and drawing them into as hard a knot as he could manage behind the older man's neck.
It was during the last week of classes that Tom finally met his hero. Of course, he knew the man as his professor. He found occasions to talk with him about his tests and papers, and his hard work had paid off. He did well in the class, and he had the satisfaction of hearing his professor commend him warmly for his performance. Even so, in class he was one of many, a good student, even a favored student, but still a student. During the last week of classes, however, the university orchestra gave a concert. Tom, who played his cornet in the orchestra, had a solo part for a few bars, a bit of virtuoso playing of which he was rightfully proud. Mingling with the audience during the intermission afterwards, he ran into Professor Colton.
"That was a very fine performance, Tom," he said with a warm smile.
"Thank you, sir," Tom said. He was proud of his playing, but he was nervous and shy at meeting with his hero in so public a place.
"Well, you're prepared for the final, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir, at least, I hope so."
The two men, the younger and the older, looked at each other, both seemingly at a loss for words. Tom was about to excuse himself, longing to stay but too shy to think of what else to say, when a tall, white-haired man approached and, with a friendly and inquiring smile at Tom, handed Professor Colton a drink.
"Oh," Professor Colton said. "George. George, I want you to meet Tom Bentley. Tom, this is Professor Duncan, a friend of mine. Tom's a student in my Europe in the nineteenth century class," he added to the white-haired man.
"I see," Professor Duncan said. "And I hear you are doing well, Tom. And certainly," he added, a bit hastily it seemed to Tom, who wondered why this man would have heard he was doing well in Professor Colton's class, "you play the horn extremely well. You handled that solo superbly, young man."
"Uh, thank you, sir, thanks very much."
"How long have you been playing?"
"Ever since I was a kid. I was pretty good, I guess, and my teachers encouraged me, and my parents. I, uh, like it a lot, really."
"Planning on going on with it, I hope?"
Tom nodded.
"Good. It would be a waste if you didn't."
Professor Colton had been standing by, observing this conversation and sipping his drink. Now he spoke. "What sort of music do you like, Tom? Rock and roll, like most fellows your age?"
Tom grimaced. "It's all right. Yeah, I like it. But ..." he paused, and then looked around, as if he were about to confess something he was afraid others would overhear and condemn, "what I really like is Baroque. You know, with all those trumpet solos, and stuff." He smiled shyly at the other man, who smiled back. The professor was slightly more formally dressed than usual, in gray wool trousers, and a gray herringbone sports coat. His shirt was a starched button-down broadcloth, in light blue, and he wore a navy, black, and white tattersal vest. He wore a tie tonight, a navy wool knit. From the patch breast pocket of his coat, a big handkerchief of navy, black and white paisley silk rose up in a great dimpled puff. His companion was more conservatively dressed, in a dark three-piece suit, with a dark rep tie. He wore a plain white handkerchief in his chest pocket in what Tom thought of as an old-fashioned display of points, one he had never favored.
"Baroque?" Professor Colton sounded surprised but gratified. "Do you really, Tom? I'd like to talk to you about that."
Just then the lights blinked, signaling the end of the intermission.
"Perhaps later," Professor Duncan said. "It's time we were heading to our seats."
"Yes, perhaps later," the other man took up the idea readily. He turned to Tom. "After the concert? a cup of coffee or whatever?"
Tom was startled, and Professor Duncan looked surprised for a second but quickly covered and seconded the invitation. Tom, too frightened to do otherwise, accepted, and it was agreed they would meet in the lobby. As he hurried backstage, Tom wondered how he had dared to speak so boldly, or so it seemed to him in his shyness and hero worship, and also what had prompted his professor to be so friendly.
The rest of the concert was unmemorable to Tom. He had friends in the orchestra, and they asked him along afterwards, casually friendly, and he casually excused himself. Somehow he did not want them to know that he was meeting Professor Colton. As it happened, no one he knew saw him when he came up to where the two men waited for him. They quickly agreed to go to the ----, a coffeehouse only a couple of blocks from the campus, one Tom had never visited. He was not accustomed to going out in this fashion, and he felt shy and awkward with the other men. As they walked along, however, Professor Duncan drew him into conversation, questioning him about his training on the horn and keeping him talking with what seemed a genuine interest. Professor Colton listened to this, asking one or two questions himself, but mostly he walked and watched. Tom was too nervous himself to notice this, and it did not occur to him that the other man might be feeling as shy as he was.
When they reached the coffeehouse, they took seats and ordered, and Professor Duncan turned to Tom, continuing their earlier conversation.
