For a good chunk of the last year, I've been developing the story and characters of my own little OC universe. It centers around college boyfriends Alan Jacobs and Scott Hall, who bonded over a mutual love of bondage and built their relationship from there.
https://www.deviantart.com/rattybat2/ar ... -963224399
I've been primarily commissioning art of the two (mostly visible on the DeviantArt account the above art is posted on and my Twitter account) up until recently, when I decided to take a stab at writing some lighthearted bondage prose with them. Below is my first attempt- I hope you enjoy it, and the stories to come.
The Cursed Closet of Pharaoh Alan!
-or-
Why A Well-Organized Schedule Is Vital To The Successful College Student.
By Rattybat
"Alan Arthur Jacobs, you disgust me!" thundered Scott as he returned to the bedroom, his arms full of fabric and a vein on his forehead twitching ominously. Alan blushed a deep red, accentuating the swarm of freckles on his face.
"Why do I disgust you? It looks like you found what you were looking for."
"I did, yes, but that's not the point- all of these? Stuff I brought from home. Not a single scarf is yours," Scott stated sternly.
"Your point being?" asked Alan, suspecting where Scott was going with this. Scott walked over to the window, throwing open the curtains.
"What do you see out there, Al?"
"The usual shitty view of the blank side of the building next-door?" answered Alan.
"And what is falling between the two buildings?"
"Snow."
"Because it is…?"
"February."
"Exactly!" cried Scott, gesturing dramatically, "I will never fathom your attitude towards dressing for cold weather. If you can't catch the train, it's a good half-hour walk to campus, and you regularly set out with no protection other than a fucking windbreaker! You need a damn scarf!"
"Okay, okay, Mom," Alan said, rolling his eyes, "I'll order one from Opal's Etsy store ASAP. Now could you shut that? Even with just a blank wall, I feel like I'm being judged." Scott did so, tut-tutting all the way.
"I just worry about you, is all," Scott clarified unnecessarily, "Where I come from, we have a name for those who don't layer up in the winter: The Recently Deceased."
“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Alan, glancing around, “So, we gonna finish this or what?”
“Oh yeah- curse my overprotective spirit.” responded Scott, picking the idle roll of duct tape off the ground and going back to work on Alan’s midsection.
“I know you usually favor the more complex ties, but thanks for humoring me with this one, Scotty- I’ve always wanted to see how this feels,” said Alan, blushing a bit more. Scott tut-tutted again, winding loop after loop up his boyfriend’s nearly nude form and expanding the cocoon he’d begun before leaving the room for scarves. Alan’s arms were already secured in front of him, as though he were Egyptian royalty being given his last rites.
“So, busting out the middle name and everything a few minutes ago, huh? I didn’t know you cared so much, Scott Marion Hall,” Alan teased. Scott abruptly froze, turning his head slowly towards his nearly-helpless boyfriend with a vein in his temple noticeably twitching. When Scott spoke, it was calm, but with a clear undercurrent of mischief.
“You realize, of course, that this means war, and that you’ve just earned yourself a worse gag.” Alan gulped audibly as Scott left his side, and proceeded to a small pile of Alan’s used laundry that had been left lying a few feet away. He pulled from it two long unmatched socks: one with cartoon llamas on it, and the other covered in tiny winged penises (a souvenir from an adventure at an Allston sex shop).
“Tell me, Alan- when did you leave these here?” asked Scott, exposing his most devious smile. Alan, now trembling a bit, tried and failed to shrug.
“I don’t know- early January, maybe?” he responded, attempting not to sound squeamish, “Debbie’s been sleeping in that pile on-and-off for a while.”
“Oh, she has, has she?” smirked Scott, balling up the socks, “Forget the scarves, then- open the tunnel, here comes the freight-train!” Alan reluctantly parted his lips, knowing that resistance was useless, as Scott made “chugga-chugging” sounds and brought the foul train into the station.
“All aboard!” said Scott, still grinning. Alan grunted out something that could have been a very muffled “I hate you.”
“Love you too, babe!” Scott answered with a wink and a playful smooch on Alan’s bulging cheek, before picking up a nearby roll of self-adhering tape and wrapping an even dozen layers around his most recent handiwork. He stepped back to get a better look at Alan's transformation so far.
"Hmm… needs something…" mused Scott, scratching his chin in thought. An idea came to him, and he wandered out of Alan's field of vision towards the closet. Alan grunted in a concerned fashion, before Scott re-appeared, clutching a high-powered vibrator.
