by j.
Bobby Gets Caught and Punished
Once upon a time, , Bobby Sommers had been stripped naked and tied to a tree. He had never forgotten it.
Over the years, the memory would surface unexpectedly and Bobby would get an erection that refused to go away even when he tried to think about other things. At the end of the period, he’d have to stay in his chair until the rest of the class left and he could walk out alone, bent over a bit and holding his books in front of his fly.
He would think about it a lot at night, too, while he was lying in bed trying to get to sleep and occasionally in the middle of the night when he woke up hard. For a while, when he was 16 or 17, he even had a series of wet dreams in which the incident played a major role.
Naturally, Bobby knew that other people were into getting tied up, into bondage and other erotic games like that. He had read about them in magazines and on the internet. But he never seemed to meet any of those people. His regular sex life was fine, but he could never get up the nerve to mention his secret fantasy to any of his girl friends, not even to Chelsea Rawlins, and they were together for almost two years and did just about everything else you could imagine.
But all those years, Bobby never stopped thinking about that one time. He had been at summer camp in the mountains, 12 years old and just a few weeks away from becoming a teen-ager. Some of the older boys liked to bully the younger kids, and one of their favorite torments was “de-pantsing.” Bobby figured that it was going to be his turn sooner or later, and he was right.
The thing is, if he hadn’t fought back so hard, the five boys would have just pulled off his jeans and tossed them into a tree, and that would have been that. But Bobby didn’t like being bullied. He started swinging and kicking at the bigger boys, and Charlie Carstairs got his glasses broken and Freddy White limped away with a bleeding shin.
That did it. They tore off all of Bobby’s clothing, even his underwear, and then someone got the idea to bend his arms behind him and tie his hands together behind a pine tree next to the trail to the bath house. They made fun of him for a few minutes, and then they went away and left him standing there. No big deal, really, except that the trail was also the path to the girls’ cabins.
Bobby stood there for a while, trying to get his hands loose but mostly just scraping his back and bottom on the rough pine bark. Then he heard girls’ voices, coming closer, and he realized that there must be a group coming back from the lake. He felt like a huge rock had dropped into the pit of his stomach, and sweat started to run down his back. But something very odd happened. He got an erection.
Bobby was so scared that the hard-on didn’t really register with him at first, as the first two or three girls came around a bend in the patch and stopped dead, mouths open. “Oh, my God,” Jessie Brandt said. “Look at Bobby!” A half dozen more girls, all from the cabin for the 14-to-15-year-olds, crowded up behind them and peered over their shoulders. “This is TOO gross,” one of them said loudly.
The girls walked closer to him, some of them giggling, some of them pretending not to look but peeking sideways at the naked boy. A couple of them seemed to be mad at Bobby! “Just what do you think you’re doing?” asked Anne Wright, a bossy girl who was not one of Bobby’s favorites.
Bobby started to point out that it wasn’t his fault, but then the very worst thing happened. Jessie noticed that Bobby’s little penis was sticking straight out. “He’s got a boner!” she said, and the rest of the girls shrieked in surprise and delight. Bobby was surprised himself, and he wanted to run and hide just as fast as he could, but he obviously couldn’t. He thought they would stand there forever, grinning and giggling, but Jessie and another girl finally took pity on him and untied his hands. Jessie gave him her sweat shirt to wrap around his waist, and he hurried away to his cabin as the girls called after him: “Bye bye, Bobby!” “Enjoyed the show, Bobby!” “I’m going to write your mother, Bobby!”
He didn’t leave the cabin to go to dinner that evening, and he tried to stay as far away from other people as much as he could for the rest of the week at camp, but he could feel the eyes of those girls on him wherever he went. He was mortified by the incident, but in the middle of the night after it had happened, he had gotten out of his sleeping bag, gone to the shower house and masturbated, with warm water running down his shoulders and back.
As he got older, Bobby sometimes felt like he’d give anything to repeat the experience, and once or twice, he came close to telling Chelsea about it, but he was scared to admit his fixation. His solution was to tie himself up, usually in potentially embarrassing situations, and he became quite adept at this unusual skill.