"So," he said, "what was your teacher--Mr. Ducar, didn't you say?--what was Mr. Ducar like?"
Tom stared at him, at a loss for words. Talking about his training and his parents' encouragement and pride in his playing had been more or less easy. To be asked about the man whose place as the object of his night-time fantasies had only recently been taken by the man sitting opposite him, also waiting for Tom's answer to what must have seemed an innocent question, was suddenly impossible.
Sensing Tom's embarrassment, the older man asked gently, "He helped you a great deal?"
Tom seized on this. "Yes, yeah, he did, a lot. He was great. He helped me get my scholarship, and he wrote me all sorts of letters and recommended me, stuff like that. He was great."
The other men nodded.
"He was new in your school?" Professor Colton asked.
"Um, yeah, Mr. Tetley retired my sophomore year, and Mr. Ducar came then. Everybody liked him, not just me, `cause he was, O, I dunno, he was neat, you know?"
"Young, I suspect," Professor Duncan said.
Tom considered this. "Yes, he was, really. A little younger than you, Professor Colton, I think, but not much. And he wore his hair kind of long, long for our town, anyway, and he had a mustache, and he ... he dressed nice, too," Tom ended a bit shyly.
The other men nodded, avoiding each other's eyes.
"He taught us new stuff, and he told us about music, different kinds of music, and you could tell he really liked them. He liked rock, he really did, but he liked other stuff, and, well, that he could like rock and show it, but still like other things, like, well, like Baroque and English choral music, and stuff like that, and it made it, like, that you could like them, too, and not feel silly. I mean, say you liked them, not keep it kind of a secret."
Again the others nodded, and this time, Professor Colton spoke. "He made it OK to like old music without looking like an old fogie."
"Yeah."
"He sounds like a good man, a good teacher."
Tom nodded. Mr. Ducar had been all that. It was wrapped up in why Tom had so hero- worshipped him in high school. That he could talk about, a little. That Mr. Ducar, the handsome, well- dressed, silk-puffed, handkerchief-carrying Mr. Ducar, had also figured night after night in his fantasies, bound and gagged and made a helpless prisoner, just as the man opposite him now did--that he had no way, of course, of conveying. He looked over at his professor. He realized suddenly, perhaps consciously for the first time, that he thought the man was handsome. It wasn't just his clothes. He was handsome. He didn't know yet what to do with this knowledge about himself, and he tried to forget it, at least for the moment. He stared for a few moments at the handkerchief in the man's chest pocket, studying again how it rose up into a great dimpled puff of thick silk.
The two other men looked at each other. All three were finished with their drinks. Professor Duncan spoke.
"Perhaps it's time we went on. It's getting late."
"Yes," the other man answered, but there was a note of reluctance in his voice. "I'll walk with you part way, Tom. It's on my way. "
All three stood up. Tom found the moment confusing, and he didn't really follow everything. Professor Duncan was saying good-bye, and then they were outside, and the older professor was walking away. He found himself walking toward his dorm with Professor Colton. They were silent, the hour was late, the side street, when they turned off onto it, was deserted except for some distant walkers a block or two further on. It was cold.
Tom was nervously shy, and yet he was enjoying himself. He had never imagined himself with his hero in just this fashion, just the two of them. He wasn't sure why, but he liked the silence between them. He did not know it yet, but he was beginning to resemble his father, and his father had been a handsome man, was a handsome man still, in his mid-forties. Tall, taller by several inches than his companion, and fair, Tom had pleasant, regular features. Like many of his fellow students, he had grown a mustache, soft and a bit darker than the hair on his head. The students in the orchestra were not expected to wear formal clothes, only their best suit and tie sort of outfits. Tom was dressed in his best Sunday suit, a dark navy blue vested suit. With it he wore a white shirt, and a silk tie of navy and maroon rep stripes. He wore a silk handkerchief of maroon with navy foulards in a large puff in his chest pocket. He felt suddenly grown up, walking with his professor.
At the corner where they would part, the two men, the older and the younger, paused.
"Well, Tom," Professor Colton said. "You played very well tonight. Honestly. You have real talent. George, Professor Duncan was right: it would be a shame if you don't go on with your music."
"I plan on it," Tom said. Here they were on sure ground. Without excessive vanity, Tom knew that he was good, knew that he had a talent worth developing.
"And I, we enjoyed talking with you."
Tom was suddenly tongue-tied. He had found the past hour more exciting than he knew how to explain, even to himself.
"Thanks," he said softly.
"Perhaps," Professor Colton began and then paused.
"Yes, sir?"
"I just thought, well, you might like to do it again."
