Try as he might, Angelo could not let go of the physical memories; his own body betrayed him as he tried to forget what had occurred in the subterranean chamber.
On emerging from a cleansing and exhausting swim in the ocean; an attempt to obliterate the lingering tingling in his bare flesh, he had collected his belongings and vowed never to return to the garden... and yet...
He tried to keep his mind occupied burying himself in work around the town; building a shed here, nurturing a plot there, taking apart a motorbike, cleaning and reassembling it, anything to distract himself; exhausting his mind and body as he flung himself into any task that came his way, anything, to stop the creeping sweetness of the memories of touch, light as a feather, of firm yet yielding pressure on his hot skin. Even, God help him, the lingering ecstasy of his most private orifice being entered and that... explosion, it was the only word that fit his memory, of arousal, coursing through his bound and helpless body.
No matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to exhaust himself into dreamless sleep, the feel of the bed-sheets against his skin, just the fact of being naked stimulated a welter of remembered sensation and he had to jack himself... but it was no longer enough. He had started by using his own fingers to massage the area behind his balls, then a tentative exploration of his own ass; blushing with shame but nonetheless aroused by what he was discovering. Driven by his need to rekindle what he had discovered, one night whilst half drunk after a night in the nearest bar, eschewing human company he had made his way home and in a haze of drunken lust was driven to penetrate himself with a candle he had found in a box in his parents old house... but still it was not enough.
After two weeks of avoidance Angelo found himself retracing his tracks out to the estate and the garden. At first unsure what he would do, he hammered on the locked and studded door calling out for help, acceptance, deliverance; even offering his own submission, but there was never any answer and disconsolate he returned to his work, hoping his naked subservience would elicit some response from those concealed within. He had even attempted entry to the main building having found a way through the woodland to the ancient stone manor house. All doors and windows on the ground floor were bolted and shuttered and there was never any response to the jangling bell, which he could hear echoing dimly from within the depths whenever he pulled the heavy chain-pull in the portico of the old building. Ruefully he returned to his naked labour, quietly praying for release.
A blistering summer was gently cooling to a warmly mellow autumn and Angelo, whilst still tormented by heady erotic memories, found some solace in the rigour and toil that this fruitful time of year brought to his labours. Harvesting his crop still brought that sense of pride and achievement it always had and for a brief while he lost himself in the work, trusting that his diligence would be rewarded. His patience or perhaps, he thought, his luck, eventually paid off one morning when, as he passed by the solid oaken door to the crypt he noticed it was slightly ajar. Glancing quickly upward he tentatively approached the archway and gently pushed the door inward. The ancient hinges groaned as the door swung in, once again revealing the seven steps down into the chamber below. Emboldened by this opportunity and driven by a need he was almost unaware of, Angelo descended into the building, his naked form feeling the relative coolness of the air against his bare skin.
In anticipation, he spun around and checked behind the door, but this time there was no sudden assault, no cloying fumes, no figure’s leaping out of the dark to contain him. There were a few torches already lit in the sconces on the columns and he recognised the chamber where he had undergone his... torture? ...No! Rape...? No! Definitely not that! In all his musings about the events, he had never found a word that fit the experience. Certainly try as he could, he was unable to make any of the negative words stick with the sensations his mind and body remembered. The best he had been able to come up with was, an ‘awakening’.
Angelo closed the heavy door gently so that the natural light was blocked out and he gave his eyes a moment to adjust. The silent crypt appeared empty of human life, there were corners where shadows flickered, but rather than calling out, he took one of the torches and searched the space. There on a dais was the wooden frame in which he had been bound and next to it a trestle laden with various jars and pots that he vaguely recalled. The two aisles behind the rows of columns either side were devoid of life or decoration other than the fan-shaped buttresses supporting the vaulted ceiling that sprouted from the top of each stone pillar. In a corner to the left of the great fireplace, he found what appeared to be the only alternative door to the chamber; other than the one he had entered through, which was halfway along one wall where the concentric fan of stone steps ascended to the outside world. He tried the heavy iron handle of the internal pass-door but it was locked or was perhaps bolted somehow from the other side.