The first secret to self-bondage, Bobby discovered, was to find some way to secure yourself that made it tough to escape but definitely not impossible. The second was to do it when and where there was an outside chance that someone might see you, even though it wasn’t at all likely – enough of a chance to make it exciting but not enough that you were really taking a risk of being seen. And the third, of course, was to figure out some way to cum while you were struggling to get loose. That wasn’t always easy, and it didn’t happen often. Usually, Bobby would masturbate after he’d freed himself.
The whole thing, he decided, was like watching a big auto race or going rock climbing or paddling a kayak through rapids. You really didn’t want to see anyone get hurt, and you definitely didn’t want to get hurt yourself, but the thing that made it exciting, the thing that got your adrenaline flowing, was the possibility that something just might happen.
Bobby’s usual approach, and by far the easiest, involved a pair of cheap handcuffs that he picked up in a novelty store. They weren’t very heavy-duty, but they worked well enough for his needs, and the method was simplicity itself: You left the key one place, and then you went somewhere else, stripped and cuffed yourself. To get back to the key, you had to go naked and handcuffed for the distance between the two places.
Obviously, this could get be as easy or as difficult as you liked, depending on how far apart and how public the two places were. By far the most common thing for Bobby was to leave the key on the table in the kitchen at the back of his apartment and undress in a corner of the living room. That meant he had to go through three rooms to get the key, and at night, with the lights on and the curtains open, there was always the chance that someone might look in and see him, though since he lived on the third floor, that wasn’t really very likely.
About the only truly exciting moment in the times he made that naked trip through his apartment came on one occasion when he bound his ankles together too and tied a string to his penis with a weight on the end. He was hopping toward the kitchen, with the weight jerking up and down and tugging on his dick, when the doorbell caught him halfway through the living room. Even with the string pulling tight just under the head of his penis, he shot a big wad of cum onto the carpet, and Chelsea, waiting in the hall, couldn’t understand why it took him so long to answer the door.
Bobby liked the outdoors, and he went hiking and camping a lot. Some of his most memorable self-bondage games were played there, though he really did that on only a half dozen occasions or so, spread over nearly as many years. In fact, he didn’t tie himself up all that much anyway, maybe every couple of months, sometimes not at all for three or four months in a row. His straight sex life was plenty active enough to keep him occupied, so he didn’t really get the urge to indulge in his secret bondage play very often.
When he did, though, his favorite setting was the country. It worked kind of like the handcuff game. You hid a key somewhere in the woods, along with a spare set of clothing, and then you hiked to somewhere else, took off the things you were wearing and padlocked them inside a canvas duffle. That meant a naked hike back to where you left the key, and sometimes Bobby did it handcuffed, which could cause problems in the brush when you had to leave the trail to avoid other hikers. He usually made the trip with his heart pounding in excitement and his penis in a state of semi-erection.
Once, he hid the key under a rock in a remote part of a state park and chose a trail that would take him along the outskirts of a large campground. The trail itself, actually, went right through the campground, so he had to leave it there and find a path through the trees and bushes surrounding the camping area. The low junipers were thick enough that he couldn’t see into the campground, but he could hear people talking, and at one point, he was practically eaves-dropping on a conversation between two women. He wondered what they looked like, whether they were young or old.
Bobby edged through the trees as quietly as he could, trying to get closer so he could see the campsite. Before long, he could get a glimpse of the women. They were sitting at a picnic table, apparently preparing a meal. He still couldn’t get a good look at them, so he was trying to push aside a branch with his handcuffed arms, when suddenly he felt a cold nose sniffing at his bare bottom.
He couldn’t help a yelp of fright as he spun around. A medium-sized dog was standing behind him, some sort of German shepherd mix, and when Bobby jumped back, the dog began barking at him loudly.
“Sandy! Sandy!” one of the women called. “What’s the matter, boy?”