Tom felt confused. It sounded like his professor was, well, almost asking him to go out for a drink or something with him again. But that couldn't be, he thought. He was too shy himself, too confused by his own emotions, and too self-centeredly thinking about them to realize that the older man was almost as shy as he was.
"Sure, I'd like that," Tom stammered.
The other man nodded. "When classes are over, perhaps."
Tom nodded. Then, without really thinking, he blurted, "But it'll have to be before the twentieth, sir." He looked at the other man anxiously. "I'm going home for spring break that day."
The professor suddenly smiled. "All right, Tom. How about ... I don't know, how about next Friday? Any other plans?"
Tom thought. "No, no, that'd be great."
The older man nodded. "Good." He held out his hand, and Tom shook it automatically. "Good night, Tom. See you in class."
Tom nodded. "Good night, sir."
The other man smiled and then turned and walked off. Suddenly Tom called after him. "But, Professor Colton, uh, how will I ... I mean, where ...?" he trailed off in confusion.
His professor turned and said, "Come to my office hours tomorrow."
"OK," Tom said. "Sure, your office hours." He watched the other man as he walked down the block and turned up the steps to his flat. Then he turned himself and headed toward the dorm. That night, he had to jack himself off twice to fantasies of Professor Colton being kidnapped, tied up, and gagged before he could make it to sleep.
Friday of finals week, Tom showed up at the front door of his professor's flat. He had handed in his final three days before, and the other man had told him already that it was graded and his grade for the course handed in with those of the other students. Tom understood that the man was telling him that he now felt more free to associate with him as a mere friend, that any ethical worries could be more or less put aside. Tom had not given this matter much thought, although he respected the older man's concern. He had been far more worried about what to wear for what he realized he seemed to be thinking of as a kind of date, almost the first date he had ever been on. He had finally been unable to resist dressing in imitation of his idol, hoping that the other man would dress as he did for class. He wore tan chinos, a light blue dress shirt but no tie, and a navy blazer. In the patch chest pocket of the blazer, he had arranged a large silk handkerchief, golden tan with pale blue foulards, in as large a puff as he had dared. So arrayed, and looking, had he known it, both foppish and handsome, he appeared for his meeting with Professor Colton.
The professor answered the door promptly and greeted him warmly, inviting him inside. With a smile, he looked his former student up and down, saying, "You look very nice, Tom." He reached for his coat where it lay on a chair in the hall, and shrugged into it. He was dressed as Tom had hoped, in gray wool trousers, a long-sleeved cotton shirt in a muted plaid of dark greens, and a gray tweed sports coat. In the chest pocket of the coat, he had arranged a silk handkerchief of dark green and navy paisley in an ample puff. Internally, Tom breathed a sigh that mingled relief and nerves as they left the flat and headed down the stairs. Colton had suggested dinner at a local restaurant, an idea with which Tom had readily fallen in, and they walked the few blocks in the cool evening. Their conversation was a bit stiff until Colton asked Tom to tell him about how he chose music to play that he really liked, rather than what his teachers chose for him, and this set Tom off in a lively response that carried them into the restaurant.
Ordering food took them over the next hump, but then there was a pause. Both seemed at a loose for topics. Tom, acting out of desperation and hardly believing his temerity when he thought back on the evening later, blurted out, "Have you always taught here?"
Colton, smiling shyly, had answered, "No, I came four years ago. Before that I taught at the state college in ." and he named a town several hundred miles away. But when Tom looked as interested as indeed he was--he would have given anything to know his hero's whole life story from cradle to doctorate-- the man went on, and gave a sketch of his academic career from college to his present teaching appointment. In the course of this, mercifully, their dinners arrived. With the distraction of food to help them, they managed, reverting several times to Tom's musical apprenticeship and to Colton's studies at the university, to get through the meal and be more at ease with each other at the end of it. Tom was nervously happy when Colton suggested, in response to Tom's praise of a piece by Hayden, that they go back to his flat and listen to the piece on his stereo. Tom had felt sure the older man would be tired of his company by this time, and be anxious to be rid of him, but his invitation, pressed twice, seemed genuine, and Tom accepted.
