Leslie Cannon Stops By (Unknown/M)
Posted: Mon Dec 17, 2018 8:11 pm
I don’t receive many visitors out here and was more than a little surprised when someone bounded up my steps and executed a swift paradiddle on the door. I put down my book and opened up. My caller was a fair-haired person of indeterminate sex, standing a few inches shorter than my six feet.
“Hello, I’m Leslie Cannon and I shall be in need of your lodgings for a brief while. Perhaps just one evening, perhaps a few days.”
I was taken aback by this statement.
“I don’t usually rent it out,” I said. “When would you be wanting it?”
“I made no mention of renting,” Leslie Cannon said. “And my requirement is immediate.”
“I see. Well as you may notice, I’m currently in residence and there’s only room for one.“
“And I propose that the one in residence shall be me, rather than you, effective now.”
“You’re asking me to vacate my own abode on my own property? I’m not sure I understand.”
“Perhaps you’re capable of understanding… this!”
In a flash Leslie Cannon was standing behind me with my right arm bent in a hitherto unknown position, one which created a burdensome amount of discomfort.
“Just a smidgeon more lift could result in lasting damage,” Leslie Cannon explained. “I truly don’t wish to harm you but I have little patience for explanations. I propose to incapacitate you and take possession of your lodgings and will do the incapacitating in whatever manner is necessary. Now do you understand?”
I nodded. My arm was released and the world became a much happier place.
“We have two ways to do this,” said Leslie Cannon. “The hard way involves more pain and discomfort on your part. The easy way involves you following my instructions to the letter without suggestions or quibbles and with you speaking only in response to direct questions. This will result in much less unpleasantness. Do you understand?”
“Yes I do. May I ask what you wish me to do? Am I to drive away? Or perhaps wander the woods all night?”
Leslie Cannon smiled. “No, of course not. That wouldn’t be prudent. You shall remain here as my guest. You may sit in that swivel chair. Do you have any rope?”
I wasn’t sure I liked the direction this was going. When a stranger invades one’s domicile and asks for rope, there are certain assumptions one may be forgiven for making.
“I can assure you I have no desire to resist. May I ask why you desire rope?”
Once again my assailant moved faster than I could follow. There was a sudden sharp pain in the back of my knee and I fell to the floor.
“I believe I said something about not speaking,” Leslie Cannon said, offering me a hand up. “Do you recall that?”
I nodded ruefully as I regained my feet. The pain, while excruciating, had vanished as quickly as it arrived.
“Good. I also believe I suggested you sit in that chair.”
I nodded again and sat where indicated.
“Thank you. And finally, I asked if you had any rope. You may answer.”
“I do indeed have rope,” I replied. “All you might desire in various types and sizes. I have 1/4" cotton clothesline, 8mm hemp, nylon sheathed rope, even a length of 1” manila in case you plan to moor a tugboat.”
“Excellent. And where do you store this astounding collection of rope?”
“There’s a bag under the bed with the nylon rope I use to tie down the trailer’s cover during the winter,” I said, already regretting my outburst of information.
Leslie Cannon quickly found the bag of cordage and sorted through it.
“This is good. I believe you also mentioned hemp and clothesline?”
I felt myself beginning to blush. Sometimes (okay, usually) I talk too much. Why I’d felt the need to boast about my assortment of binding materials is open to conjecture. I’d quickly realized my mistake and offered the nylon rope first in hopes of avoiding disclosure of my kit. Such was not to be the case.
“The satchel on the shelf,” I said resignedly.
The battered leather bag was retrieved and its contents disgorged, exposing many coiled lengths of clothesline, two pairs of EMT shears, two triangle bandages, and a separate drawstring bag containing a collection of 8mm hemp in various lengths. Leslie’s eyebrows went up a notch.
“I do believe we may be something of a bondage aficionado, yes?”
I nodded.
“And are we a Bottom, or a Top?”
“Both,” I admitted. “I usually play alone.”
“Ah. Well this is your lucky day,” Leslie Cannon said. “Because I intend to truss you up. I’m quite good, and if you’re a helpful boy I may reward you in some small fashion. Now, let’s get started, shall we?”