Bobby hurriedly began edging past the dog, back through the trees and away from the campground. The dog didn’t try to bite him (though that possibility made Bobby’s dangling penis shrink until it practically disappeared), but the animal didn’t stop barking for a minute. Bobby could hear the women calling the dog, and they were obviously getting closer.
Terrified, he started running through the brush as fast as he could, branches and underbrush whipping at his belly, thighs and genitals. Occasionally, one of his shoulders would smack against a heavier limb. Bobby wasn’t thinking about any of that. His only concern was to get as far away as possible as fast as he could. The dog followed him for a considerable distance, but finally it responded to the women’s distant yells and trotted back toward the campground.
Bobby ran on for a long time, until his wind gave out and he stood there gasping for breath, his heart pounding and his legs shaking. When he finally calmed down, he had no idea where the trail was, and it took him a long time to find it, wandering through the forest, with the scratches and cuts he’d suffered beginning to bother him a lot. When he finally got back to his clothing, it was almost dark, and he had begun to worry about having to spend the night in the woods, handcuffed and naked. Even so, before getting dressed, he stood there and masturbated, spattering the leaves of a nearby bush with cum. Afterward, he wondered if it were poison oak.
After that experience, Bobby didn’t indulge his “hobby” for a while. He took up canoeing a few years later, though, and he liked to go on solo trips sometimes, fishing or just floating down some clear stream. Usually, he wasn’t wearing much except shorts or a swimsuit, and frequently he took everything off, paddling along in the warm sun with the breeze off the cool water drifting across his nude body. It was more of a sensual pleasure than a sexual one, but Bobby often got an erection, thinking about what might happen if he rounded a bend in the river and encountered some swimmers or other canoeists.
That did happen a few times, but he carried a towel in the canoe to drape across his lap, and usually he was not close enough to the people he passed to give them a good look. Once, in a narrow stretch of a river, he paddled past only a half dozen feet away from three teen-age girls sunning themselves on towels spread out on a gravel bar. The water was so shallow there he was afraid for a moment that he’d have to get out and walk the canoe through…and there was no way he could do that! He stuck his paddle down into the gravel and pushed his way over the shallow place, leaning back to shove, and just as he got back into deeper water, the towel fell off his lap. He had already passed the girls, and he didn’t think they really saw anything, but he could hear them laughing and giggling as he paddled away.
For the most part, Bobby’s attempts at self-bondage dwindled as he got into his thirties, though he still had occasional daydreams (usually lying in bed at night with one hand clutching his penis) of that childhood humiliation in summer camp. He wished every now and then that he had the courage to do more than dream.
One day when he was in a novelty shop, he bought a pair of “Chinese handcuffs,” a child’s toy that is really just a tube of woven lengths of heavy, brightly colored fiber into which you stick a finger of each hand. If you try to jerk both fingers out, the weave tightens and it becomes impossible to pull them out. If you pull slowly with one finger, so the tube doesn’t grab, you can easily escape.
That evening, Bobby sat up very late in his apartment watching televison and idly playing with the tube. When he remembered that he had to do his laundry or wear dirty clothing the next day, he stuck the tube into his pocket as he got up to collect underwear and socks and T-shirts and throw them into his laundry basket.
There was no one in the basement laundry room of his large apartment building, which was not surprising at 2 o’clock in the morning. Bobby loaded clothing into two of the washing machines and put money in the coin slides. Then he had a wild idea. He decided to wash the clothes that he was wearing. It wasn’t an innocent notion, of course. He could already feel an erection stirring.
He pulled off his sweatshirt, sat down on the laundry-room bench and took off his sneakers, his jeans and his underwear. After emptying his pockets, he stuffed the clothes he’d been wearing into one of the washers and started both machines. He sat back down on the bench. He thought he could hear his heart pounding over the noise of the water flowing into the washing machines. It was a little chilly in the basement now that he was naked.
He sat there on the bench for a while, looking around the room. There was a piece of twine danging from the wastebasket in the corner, and Bobby went and got it. He sat back down and tied his ankles together. For about two seconds, he wondered about the wisdom of what he was doing, but he was sure there was no way that anyone was going to come down to the laundry room at that time of the night.