The walk back to Colton's flat was quiet, but shared some of that silent companionableness that Tom had felt on the evening after the concert. Colton himself seemed content, walking slowly and looking about himself and over at Tom with an amiable air. All through dinner, of course, Tom's thoughts had strayed occasionally to fantasies of his companion tied up and gagged. With the man seated opposite him in the restaurant, he had found his eyes repeatedly dropping down to that big paisley silk puff in his chest pocket. Once, in an absent-minded fashion, Colton had idly toyed with the handkerchief, and Tom had for several moments completely lost the train of their conversation. He found himself imagining how the man would look, tied in his chair. He kept picturing his handsome companion with his arms roped behind him, his hands lashed together at the wrists, and his mouth stuffed full of a huge wad of big, soft white handkerchiefs and sealed with a broadly folded handkerchief tied with brutal tightness over his lips. Even now, as they walked back to the older man's flat, Tom could not help the images of the man beside him, trussed up with rope and gagged with his own handkerchiefs, that repeatedly came into his mind.
When the two men entered Colton's front hall, there was an awkward pause. Tom had sensed, or worried that he sensed, a change in the older man's demeanor, a tension he had not seen before, as they reached the man's flat and mounted the stairs. He seemed suddenly preoccupied, and as soon as they entered the flat, he turned to Tom with a troubled look.
"Tom," he said, and then stopped.
"Yes, sir," Tom said nervously.
Colton sighed softly. Then he smiled crookedly at the younger man. "I was just ." Again he paused, and Tom watched him anxiously.
"Is it too late?" Tom tried to hide his disappointment as he guessed that the man was regretting his invitation after all. "Should I go?"
Colton looked up at him intently. "No, I didn't mean ." Again he paused and seemed to change his mind about something. "Do you want to go, Tom?"
Tom stared at him, confused and troubled.
"Damn," Colton said abruptly. "I'm not being fair to you." He took a deep breath. "Tom, how old are you?"
Tom started. "Twenty, almost twenty one. Why?"
Colton looked at the floor a moment and then looked up. A smile, not altogether a happy one, was on his lips.
"Tom, have you heard . well, rumors about me?"
Tom stared at him now in confusion and worry. "Rumors?" He shook his head, baffled. "What do you mean, Professor Colton?"
Colton looked at him and shook his head with a sad seeming smile. He sighed.
"Tom, I'm . I'm gay." He looked at the younger man. "Do you know what that means?" he said gently.
Tom did, but for a moment he could not answer. Wonder that the man should trust him, confusion over what to say in return, an abruptly welling desire to blurt out a confession of his own, and intensely arousing images of the man before him trussed and gagged, all dumbfounded him. He stared at the other man, feeling that he must look a fool and worried to the point of real pain that his silence was hurting the other man. He swallowed hard and forced words through his throat.
"I didn't know but it doesn't matter." He stopped and then stammered on. "I mean, of course it matters, but I don't care, I mean, no, I care, but I'm not afraid, I mean ." He stumbled to a stop. He looked down at the other man, shaking his head, unable to put into words what he felt.
Colton was watching him with a frowning smile.
"Are you all right, Tom?"
Tom nodded.
"Are you comfortable, staying to listen to the music? You still want to?" Colton asked.
"Of course, I do," Tom burst out. "Even if I didn't think that I ." he stopped, looking confused. "I mean, I wouldn't think there was something wrong with you, even if I weren't . " Again he found it impossible to finish.
Colton seemed to sense something in his broken words and confusion. With a hesitant hand, he gripped Tom's shoulder. Tom took an abrupt step closer to the other man, unable to control his urge to be near him, and then jerked himself to a stop, blushing hotly in deep embarrassment.
"Tom," Colton began, and then paused. He pulled himself upright and closed his eyes for a moment, and then he went on. "Tom, are you . struggling, inside yourself, with feelings like the ones I mean?" He looked intently at the younger man. "Are you worried that you . might be gay?"
Tom stared at the other man. Then he nodded. "I don't know. I mean, yes, I think so . but . it's hard to explain." He stepped a little closer still to the other man, who kept his hand resting gently on his shoulder, but made no other move.
For a moment, they were silent, and then Colton said gently, "If you want to talk to someone about it now, or some other time, I would be glad to listen."
Tom stared at the other man for a long while. He wanted desperately to tell him everything, including how he felt about the man himself, but he was terribly afraid. He felt close to tears, and that embarrassed him further.
"I just don't know ." he said, and felt his chance slipping away. He paused, and then said suddenly, "I want to tell you, but, well, there's more to it than what you think." He studied the other man. He had never spoken to anyone like this. Unfamiliarity gave him courage even as it made him frightened. He wasn't sure how far people went in things like this, and his lack of knowledge protected him in some ways by making him unaware that he was going very far very fast. Colton sensed something of the matter, but he was himself unsure how far the younger man intended or needed to go.