I raised my hand and Leslie Cannon nodded.
“Why are you here?” I asked. “Not the existential ‘here’ which is the basis for most philosophy and religion, but rather the actual current 3D ‘here’, in the middle of nowhere, preparing to tie me up?”
“You don’t need to know that. In fact, it’s better you don’t know. Neither of us is particularly happy with the situation.” Leslie Cannon paused, glanced at the bulge in my shorts, and gave me a small smile. “Well, I suppose a part of you is not entirely unhappy. But regardless, it is what it is. I believe your long-winded inquiry is, in fact, your method of stalling. No more questions. Do you understand?”
I understood, although I did have one more question.
“Yes, but may I ask— yow!”
Once again I was amazed by the wealth of knowledge regarding sudden pain infliction possessed by my new acquaintance.
“You may not ask,” said Leslie Cannon. “You will do as you’re told. Now, let’s see. The cotton rope seems to have the most wear. Your favorite I assume. You may show me how you tie up your legs. Nice and tight now, no easy-opening knots or anything silly. I’ll be checking. By the way, those are ridiculous shorts for a man of your age.”
I hadn’t planned on company and, in deference to the heat of the day, was wearing old blue jeans which had been cut off quite short. A light cotton shirt and, due to the cooler evening air, long socks completed my ensemble. Not much of a fashion statement, admittedly, but comfortable and, to me, somewhat attractive. That opinion was obviously not unanimous.
Leslie Cannon sorted through the bundled ropes and tossed me three.
“One each at ankles, upper calves, lower thighs. Tight and cinched. No stalling.”
I nodded again and set to work. This was a task with which I was familiar, having completed a similar project the previous day, albeit under more pleasant circumstances. When I was finished my abductor knelt to inspect my completed assignment.
“Looks like you know what you’re doing. Snug, knots pulled down tight. Well done, although your cinching method isn’t the greatest.”
Leslie Cannon spun the chair around and rapidly bound my wrists, attaching them to the seat back. In short order, more ropes were wrapped round my torso, chest and upper arms. Everything was tight but not uncomfortable. I felt myself responding and could do little to avoid noticeable signs of my arousal.
“This is an isolated spot,” my captor said. “No one will hear if you yell. However I have no interest in conversing with you and you’ve shown a distinct inability to remain quiet. Also, as you probably know, it just isn’t bondage without a gag.”
Leslie Cannon folded one of the triangle bandages into a pad and stood behind me, one hand on my jaw, the other holding the cloth.
“I can keep quiet,” I pleaded. “I’d really rather not… MMPH!”
The wad of cotton was forced fully into my mouth and the second bandage was wrapped round my neck and mouth holding the first one in place.
“As I said, you seem to be unable to refrain from speaking. This should mitigate that problem.”
I mmphed a bit but in fact wasn’t too put out. A gag has always helped keep me centered and this one was comfortable enough for longterm wear.
Leslie Cannon put on glasses and sat at the table looking through a small notebook, making occasional notes and ignoring me.
At first I sat quietly. After a few moments I looked at the mirror across the room and saw myself, gagged, trussed up tightly, and wearing an attractive (to me) outfit. That familiar feeling descended upon me again and this time I embraced it. I had little else to do. I began some gentle rocking. Although thoroughly attached to the chair, I was able to move enough to create interesting feelings. The rocking gradually increased in intensity and the chair made a few squeaks.
Leslie Cannon looked over and smiled at me. “Please feel free to squirm around all you like. You may entertain yourself in whatever manner you wish.”
I’d been indulging in my selfbondage hobby the past several evenings without allowing a moist conclusion. Consequently I was very much on edge and quickly became lost in the sensations. The presence of Leslie Cannon and the complete inescapability of my present situation changed the dynamic markedly from my solo endeavors and added another level to my arousal.
Before long I sensed an orgasm heading my way. I successfully held it at bay, riding the edge as I’d been doing for the past few days. The mixture of bliss and frustration that comes with successful edging is difficult to describe but quite addictive. Like many addicts, I choose to believe it’s good for me.