When his ankles were fastened tightly, he stood up and hopped over to the table where he had unloaded his packets. There, along with his wallet, small change and apartment keys, were the Chinese handcuffs. He stuck his index fingers into the tube and pulled gently until it tightened around them. He stood there on the cold basement floor. He was naked, sort of tied up, and a semi-erection was bobbing in front of him. Now what to do?
The water had finished running into the laundry machines, and they were beginning to shake as the washing process began. Bobby hopped over to one of them and pressed his bare body against the machine. His penis was caught between his belly and the smooth, throbbing surface of the machine, and he could feel his erection harden almost instantly.
He pressed harder. The vibrations seemed to spread throughout his body, but the focus was his penis. It felt so good, he wondered why he’d never tried this before. He leaned against the machine, the middle of body pushed forward and his shoulders and head thrown back. He would have been staring at the low ceiling if his eyes had not been closed. He felt as if he were on the edge of an orgasm, but it wouldn’t come. He rotated his hips, twisting his penis against the pulsating machine.
Then the orgasm was there. Now his erection was pulsating, too. He could feel the cum shooting out between his belly and the hard surface of the washing machine. He groaned and slumped over the machine. He couldn’t tell whether the machine or the force of the orgasm was shaking him, but he was oblivious to anything else. He was so focused on the pleasure spreading through his groin that he didn’t hear the sound of the laundry-room door opening.
“What in the hell are you doing?” a voice said.
He spun around, trying to cover his still-draining penis with his joined hands. It was a young woman, someone he recognized. She and her roommate lived on the second floor, and he passed her on the stairs sometimes. Marcy something or other. He couldn’t remember for sure, especially under the circumstances.
“I’m really sorry,” Bobby stammered. “I was just washing my clothes. I didn’t think anyone would come down. I’m really, really sorry.”
He was trying to get his fingers out of the Chinese handcuffs, but he was panicked now, and he just jerked on them. The harder he jerked, of course, the tighter they got.
“I guess you usually do your laundry with your fingers in that thing?” Marcy asked, obviously trying not to laugh. “And your feet tied together? That’s a little weird!”
Bobby had no idea what to answer. He just stood there, too embarrassed to look into the girl’s eyes, still trying to pull his fingers loose. Marcy walked closer and peered behind him. There was no way she could miss the glob of cum sliding down the front of the washing machine, or the thin string of cum hanging from Bobby’s barely hidden penis.
“It looks like you’ve been enjoying yourself,” she laughed. “I never knew anybody before who had a washing machine for a girlfriend.”
“No, I never did this before,” he said pleadingly. “Really. I never did. And I am really, really sorry. Really.”
“Oh, I believe you’re sorry,” she said. “But it’s a little late for that. I don’t know that I want someone fucking the washing machines that I use everyday. I want to see what my roommate thinks about this. In fact, I think that you had better come and explain it all to her.”
“What do you mean?” Bobby asked. But he already knew, and his stomach was doing flip-flops.
“I mean that I want you to get your skinny little butt up to my apartment so we can tell Michelle about this together,” she said.
“I can’t do that,” Bobby said. “Please. I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can,” Marcy said. “You can unless you want me to call the police or the landlord or maybe just start screaming so loud that I wake up everyone in the building.”
Bobby knew there was no getting around it. He’d have to do what she asked. She knelt in front of him and untied his ankles. He was still trying to get his fingers out of that grasping tube, but he was so flustered that he couldn’t wriggle them out. She motioned for him to lead the way, and she followed just behind him. He was acutely conscious of his bare bottom, especially as they climbed the basement stairs.
“Nice tush,” she said, which didn’t help.