"I don't think so much about sex," Tom said in almost a whisper. "I mean, I think about guys when I ." He looked at the other man. He was acutely embarrassed now. He knew that he was hardly alone in masturbation. Sniggering jokes and high-minded hints in textbooks had let him know that almost every boy he saw was familiar with it, and he was not completely innocent, by word of mouth at least, after living for more than a year in a college dorm. Still, confession was not completely easy. Colton only smiled gently.
"I guess we've all done that, Tom," he said quietly. He shook his head. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, honestly, son."
Tom nodded, a bit reassured. "But, you see, it's . it's what I think about." Colton looked expectant but not inquisitive. "Ever since I was little, I mean, geez, as far back as I can remember, nearly, I've thought about ." He stopped again, afraid to go on, but aching to have his secret out in the open with someone, with someone he liked, whom he hoped he could trust, to not have it just inside his head at last. He took a deep breath, but when he spoke, it was in a choked voice, almost a whisper. What he said was clear enough, however. "Ever since I was a little boy, I've . done that, and I've thought . about guys, about the heroes on TV shows, the good guys, you know?" Colton nodded in response. "The good guys, well, the good guys when the villains get them, take them prisoner, you know?" Again Colton nodded, still with the same gentle smile on his lips, his eyes intently on the younger man. "When the villains grabbed them and . and tied them up . and . and gagged them." There, it was out. He'd said it, something he had never said before to another living being. He took a shuddering breath and stared at the floor, unable to lift his gaze to meet the other man's.
"That's all, Tom?" Colton said, very quietly, very gently.
Tom looked up, startled in spite of himself. Wasn't that bad, well, maybe not bad, but weird enough? Thinking, while he was doing that, about guys being tied and gagged?
Colton still had his hand on Tom's shoulder, and his face was gentle. He shook his head slowly.
"That doesn't seem to me to be a bad thing, Tom. Nothing to be sorry about or ashamed of. Just tying a guy up and gagging him?" His full lips curved in a wry smile. "I take it you don't want to . I mean, you don't want the good guy to get hurt or anything, just .?"
Tom shook his head vigorously. "Oh, no, sir, no, I just get all excited when he gets tied and gagged . I mean . " He paused again, embarrassed at this open confession of his arousal.
Colton nodded. Then he shrugged, with a broadening smile. He led the younger man into the living room, and pulled him down to sit with him on the couch. "Honestly, Tom, nothing you've said sounds terrible to me, not at all." He paused. Then, with his head cocked slightly to one side, he started to speak, and then stopped.
"What, sir?"
Colton grimaced with sudden embarrassment. He wet his lips and then looked over at the young man.
"I was just wondering . well, who you thought about."
Before he knew what he was saying, Tom blurted out, "You. I mean, Mr. Ducar. But now, I mean ." His voice trailed off and he sat trembling and then burst into tears. With a soft grunt of sympathy, Colton pulled him into his arms and held him against his chest as he sobbed for a moment. The older man stroked his back and patted his head gently and murmured meaningless words until Tom got control of himself and pulled back a bit, afraid that he was taking advantage of the other man's kindness and yet longing to stay in his embrace. The older man took out and offered Tom his big white handkerchief, and Tom gave a gasp and turned away. Puzzled, Colton stared at him. Tom looked back and stammered.
"That's what they use." Colton looked more puzzled. "To gag the good guy, they use ." Suddenly enlightened, Colton was torn between an amusement that he recognized had a bit of the overwrought in its makeup and a compassion for his troubled young friend. He put the handkerchief away and sat lightly embracing Tom. After a moment, Tom moved as if to pull away, and Colton reached to take his chin in his hand, turning him to face him. The two men looked at each other for a long moment, Tom embarrassed, trying hard not to feel ashamed, overcome with excitement and longing, Colton appearing worried and yet tensely holding back other emotions. Then Colton gently drew Tom back into his arms, and Tom, with a deep sigh, allowed himself to press the other man in a tight embrace.
For several moments, that was all. Tom still felt horribly excited, barely able to understand how he felt, as if he had suffered a wound that would only begin to hurt later on. At the same time, it was as if a gathering sore had finally burst, and though there was pain, there was also great relief from a tremendous pressure that had been building up inside him for longer than he could remember. He held tightly to the other man, aware of how intensely pleasurable he found simply feeling the other man's firm torso and strong arms. All the while, however, insistent images of Colton bound and gagged thronged his mind, strobe light flashes of his companion being seized, tied, gagged. When Colton eased his hold slightly and drew back to look up at him, Tom felt a wild confusion, a mixture of fear that more was about to happen and a stronger fear that nothing would.
Colton smiled at him. He stroked the side of Tom's head gently. His breathing was deep and under control, but Tom sensed the tension in the other man's body.