I opened my eyes and saw my kidnapper leaning forward, elbows on knees, watching intently, the notebook forgotten. A smile and encouraging nod were all I needed. I pushed hard against the ropes, holding my muscles taut, straining and mmphing. Within a few moments a week’s abstinence finally came pouring out. I moaned loudly into the gag, pumping and rocking, getting every last drop of pleasure. I finally subsided with a sigh, slightly embarrassed and wholly satisfied.
Leslie Cannon applauded enthusiastically.
“Bravo! A truly delightful performance. I’m pleased to think I was able to assist in some small way with what appeared to be a quite pleasurable experience. On the negative side of the ledger, you’re now wearing moist and sticky shorts. An undoubtedly less than enjoyable situation. Ah well. Can’t be helped, and a small price to pay, one would think. I now require the use of your phone.”
My vintage Nokia was on the table. Leslie Cannon took it and went outside, leaving me bound and quite relaxed. I harbored no illusions about breaking free. It didn’t seem likely and I wasn’t interested in the repercussions if I should succeed.
I sat quietly, awaiting my captor. As I waited I began admiring myself in the mirror. Leslie Cannon’s ropework was excellent and I am a rather competent rigger myself. Between us we had me neatly and thoroughly trussed up. Some judicious wriggling turned the chair enough to give me a better view. The bouncing and squirming were also an invitation to my libido. I felt myself responding and began pushing against my restraints, that delightful feeling rising yet again. My prior gyrations had stretched the ropes such that rubbing my thighs together could now be added to my repertoire of self-pleasuring activities.
I commenced grinding and flexing, getting myself all bothered anew. Another happy ending was unlikely so soon after my previous eruption but the feelings were marvelous and the ropes were snug and attractive. I lost myself in the experience and drifted away.
As the shadows lengthened I realized Leslie Cannon had been gone a long time. I began seriously attempting escape. My struggles included muscular exertion which returned my major focus to my arousal rather than immediate escape.
It was long after midnight when I finally freed myself and went outside. I found my phone on the porch. Leslie Cannon was gone.
“Hello, I’m Leslie Cannon and I shall be in need of your lodgings for a brief while. Perhaps just one evening, perhaps a few days.”
I was taken aback by this statement.
“I don’t usually rent it out,” I said. “When would you be wanting it?”
“I made no mention of renting,” Leslie Cannon said. “And my requirement is immediate.”
“I see. Well as you may notice, I’m currently in residence and there’s only room for one.“
“And I propose that the one in residence shall be me, rather than you, effective now.”
“You’re asking me to vacate my own abode on my own property? I’m not sure I understand.”
“Perhaps you’re capable of understanding… this!”
In a flash Leslie Cannon was standing behind me with my right arm bent in a hitherto unknown position, one which created a burdensome amount of discomfort.
“Just a smidgeon more lift could result in lasting damage,” Leslie Cannon explained. “I truly don’t wish to harm you but I have little patience for explanations. I propose to incapacitate you and take possession of your lodgings and will do the incapacitating in whatever manner is necessary. Now do you understand?”
I nodded. My arm was released and the world became a much happier place.
“We have two ways to do this,” said Leslie Cannon. “The hard way involves more pain and discomfort on your part. The easy way involves you following my instructions to the letter without suggestions or quibbles and with you speaking only in response to direct questions. This will result in much less unpleasantness. Do you understand?”
“Yes I do. May I ask what you wish me to do? Am I to drive away? Or perhaps wander the woods all night?”
Leslie Cannon smiled. “No, of course not. That wouldn’t be prudent. You shall remain here as my guest. You may sit in that swivel chair. Do you have any rope?”
I wasn’t sure I liked the direction this was going. When a stranger invades one’s domicile and asks for rope, there are certain assumptions one may be forgiven for making.
“I can assure you I have no desire to resist. May I ask why you desire rope?”
Once again my assailant moved faster than I could follow. There was a sudden sharp pain in the back of my knee and I fell to the floor.