There was a low fire set in the great iron grate in the huge stone hearth, and despite the warmth outside, Angelo threw another log onto the fire and stoked it up. He lit some of the burned down candles and returned to his exploration of the chamber.
The trestle table held various jars and vials, and a scatter of other equipment with purposes his mind could only guess at. He unstoppered one of the corked flasks and recognised the smell of the unguent that had been used to shave him. There was already stubbly fuzz across his torso, arms and legs, where his body hair was re-growing. He tipped a little of the substance onto his finger and inhaled again the sweet, slightly spicy odour and felt the cool tingling against his finger tip. As he replaced the cork into the jar his eye was caught by a length of soft leather dropped amongst the jumble; along its length ran a series of buttonholes and one small, leather bound button. Without ever having actually seen it, he knew immediately what it must be and on impulse before he became too aroused, as he could feel himself being turned on by the memories the sights and smells evoked; he took the soft band and strapped it tightly around the base of his genitals and buttoned it as tightly as he dared. The blood coursed into his cock and he watched himself stiffen and strain against the soft leather. Already the sensitivity it gave his erection was increased as he slowly closed a fist around it and stroked along its length.
Looking along the table he saw a series of rubber sculptures, or tools and what appeared to be dildos of varying shapes and sizes. Remembering the cool tingling of the shaving oil, he selected one that looked similar in size to the candles he had experimented with, and reopening the jar slathered the object with the cool green fluid, he bent over the table and gently inserted the lubricated shaft into his rectum, slowly stoking and pumping the item into his butt. The stimulation was wild and he soaked his hand and squeezed his nuts and proceeded to jack himself, one foot raised to support him against the table as he fucked his own butt. However, not wanting to rush proceedings, he avoided coming to climax and momentarily leaving the dildo in place, gently circled his nipples with his index fingers and teased them eliciting small groans and grunts of satisfaction.
Once again he stopped himself before the tit-play became too intense. Sighing he withdrew the dildo, relishing the warmth that spread through his innards and enjoyed the feeling of ‘absence’ that desired/demanded a refill. This was arousing, exciting, and ‘illicit’ even, but still... something was missing.
Next he moved over to the raised wooden frame to examine it in detail. The odd-looking leather cuffs were attached to chains that disappeared through an eye in adjustable steel sleeves. The chains then ran up or down a thick groove cut out of the sturdy frame itself, running over pulley-wheels in each corner, through the thickness of the frame to attach to ratchets that would take the strain only in one direction, forcing a captive to be stretched tight and unable to pull back any slack until a lever was released. The height of the chains could be adjusted up or down by sliding the steel sleeves supported by a steel peg that could be inserted into deep holes drilled at even intervals into the front sides of the frame. His engineers’ eye grudgingly admired the simplicity of the design. What he had remembered as a post pushing his hips forward on his previous visit, turned out to be a trestle with a rolling crossbar, padded in the middle which could be pushed up behind a subject either to control the hips or to support the lower back if the frame was flipped backwards. This support could also be moved to support the midriff if the incumbent were flipped forward so they lay face down; a series of these supports were available to bear the weight of chest, back or head if need be, including one section with a face-hole like a masseurs table.
There were other less obvious pieces of equipment including huge oak thrones with arm, leg and neck restraints, a strange half-built structure made from a barrel mounted on a pivot with thick steel springs attached to the underside at either end; for what purpose he could not even guess at. When Angelo pressed one end down, it jiggled like a child’s see-saw before one of the springs came loose and dropped to the stone floor with a sonorous clang! Angelo froze and waited with held breath for the echoes to disperse; when several minutes had passed and nobody appeared to investigate, he quickly reattached the fallen spring. Intrigued by the mechanism he noted it appeared to be a work in progress, as various tools and pieces of equipment lay strewn about it; leaving well alone he continued his inspection of the cavernous space.