"What are you thinking?" Tom asked. He heard the tremor in his voice and felt acutely ashamed of his question.
Colton seemed to jerk in startlement. His eyes closed and he half frowned, half smiled. "God forgive me," he said in a low voice, "I don't think I should tell you, Tom."
"What?" Tom said anxiously. "Please?"
Colton shook his head, but answered even as he did so. "O lord, I was wondering . if you wanted to go get the clothesline in the laundry room."
Tom stared at the other man, who looked back at him with an expression that mingled shamed embarrassment with a mischievous grin.
"I mean, you said you thought about me, so I was wondering if you wanted to . well ."
Tom began to shake, a tremor in his whole body that he found he could not control.
"Would you let me . do that?" he whispered.
Colton shrugged. "Tom, I don't know if I should tell you this. I'm . well, I'm a lot older than you, and I worry I might be taking advantage of you in some way."
Tom shook his head.
Colton smiled sadly. "Easier denied than made honest, Tom." He paused and then went on. "Tom, I like you very much. Very much. I liked you as a student, and when I heard you play and listened to you talk about your music and your plans, I liked you even more. And now, well, that I know . well, I take it you like me?" He looked suddenly as if he truly doubted this, and his expression was anxious as he studied Tom.
"I liked you from when I first took your class, Professor Colton." Colton winced being called that.
"Tom, please, you make me feel like Methuselah. Call me Jim." He shook himself and gave a little chuckle. "Listen to me. When the important thing is ." He looked at Tom, who was looking back at him with an expression of naked longing. The older man wet his lips and half-smiled. "Maybe we should find that rope."
Tom gave a faint gasp and suddenly stood up, pulling the other man up with him. Afterwards, he was incredulous at the way he had acted, but at the time the compulsion was so strong that he was aware only of the force of his need. He took the older man by the arm and drew him into the hall and into the back of the house. Colton may have been surprised that the younger man seemed to know his way around the flat, but he did not realize how Tom's passion had lead him to memorize its layout on the night of the midterm seminar. Tom moved quickly, drawing the other man beside him and went through the kitchen and into the little room that served as a laundry. A hank of white clothesline hung neatly on a hook in the wall. Tom almost snatched it from its place and hastily shook it loose.
Tom had never actually tied up a man, but years of imagining how to do it in minute detail and the compulsion of his arousal seemed to have given him a skill he had not known he possessed. He bound the older man's hands behind his back, crossing his arms at the wrists and lashing them together with repeated coils and knotting the rope off firmly. Using the long length that still remained, he brought the rope up and used it to bind the man's arms to his sides. He wrapped the cord around and around his chest and upper arms and pulled it snug, laying the coils neatly beside each other and just under where the big silk puff rose from Colton's chest pocket. In only a few moments, or so it seemed to the painfully excited Tom, he had bound the other man securely. Colton submitted docilely to all of this, putting up no resistance and allowing Tom to move him as he needed. Once bound, he stood looking up at the taller, younger man, an expression of anxious arousal on his handsome face.
Tom took him by the arm and hurried him back into the hall and into his bedroom. Standing him beside the dresser, he turned and opened the top drawer and then paused, momentarily entranced by what he saw. The drawer was full of handkerchiefs, a loosely mixed up collection of silk handkerchiefs on one side, half a dozen neat stacks of white and colored border pocket-handkerchiefs on the other. Colton, who of course did not understand Tom's overwhelming emotion at this sight, watched as the younger man stared at this to him marvelous array of handkerchiefs. Then Tom, with a small moan, took out a stack of the large white squares, and he began to prepare a gag.
He shook open three of the big white handkerchiefs and layered them on each other to form a thick square of soft white cloth. Then he rolled the corners of that triple layer of cloth in upon themselves, forming a huge puffy wad. He took another handkerchief from the drawer, selecting a big one with green plaid borders, and this he folded on the diagonal into a wide bandage. He turned then to the older man, a look of exaltation on his face. Colton was watching him with an expression of intense concentration, and yet there was the hint of a smile on his bearded lips. It was not a smile of mockery or amusement, but of a kind of tender sympathy. He seemed to recognize how painfully intense his companion's emotions were, how the younger man was almost in shock, a shock betrayed by the tremors that shook his whole frame.