“I believe I said something about not speaking,” Leslie Cannon said, offering me a hand up. “Do you recall that?”
I nodded ruefully as I regained my feet. The pain, while excruciating, had vanished as quickly as it arrived.
“Good. I also believe I suggested you sit in that chair.”
I nodded again and sat where indicated.
“Thank you. And finally, I asked if you had any rope. You may answer.”
“I do indeed have rope,” I replied. “All you might desire in various types and sizes. I have 1/4" cotton clothesline, 8mm hemp, nylon sheathed rope, even a length of 1” manila in case you plan to moor a tugboat.”
“Excellent. And where do you store this astounding collection of rope?”
“There’s a bag under the bed with the nylon rope I use to tie down the trailer’s cover during the winter,” I said, already regretting my outburst of information.
Leslie Cannon quickly found the bag of cordage and sorted through it.
“This is good. I believe you also mentioned hemp and clothesline?”
I felt myself beginning to blush. Sometimes (okay, usually) I talk too much. Why I’d felt the need to boast about my assortment of binding materials is open to conjecture. I’d quickly realized my mistake and offered the nylon rope first in hopes of avoiding disclosure of my kit. Such was not to be the case.
“The satchel on the shelf,” I said resignedly.
The battered leather bag was retrieved and its contents disgorged, exposing many coiled lengths of clothesline, two pairs of EMT shears, two triangle bandages, and a separate drawstring bag containing a collection of 8mm hemp in various lengths. Leslie’s eyebrows went up a notch.
“I do believe we may be something of a bondage aficionado, yes?”
I nodded.
“And are we a Bottom, or a Top?”
“Both,” I admitted. “I usually play alone.”
“Ah. Well this is your lucky day,” Leslie Cannon said. “Because I intend to truss you up. I’m quite good, and if you’re a helpful boy I may reward you in some small fashion. Now, let’s get started, shall we?”
I raised my hand and Leslie Cannon nodded.
“Why are you here?” I asked. “Not the existential ‘here’ which is the basis for most philosophy and religion, but rather the actual current 3D ‘here’, in the middle of nowhere, preparing to tie me up?”
“You don’t need to know that. In fact, it’s better you don’t know. Neither of us is particularly happy with the situation.” Leslie Cannon paused, glanced at the bulge in my shorts, and gave me a small smile. “Well, I suppose a part of you is not entirely unhappy. But regardless, it is what it is. I believe your long-winded inquiry is, in fact, your method of stalling. No more questions. Do you understand?”
I understood, although I did have one more question.
“Yes, but may I ask— yow!”
Once again I was amazed by the wealth of knowledge regarding sudden pain infliction possessed by my new acquaintance.
“You may not ask,” said Leslie Cannon. “You will do as you’re told. Now, let’s see. The cotton rope seems to have the most wear. Your favorite I assume. You may show me how you tie up your legs. Nice and tight now, no easy-opening knots or anything silly. I’ll be checking. By the way, those are ridiculous shorts for a man of your age.”
I hadn’t planned on company and, in deference to the heat of the day, was wearing old blue jeans which had been cut off quite short. A light cotton shirt and, due to the cooler evening air, long socks completed my ensemble. Not much of a fashion statement, admittedly, but comfortable and, to me, somewhat attractive. That opinion was obviously not unanimous.
Leslie Cannon sorted through the bundled ropes and tossed me three.
“One each at ankles, upper calves, lower thighs. Tight and cinched. No stalling.”
I nodded again and set to work. This was a task with which I was familiar, having completed a similar project the previous day, albeit under more pleasant circumstances. When I was finished my abductor knelt to inspect my completed assignment.
“Looks like you know what you’re doing. Snug, knots pulled down tight. Well done, although your cinching method isn’t the greatest.”
Leslie Cannon spun the chair around and rapidly bound my wrists, attaching them to the seat back. In short order, more ropes were wrapped round my torso, chest and upper arms. Everything was tight but not uncomfortable. I felt myself responding and could do little to avoid noticeable signs of my arousal.