There were other trestle tables and chairs ranged against one wall heaped with an assortment of tools and blades, bundles of drying herbs and a large earthenware jug sprouting a clutch of feathers of varying sorts, ranging from native wild species; the oily blue-black of raven and magpie, the dun brown stripes of pheasant; to exotics, like fluffy black and white ostrich plumes and the tail feathers of peacocks, their iridescent ‘eyes’ and delicate fronds giving off a greeny-blue sheen in the dim light. He was reminded of scenes from a wizard’s laboratory and smiled at the image.
Returning to the large wooden frame, which on its raised platform dominated the space, he experimented with the ratchets and the pivoting mechanism; impressed to discover that not only could it pivot forward and backwards to put the captive into a prone position, the elevation could also be fixed at various angles, and could be turned a full 360 degrees if required. His attention was drawn by the curious ankle and wrist restraints. He had at first dismissed the strange leather bands as a detail he had missed from his first visit, being too preoccupied by the experience in hand to take in any specifics. He lifted one trying to work out how it could be fastened shut, as it appeared to be a straight rigid piece of leather, two and a half inches wide and about a foot long, but with no obvious thongs or ties with which to fasten them. As he looked closely, he saw that it was actually a casing of soft leather cushioning a flexible steel band that when ‘snapped’ across the wrist, automatically folded itself around the arm or ankle, and unless peeled apart with the fingers, no amount of straining could break its firm hold. Once unwound from itself, the sprung steel snapped back into an apparently rigid bar waiting to be ‘snapped’ into place. Angelo had seen something similar on a kids watch strap but never would have thought of this application. Looking around the space, silent but for the sputtering of the flaming torches and the crackling of the flames in the fire, he felt excited and impatient in equal measure... Where were his tormentors? He looked at the frame... and knew what he had to do.
Releasing the ratchet mechanism, he pulled the four chains out to their furthest extent. He re-engaged the mechanism and, as he’d expected, as he eased the chains up towards the steel sleeves, the chains slid back through and were clanked through the ratchet. Confident he knew what he was doing; he released the crank and once more extended the chains to their limit. He snapped the padded restraints around his wrists, then reaching down, did the same around his ankles, then carefully sliding his feet apart, with the slack chains rattling coldly against his bare skin, he leaned to his left and taking a deep breath, re-engaged the ratchet and quickly stood and waited as the chain pulled by a counterweight rattled back through the sleeves and slowly but surely Angelo felt his arms raised until once more he was held in a classic star shape, awaiting the attentions of his... masters?
He did not have long to wait, he became aware of a soft grating noise from above and behind him, accompanied by a blast of cooler air. There was the sound of creaking timber and then what sounded like bare feet slapping on a wooden stair. As he was registering these sounds he became aware of the continuing pressure of the stretching to his body as the mechanism continued to pull at his limbs. Suddenly the stretch was no longer a restraining force but a painful pressure; he could feel the muscles around his sockets straining against the continuing pull of the ratchet as the chains continued their inexorable journey, ‘clack-clack-clack!’ The strain in his joints was becoming painful and in panic he tried in vain to pull back against the irresistible force that threatened to pop his joints out of their sockets, when a breathless voice in his ear murmured ‘Foolish!’ in a tone of exasperation. There was a loud clunk and the pressure on his joints eased. Angelo pulled his aching limbs in and hugged himself causing the released chain-link to slide coldly against his muscled frame.
Suddenly he felt a warm hand against his face and looked up into the bearded and crop-haired face of ‘Violet-eyes’ who was standing before him with a look of concern on his handsome features. His right hand cupped the left side of Angelo’s face; the startling and startled eyes searching Angelo’s for signs of pain. Without thinking, Angelo turned his head slightly and brushed his lips against the mound of flesh at the base of the thumb held against his cheek, and he murmured, ‘Thank you.’