Tom cupped the back of the older man's head in one hand while he held the huge wad of the man's own handkerchiefs in front of his mouth. The gag was enormous, but to Tom that was simply how he had always imagined the gags his villains had stuffed into their victims' mouths. Colton glanced down at the immense wad of white cloth, made of his own big handkerchiefs, and after only a moment's hesitation, opened his mouth wide. Tom began to stuff in the gag, easing the great spongy ball between the other man's spread jaws. He tried hard to control himself, to guide the huge gag in gently, terribly afraid of hurting the man and also afraid of somehow frightening him and making him resist. He was torn by his desire not to harm this man, for whom he felt an unnerving attraction, and by his overwhelming need to gag the man forcefully and thoroughly, to render him utterly helpless, trussed and silenced. As the gag filled his mouth, Colton moaned softly, a little choked grunt.
"Mmmgmmph!"
Tom paused, staring down at the man, his hand shaking as he held back from forcing the gag in deeper. Colton seemed to sense his hesitation, and he nodded, encouraging him to go on. With a sharply intaken breath, Tom shoved the gag in all the way, packing the older man's mouth fully with its soft folds. He paused again, staring down at the other man, who returned his gaze, his eyes wide and intent, his jaws spread wide by the huge mass of soft white cloth stopping up his mouth.
Colton nodded again in encouragement and grunted into the gag.
"Mmmmph. Ummhummmmmph!"
Reassured, Tom took up the folded handkerchief and bound it over the older man's stuffed up mouth. With great care he fitted the wide, thick band between Colton's nose and chin, forming a seal over his distended lips. Slowly he wrapped the long wings of the bandage over the other man's bearded cheeks. With trembling fingers that fumbled more than once, he pulled the ends of the handkerchief into a knot at the back of the man's head, tying the knot as tightly as he possibly could. And right then, as he finished gagging his hero, gagging him for real and with the man's own handkerchiefs, and as he himself gave a moan that he could not hold back, to Tom's horror his stiff sex shivered without his even touching it and his hot cum burst out in a thick stain into his chinos. In the confused ecstasy of that moment, he staggered against the other man, gripping his shoulders with hard hands, his eyes blind, his ears ringing. He felt tears, of shame, of joy, of fear brimming from his eyes. With a gasp, he forced himself upright and faced the older man. Colton stood gazing up, seemingly calm and yet intent. As soon as Tom's eyes met his, he nodded vigorously, lifting his heavy brows. "Mmmmph. Mmmmugummmmmph." He mumbled and grunted, still nodding at the younger man, attempting to reassure him through the muffling gag. Tom stared, so overwhelmed for the moment that all he could do was look. Colton was the image of all his fantasies. He was tightly bound, his hands tied behind his back and his arms lashed closely down to his sides, the white rope pulled in taut coils around him. From his coat pocket, above the band of closely laid rope, the big handkerchief of navy and green paisley silk rose up in a great puffy dollop of color on the man's chest. The gag looked cruelly effective. It was clear that the huge wad of handkerchiefs stuffing his mouth forced his jaws wide apart, and the handkerchief bound around his head compressed his cheeks and was strained in tightly creased folds into the hard knot at the base of his skull. The man looked utterly vulnerable, helpless to defend himself, brutally gagged and silenced, completely the victim of circumstances beyond his control.
Tom swallowed hard, staring at the other man. Then, frightened by what he was doing but unable to stop himself, he reached to unfasten the fly of Colton's trousers. Colton nodded at him quickly, his expression transmuted to pleading now, and he moaned into his gag, thrusting his hips against Tom's hand. Encouraged, Tom reached inside and found the older man's cock was rigid and hot in his groin. Trembling and yet eager, Tom pulled his companion's cock from his pants and then, taking it firmly into his hand, began to stroke it rapidly.
"Mmmmmph! Mugulummmmmph! Mmmmmmmmmph!" As Tom rubbed the other man's stiff cock, Colton grunted and moaned into his huge gag. He jerked several times, his head flung back, and then, with a muffled yell, he came, his thick gism leaping out of his cock in a ropy stream. He staggered, and Tom quickly took him into his arms and guided him over to his bed, seating him on its side. Then he stood back and gazed once more at the man before him, overwhelmed by the sight. Colton looked up at him, his expression a bit dazed, but his eyes searching for Tom's, and he nodded at the younger man, and moaned softly through his gag.