“This is an isolated spot,” my captor said. “No one will hear if you yell. However I have no interest in conversing with you and you’ve shown a distinct inability to remain quiet. Also, as you probably know, it just isn’t bondage without a gag.”
Leslie Cannon folded one of the triangle bandages into a pad and stood behind me, one hand on my jaw, the other holding the cloth.
“I can keep quiet,” I pleaded. “I’d really rather not… MMPH!”
The wad of cotton was forced fully into my mouth and the second bandage was wrapped round my neck and mouth holding the first one in place.
“As I said, you seem to be unable to refrain from speaking. This should mitigate that problem.”
I mmphed a bit but in fact wasn’t too put out. A gag has always helped keep me centered and this one was comfortable enough for longterm wear.
Leslie Cannon put on glasses and sat at the table looking through a small notebook, making occasional notes and ignoring me.
At first I sat quietly. After a few moments I looked at the mirror across the room and saw myself, gagged, trussed up tightly, and wearing an attractive (to me) outfit. That familiar feeling descended upon me again and this time I embraced it. I had little else to do. I began some gentle rocking. Although thoroughly attached to the chair, I was able to move enough to create interesting feelings. The rocking gradually increased in intensity and the chair made a few squeaks.
Leslie Cannon looked over and smiled at me. “Please feel free to squirm around all you like. You may entertain yourself in whatever manner you wish.”
I’d been indulging in my selfbondage hobby the past several evenings without allowing a moist conclusion. Consequently I was very much on edge and quickly became lost in the sensations. The presence of Leslie Cannon and the complete inescapability of my present situation changed the dynamic markedly from my solo endeavors and added another level to my arousal.
Before long I sensed an orgasm heading my way. I successfully held it at bay, riding the edge as I’d been doing for the past few days. The mixture of bliss and frustration that comes with successful edging is difficult to describe but quite addictive. Like many addicts, I choose to believe it’s good for me.
I opened my eyes and saw my kidnapper leaning forward, elbows on knees, watching intently, the notebook forgotten. A smile and encouraging nod were all I needed. I pushed hard against the ropes, holding my muscles taut, straining and mmphing. Within a few moments a week’s abstinence finally came pouring out. I moaned loudly into the gag, pumping and rocking, getting every last drop of pleasure. I finally subsided with a sigh, slightly embarrassed and wholly satisfied.
Leslie Cannon applauded enthusiastically.
“Bravo! A truly delightful performance. I’m pleased to think I was able to assist in some small way with what appeared to be a quite pleasurable experience. On the negative side of the ledger, you’re now wearing moist and sticky shorts. An undoubtedly less than enjoyable situation. Ah well. Can’t be helped, and a small price to pay, one would think. I now require the use of your phone.”
My vintage Nokia was on the table. Leslie Cannon took it and went outside, leaving me bound and quite relaxed. I harbored no illusions about breaking free. It didn’t seem likely and I wasn’t interested in the repercussions if I should succeed.
I sat quietly, awaiting my captor. As I waited I began admiring myself in the mirror. Leslie Cannon’s ropework was excellent and I am a rather competent rigger myself. Between us we had me neatly and thoroughly trussed up. Some judicious wriggling turned the chair enough to give me a better view. The bouncing and squirming were also an invitation to my libido. I felt myself responding and began pushing against my restraints, that delightful feeling rising yet again. My prior gyrations had stretched the ropes such that rubbing my thighs together could now be added to my repertoire of self-pleasuring activities.
I commenced grinding and flexing, getting myself all bothered anew. Another happy ending was unlikely so soon after my previous eruption but the feelings were marvelous and the ropes were snug and attractive. I lost myself in the experience and drifted away.
As the shadows lengthened I realized Leslie Cannon had been gone a long time. I began seriously attempting escape. My struggles included muscular exertion which returned my major focus to my arousal rather than immediate escape.
It was long after midnight when I finally freed myself and went outside. I found my phone on the porch. Leslie Cannon was gone.
It's different in more ways than just the 'gender' of the intruder... It did give me ideas of unexpected visitors and half-voluntary submission, although playing with genders isn't my thing (at all)...