[Part 4 of The Scott Chronicles appeared in Issue 38, January/February 1994]
4.
The Boy-King Bound
We got a house for Scott in town, and furnished it, with particular attention to the bed, which was a four-poster. After he moved in, the relationship began to flower and deepen. I wrote more and more complicated scenarios, involving longer and longer periods of bondage, but invariably ending up with me beaten, and slobber-lusting into his crotch, cock and balls, or drooling in a sluttish fashion over the golden hairs in the boy-king’s ass. Two other things developed in the two or three years Scott was in this house. One was Scott’s admission that he wanted to be tied up, and the second was torture.
One of the many things I enjoyed doing at Scott’s house was going over and cleaning up, making beds, cleaning the bathroom, etc. I kept a checkbook there to pay bills with, and I would sit at the kitchen table and write out checks. Sometimes Scott would leave me a note saying “do the laundry” or something like that. I always wore green Speedos, and I invariably tied up my cock and balls with a leather thong. The thong and the Speedos hung on the same nail on the door down to the basement. I would stiffen as I groveled on the kitchen floor with the swab, waiting for Scott to come in and see me.
One day I came as usual, and started cleaning up, emptying ashtrays, piling up newspapers, etc. Suddenly I had a sense that Scott was home. I didn’t hear anything, but there was an indefinable something that told me, Scott’s here. At first I thought he was setting a trap for me, and my cock jutted rockhard in my Speedos. I stroked my tits, and played with the bulge in my crotch. Finally I went up the stairs.
At first I missed him, but on coming back downstairs, I saw him in one of his two bedrooms. He was lying starknaked on the bed, hogtied with clothesline, and ballgagged. (Later when I tied Scott up regularly, we always used a ballgag because he had a mustache). The wrists had been tied with a hangman’s noose, pulled up tight, so Scott meant to be tied up for sure; this was no phony tie up. The hangman’s noose and the fact that he wasn’t struggling were clear evidence that Scott had bound and gagged himself.
Incredible. Sexy boy-king binds self with rope, waits for crotch slave. And there he was on the bed, his tight, humpy ass smiling up at me. In about two minutes, Scott’s legs were released, spread, and tied to the bed. The green Speedos were on the floor, and the crotch slave was thoroughly and completely fucking the daylights out of the tied-up and gagged boy-king.
When Scott did that, it knocked down the last barrier between us; the customer and “escort” relationship ended. Scott had finally realized, I guess, that I loved him, and wanted to care for him. This was his thank you.
That night we entered onto a new road: torture. It’s not as bad as the word sounds. The first torture item was a fuck chair, with the words “Slave’s Fuck Chair” painted on the back, and a 9" dildo permanently taped onto the seat. Still in a lust whirl after being presented with a bound-and-gagged 21-year-old sex stud’s ass, I was tied up in the fuck chair, with the dildo firmly implanted up my butt, my legs spread and tied, my arms and chest tied with rope, my mouth cock-gagged. I was permitted to watch Scott, as he lay stark naked on the sofa watching a male porno film, and stroking his erection. He too had picked up the habit of binding his cock and balls with a leather thong, and I lusted to lick under his balls, across the tight thong, and up the smooth shaft of the Sex Stud’s obscenely huge erection. After the film was over, he knelt on my knees (not very comfortable), and with the help of my tongue and his hands, he lust-erected into my streaming mouth, grunting slightly as he came.
The other torture followed. I was still tied after Scott shot, and he undid me, and retied my hands behind my back. I knelt before him, wearing cock thong and Speedos, and spread my legs. The torture was one Dave in the Corps [see The Corporal Performs] had used on me, and I showed Scott how to do it. In the kneeling position, my curving bulge became a tempting target for Scott’s naked foot: he kicked at the stiff cock, rather than the balls, so while there was pain, the torture in the kneeling position was 1/2 psychological submission and 1/2 pain. (In later years, when I would get really horny for pain, Scott and I worked out a series of ball tortures, like sliding me hogtied down the stairs). Finally, I was permitted to jerk off at Scott’s feet.
I tortured Scott once that way, but just once. He really screwed up on an arrangement, and I was very angry. I threatened to pull all support, sell the house, the works. He started pleading, and I ordered him to bind his cock and put on the Speedos. He knew what was going to happen, and he looked very scared as he knelt where I had knelt so many times. I kicked him twice, but I hadn’t the heart to do more than that; he didn’t have an erection, though, so his balls caught both kicks full. With his hands handcuffed behind his back, Scott didn’t even have the satisfaction of stroking his kicked balls; he had to remain kneeling and listen to me excoriate him.
Scott’s sexual domination of me returned the next day, although Scott had enough sense never to mention his own torture, or punish me for it.
We also went out to the Training Center one weekend, but I think I wrote about that [See Issue 26, page 9: “Pennsylvanian Locked in Spanish Headcage.”]
[To be continued]
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