Tom opened his fly and grabbed his cock, which was stiff once more, and he began to jerk himself off. He tried desperately to control his excitement, to slow down his hurling response, to savor his pleasure. Before him, Colton sat on the bed. The older man's dark eyes went from his companion's face to his rapidly pumping hands and back, taking in the younger man's barely controlled compulsion. Tom stared down at him. He could hardly believe what he saw, his handsome, beloved professor, helpless and silenced. Bound tightly with rope, rope he, Tom himself, had tied him with. Gagged cruelly with handkerchiefs, the man's own handkerchiefs, and with a gag that he, Tom himself, had stuffed and secured into his mouth. Dressed as Tom loved a man to be dressed, with that big silk handkerchief lolling in a great puff from the man's chest pocket. He stared at the man as he jacked his rigid cock, unable to exercise any control now, simply jerking in wild hurry at his stiff member. He gave a yell, his eyes boring into the man in front of him, and his cum burst from his cock in a painfully explosive stream. With a groan, Tom found himself sinking to the floor. As he leaned forward, his head came to rest on Colton's knee, and he rubbed his cheek against the rough wool of the man's trousers. He reached up and grasped the man's legs, and then he pulled himself slowly half upright, still kneeling, but looking now up into the other man's face.
Colton gazed down at him. Tightly and effectively gagged as he was, he could only alternately nod and shake his head at his young companion, and moan softly into the thick wad of his own handkerchiefs filling his mouth. Slowly, Tom pulled himself up to sit beside the other man. He was almost numb at that moment, struggling to take in the events of the past hour. Colton was turned to look at him, his eyes tender. With trembling fingers, Tom untied the knot in the handkerchief bound round the older man's head. He placed the handkerchief on the bed behind them and then reached to gently draw the huge gag from Colton's mouth.
Colton sighed and worked his jaws slightly. Then he turned to Tom, a wide but rather shaky smile on his face. "That . that was pretty wonderful, Tom," he said quietly.
"Really?" Tom was so on edge that his voice squeaked. He cleared his throat. "Did you enjoy it, really . Jim?"
"Are you kidding, Tom? Migod, yes! That was great. I don't know . I've thought about this sort of thing before, not as much as you have, I guess," he added with a grin, "but, well . yeah, I've thought about it. It was quite an experience." He looked at Tom intently but still smiling. "Something . I'd like us to do again. And . and again, Tom. If you would?" He raised one eyebrow.
Tom closed his eyes, and he felt the hot tears leaking from under his lids.
"Oh geez," he said in a harsh whisper. "O geez, o geez." He began to cry quietly.
"Tom," Colton said softly. "It's Ok, really, it's OK. I thought you would want to . O, heck, I can't hold you when I'm all tied up like this, O Tom, it's OK, son, really ."
Tom looked at the other man, at his expression of anxiety and pain, and flung himself on him, gripping him tightly in his arms.
"O geez, Jim, O geez, I want to do it again right now, I never thought you would want to, I thought it would be just, you know, something to try, not that you'd want ." His voice died off. He was too confused and yet he felt an unreasoning happiness rising up in him too strong to resist.
"You OK?" Colton said softly.
Tom gripped him tighter and nodded against his neck.
Colton nodded in return. Then, for a long moment, they remained still, Colton bound and clasped tight in the younger man's arms. Tom slowly pulled a little away and gazed down at the older man.
"What, Tom?" Colton smiled gently at him.
Tom shook his head.
"Please, Tom, trust me?"
Tom swallowed. "It's just ."
Colton nodded, eyebrows raised.
"I want to . to gag you . again. And . just look at you. You look . O geez, Jim, you look just exactly like I always imagined you would look, so handsome and so sexy, all tied up and gagged like that. I want to just look at you and look at you and look at you, forever!"
Colton chuckled. "What man could resist? Especially when he's all tied up, like me?" And then he added gently, "Tom, of course you can gag me again. Do it, I want you to do it. Gag me really well, and keep me gagged. There's a whole drawerful of handkerchiefs over there for you to do it with. And . maybe you'd want to use a belt to tie my feet, too?"
Tom looked up quickly. Then he nodded.
"And do you ." Colton hesitated and then went on with a shy smile. "Do you want me to struggle a bit, and try to yell into my gag?"
Tom blushed and avoided the other man's eyes, but he nodded.
Colton nodded. "Well then, son . aren't you going to gag me?"
Tom took up the huge wad of handkerchiefs and, after a moment's hesitation, slowly stuffed it again into the other man's mouth. Colton submitted to being gagged once more eagerly, opening his mouth wide and taking in the whole huge ball of soft cloth. He gazed up at his companion intently as the younger man bound the wide-folded handkerchief over his mouth again, pulling it if anything more tightly and knotting it off with cruel severity behind his head.
"Mmmmmmmmph!!! Mugulummmmmmph!! Mmmmmmmmmmph!!"
Tom took the bound and gagged man tightly into his embrace and held him for a long moment. Then he slowly released him. For another long moment, he stared into his eyes, and then he got up to retrieve the belt and several more handkerchiefs from the man's dresser.
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