The figure visibly stiffened and with surprising speed and in a violent reversal of intent that shocked Angelo to the core, the hand whipped back and delivered a swingeing slap to the side of his face that snapped his head to the right with the force of the blow and once again was uttered the barely heard word, ‘Foolish!’ hissed out between clenched teeth. Angelo staggered and in an equally surprising reversal, when he came upright once more, the hand was replaced and his burning cheek was gently caressed in an apologetic fashion; the knuckles brushing gently along his jaw. The episode reminded Angelo of similar bizarre assaults from his youth, meted out by his mercurial Mother upon his youthful frame; a violent unexpected, lashing out, followed by apologetic affection, ‘For giving Mommy a fright!’ The memory brought a smile of recognition to his face and he nodded once gently whilst holding the young monks gaze. Straightening, Angelo stood proud and stretched himself out into the star shape once more, his unwavering gaze issuing a challenge to the shorter, bearded man.
Apparently understanding the need in his captive’s eyes, the robed man observed him for a moment then released the ratchet and allowed the chains to tighten once more. When they reached a point where the chains grew taut, with expert timing the mechanism was safely locked off. The robed man stared at Angelo, the steady gaze sweeping his naked form with stern appraisal, before once more locking eyes with his willing captive. Then, decision obviously made, he silently moved into action. Stepping to one side, he released the tipping mechanism and tilted Angelo back until he was at an angle of about forty-five degrees. The frame was locked off and the cushioned roller slid up to support his lower back and hips. Standing to one side of the prone form, the monk ran the fingers of one hand through Angelo’s luxuriant mane of golden hair. He appeared to enjoy the texture and feel of the tumbling curls. Bringing both hands to bear, he massaged Angelo’s head drawing his hands into fists knotting the hair in his grip until it pulled tautly against the scalp. The feeling, though at times stinging and sharp, was pleasant and relaxing, even when the fists tightened and the pressure on the roots increased, eliciting a low moan of pleasure from the bound man. This alternating of massage and firm pulling of his hair continued for some minutes and Angelo found himself relaxing.
All too soon, this curiously erotic stimulation stopped and with what sounded like a small sigh of regret, the robed man reached behind him to the trestle and produced an old fashioned looking pair of shears.
Angelo’s eyes widened and his handsome brows furrowed together, inner corners raised in a silent plea for mercy as he shook his head, the so recently caressed hair flowing across the skin of his shoulders.
With implacable resolve the curious looking shears, two pointed triangular blades connected by a curve of sprung steel, honed to a keen sharpness on their inner edges, were slid into his mane and the shearing began. Angelo was surprised how emotional he felt about this as he felt the weight of his hair, his crowning glory, slipping away from him, as with precise and skilled clipping his hair was cut to a short uneven crop standing in short tufts, as released from the burden of weight the cropped stems sprang upright. The cutting complete, the erstwhile barber, proceeded to wash what remained of Angelo’s hair in cold water and roughly towelled his head dry, the shortened stems settling into a flattened but tousled crop. The cut strands were gathered reverently together and tied using a thong of leather into a single lock of golden curls like a ponytail, which was hung up next to what Angelo now saw were other similar ponytails in a range of colours scattered amongst the bundles of herbs hanging to one side.
Regarding his captor, Angelo detected a sense of remorse in the bearded man’s expression, tempered with something that seemed to declare, ‘Be careful what you wish for!’
The frame was righted and without a word, the robed figure disappeared behind his line of sight. A moment later Angelo sensed the man standing behind him and a blindfold made of some soft fabric was wound around his head obscuring his vision. This was secured tightly at the back with a firm tug and a soft grunt of satisfaction at a job well done, and Angelo heard the man move to stand in front of him. There was a pause. A moment of silence... then in a sudden flurry of sound, Angelo felt his body held in a tight embrace, the robed body pressed firmly against him, the muscled arms holding him close and a bearded mouth found his. A tongue searched his lips and, startled he responded passively at first, enjoying for the first time the strangeness of another man’s mouth and tongue exploring his own; the bearded chin grinding against his own stubble; the taste of the other man’s breath, sweet with a slight herbal flavour. However, it was the huge erotic rush he felt leading him to respond enthusiastically that surprised him. He was just beginning to engage with passion, their tongues entwining, when the contact was suddenly broken off and a few seconds later he heard the slap of bare feet ascending a wooden staircase followed by the creaking of timber and the scrape of stone against stone. Once again he was alone but this time restrained and shorn, aroused and awaiting? ...who knew what?
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