"Okay, Al, tell me where the sweet spot is," instructed Scott, flipping the switch on the vibe and testing out a few locations on Alan's well-wrapped groin. After a few tries, Alan started twitching uncontrollably, closing his eyes and moaning. Scott grinned, flipping the switch back off and quickly securing the vibe adjacent to the sensitive area with more tape.
"Hmm… it still needs something…" said Scott, ever the perfectionist. As Alan continued standing there, full of dread at what might be next, Scott headed back to the closet, and rummaged for a bit. He returned quickly, and placed something on Alan's head. Alan didn't immediately recognize it, but did quickly realize it cut into his peripheral vision significantly.
"Sorry, Pharaoh, but this is the price for losing a Shadow Game with me." Scott chastised, striking a dramatic Weeb pose. Alan put the pieces together, and wondered for a moment why Scott even had an authentic replica of an Egyptian headdress, before thinking, "Eh, it's Scott- of course he had this."
"Well then, my Liege," teased Scott, getting in close and running his fingers along the smooth surface of his boyfriend's wrappings, "It's a Saturday, neither of us have class, nor, according to my calendar app, any plans for the rest of the day. However shall we pass the time?" Alan shuddered with pleasure, as Scott began kissing his gagged lips. Bliss.
The doorbell buzzed. Both Alan and Scott's eyes widened. Silently, they agreed to be very very quiet until whoever it was went away. A tense thirty seconds passed. Just as the guys began to sign in relief, the buzz came again.
Scott sprinted into the apartment's main living area, up to within a few feet of the door, and cautiously asked, "Who's there?"
"Scott, is that you? It's Martha and Rob Jacobs- here for the big lunch date?" said the voice of Alan's mom.
Dumbfounded for a few seconds, Scott shifted into fight-or-flight mode. "Be right there!" he called, before double-timing it back into the bedroom. Alan found himself grabbed and thrown over Scott's surprisingly strong shoulder, and they headed for the closet.
"No time to untie you, Al. Just be quiet for a bit! Don't worry, I'll stall them and think of something," Scott hissed in Alan's ear, before half-laying, half-dropping him into the closet. There was an audible click in the process, and Alan made a sound as if to protest, but there was no more time.
Scott, who was still mostly dressed, threw an inside-out sweater over his armpit-flaunting tank top, and smoothed out his messy blond hair as best as possible as he walked to the door. After detaching a few wires from areas around the door (disabling their creative home-security system), he opened it.
Martha Jacobs, who was as kind as her son (who had inherited her brown eyes and freckles) and was, as could always be counted on, carrying a baking dish, entered the apartment first. She passed the dish behind her to Rob so she could give Scott a warm hug (another skill her son had inherited, to Scott's eternal delight). Rob Jacobs, as best as Scott could describe him, looked like Alan if, in twenty years, he developed a gut, his long hair began to gray, and he went into business as a mattress spokesman. He passed the dish back to his wife so he could shake Scott's hand. Debbie, Alan's chonky Calico cat, chose this moment to make her presence known as well, brushing up against the newcomers' legs.
Scott had met Alan's parents twice before: on their first day moving into dorms, and when he and Alan had moved into their current place one month earlier. Even though he hadn't warmed to Alan yet in the first instance, Scott had liked them instantly- a pair of aging bohemians who were happy to let their son experience life on his own terms, with a minimum of interference outside of making sure he was doing well. This was nearly always a good thing, but could, Scott figured, potentially be an issue given today's circumstances.
"Mr and Mrs Jacobs… what brings you to Boston this time of year?" asked Scott, having recovered enough composure to keep his voice steady.
"Didn't Al tell you, dear? We're on our second honeymoon, and we're retracing the same road trip we took together back then," explained Martha, placing the baking dish (frosted brownies) on the nearby table as they moved towards the couch.
"More or less, at least," put in Rob, the gravel of his voice a contrast with his wife's more sing-song tones, "Lotta changes to the roads, so there's been some differences. Like pot being legal now."
The couple shared a knowing laugh, before Martha added, "These don't have any extra ingredients, just to clarify."
"Well, it's so… lovely to see you both again so soon," Scott smiled, a bit of nervous sweat gathering at the back of his neck.
"So, where is my youngest son?" inquired Martha, "Usually when he gets a whiff of my brownies, he'll have devoured three by this point."