Luckily, there was no one in the apartment building’s entrance hall or on the stairs to the second floor. They went down the hall to her apartment, where she unlocked the door and pushed him inside. He stood there in the living room, hands in front of his genitals. He felt as if he were going to throw up and as if he had to pee. She told him to stay right there and disappeared down a hall, going to get the roommate, he supposed. He could hear voices from the bedroom, and then Marcy returned, followed by a girl in a king-size T-shirt that hung nearly to her knees. She had obviously been sound asleep, and she was rubbing her eyes. But they opened wide when she saw Bobby.
“Holy shit!” she said. “You weren’t kidding, Marcy! This is some surprise!”
“I caught him in the laundry room,” Marcy said. “Bare-ass naked and getting himself off by rubbing on one of the washing machines. What do you think we ought to do with him?”
“You’re joking!” the other girl said. “You saw him screwing a washing machine?”
“I got there just a little late to see the dirty deed,” Marcy answered. “But, Michelle, you should have seen this big wad of cum dripping down the front of the washer.”
“No shit!” Michelle said. “Well, I still want to see it. What I want from you, young man, is a repeat performance!”
Bobby began to protest. He began to beg. He almost began to cry. None of it did any good. He didn’t think about the phrase at the time, of course, but he decided much later that these were obviously a couple of belles dames san merci.
“Well,” Michelle said after Bobby had agreed to be a good boy, “I don’t think I want to go all the way down to the laundry room. How about him getting it on with our dishwasher?”
“The dishwasher!” Marcy said. “Where we do our dishes! No way!”
“It’s just the outside,” Michelle said. “And we’ll make him lick it off afterward.”
The thought of that sight seemed to convince Marcy. The girls helped Robby remove the Chinese handcuffs from his fingers, but they immediately tied his hands together behind his back with the belt from an old terrycloth robe. To his embarrassment, his exposed penis was beginning to harden again. Then they led him into the kitchen, and Michelle switched on the dishwasher.
“Go to it, buddy,” she said.
He reluctantly pressed his groin against the machine. He had a full erection now, but the vibration of the dishwasher was much less than that of the old washing machine in the basement. It felt pretty good, especially with the girls there watching him, but Bobby knew that it was never going to produce an orgasm. He even rotated his hips, grinding his penis against the machine. It didn’t help.
“This is not going to work,” he said after a while.
The answer was a loud smack on his bottom from Marcy’s bare hand. Bobby gasped and twisted his groin against the dishwasher again. She smacked him again, and then three or four times in quick succession.
“Okay, Bobby,” she said. “That is your name, isn’t it? You’re wasting our time, and it is very late, so here’s the deal. Michelle wants to see you get off, so we’ll take care of that in a minute, but that is not nearly enough to make up for being such a bad boy in the laundry room and for letting down our poor dishwasher. Saturday night, we’re going to try something like this again, and you are going to do your very best then. Understand?”
Bobby understood only too well, and he just nodded yes, hanging his head.
“Okay,” Marcy said. “Now spread your legs and stand up straight. Here we go!”
She grasped his penis tightly in one hand and grabbed his buttocks with the other. Then she began stroking him roughly, hard and fast. It wasn’t the way Bobby liked to be jacked off, but his penis didn’t seem to care. He was gasping and on his toes in a few minutes, pressing into the hand jerking on his dick. He could feel the orgasm rising from somewhere near his rectum, and then the cum began to squirt from his cock in a long arc onto the kitchen floor. Michelle squealed and clapped her hands in delight.
“You have made a real mess, young man,” she said when he was through and standing there sheepishly, a strand of cum hanging down from his drooping penis. “I want you to get right down there and clean it up.”
If there had been any fight left in Bobby, it was gone now. He got down on his knees, bent over and began licking his cum off the kitchen floor. The girls made sure he didn’t miss a bit.
When he was through, they untied his hands and ushered him out of their apartment so he could retrieve his clothing and apartment keys in the laundry room. When he got there, his clothes were still wet, of course, so he had to put them in a dryer, but not until he pulled out one pair of shorts and put them on wet. He sat there in the wet shorts while he waited for the clothing to dry, and he thought about his unusual night.
But not as much as he thought about what might happen on Saturday night.