"Ah… yes. Alan… had to step out for a bit," Scott lied, "Got wrapped up in a last minute shift at work, y'see." Nervousness always brought out the lamest of unintended puns in Scott.
"That is a shame" said Martha, frowning a bit, "I thought Saturday was his guaranteed day off?"
"Usually, yeah, but his co-worker Alexis is sick in bed, and hey- you two know the good vibes your son gives off," continued Scott, smiling as genuinely as he could manage, "Don't worry, though- it's a short shift, and he shouldn't be tied down too long." The puns were coming as easily as the lies, and try as he might, Scott couldn't make them stop.
"We've been planning this lunch for two weeks, but if it's to help a friend, we understand," Rob said, "Even someone as organized as our Alan can sometimes throw a wrench into plans. I wish he'd have texted us, though- gonna have to tweak those reservations now…"
"Yeah, your Alan… what a rascal, that one, amirite?" Scott laughed, "Gonna have to sock it to him when he gets off later…"
"HEY- cut that shit out, jackass…" Scott thought, wincing internally, "You're not doing a bit, here. Think of something!"
********
Meanwhile, Alan's long-held fantasy was not playing out quite as he'd hoped.
He had settled in an odd position in the closet, not fully standing or sitting, with the front of his body smooshing one of the walls. It would have been an uncomfortable enough position even if Scott's hasty job of hiding him hadn't flipped the vibrator's switch prematurely, which it very much had. This had the unintended side-effect of driving the vibrator deeper into what Scott had referred to as Alan's "sweet spot".
What had been intended as a long, drawn out mutual pleasure-sesh was quickly becoming a short, messy affair- one which Alan could do absolutely nothing to stop. All he could do was softly moan into his own socks, rock gently from side-to-side, and bemoan his own poor planning skills as he awaited the inevitable.
********
"...so, needless to say, that was the last time we ever sampled Pablo's Gold," finished Rob, as he gave Debbie a big scratch behind her ears. He and Martha laughed, as did Scott, albeit more artificially. It had been an amusing story, but the twenty minutes spent listening to it had been far more productive in regards to his next move. Shouldn't be much longer now…
A brief hush settled over the room, disturbed only by contented purring. Then, from somewhere nearby, there came a muffled, yet intense sound, like a yak in heat. Rob and Martha sat up alert, while Scott, who'd heard this sound before, smiled to himself. Alan was a bit of a screamer, and this was just what he needed.
"What in the world was that?" asked Martha, concerned.
"Oh, that? It's the… uh, pipes. Yeah, our radiator kicks in right about this time every day. That was louder than usual, though. I'm gonna go check it out- I'm minoring in heating and cooling technology. Be right back!" Seizing his chance, Scott raced towards the bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind him.
Alan was a mess, both figuratively and literally, when Scott opened up the closet door and switched off the vibrator. Producing a pocket knife, Scott set to work cutting Alan's bonds, all the while whispering to him.
"Having fun, babe? Sorry, stupid question. Listen up- I told them you're covering a shift for Alexis. Your dad already bumped our reservations back. Thanks for remembering to tell me about that, by the way. If this is your idea of staying organized in your free time, neither of us will survive college."
Scott began undoing Alan's gag, before Rob's voice was heard from outside the bedroom.
"Everything okay in there, Scott? Heating isn't my forte, but if you need a hand, we're here to help."
"Oh, no, it's all good, Mr. Jacobs!" Scott answered, adding, "I did just get a text from Alan, though- he said he'd meet us at the restaurant. I'll be out in a minute, and we can get going- the subway's awfully busy on weekends!"
"Gotcha," said Martha, "We'll get ready to head out, then."
"Your parents are the best, by the way," continued Scott to Alan, finishing removing his gag, "Now, I should be able to stall our progress on the subway long enough for you to get the rest of the way out of this, take a shower, enjoy one of your mom's brownies, and catch up with us. I’ll text you with additional info as it comes to me. Got it?" He placed the pocket knife in Alan's hand, and began moving towards the door.
"Scott?" Alan stage-whispered, "Is there a reason you didn't make up an excuse to get in here sooner?"
"Your dad tells a riveting yarn. And hey, I had to let you have a little fun, right?" Scott grinned, and Alan smiled back.
"Oh, and Al? Make sure you wear a damn scarf."
-end-
.