The Telemachus Story Archive

Bluebell End

Bluebell End

“Roll the dice.” Stephen said from the settee.

Alex picked up both isocahedra, rattled them thoroughly in clasped hands, and dropped them on the mat on the floor. He stretched and rubbed his chest where the rope marks showed.

“F17” Ben said.

“F17, F17…” Stephen flapped through a bunch of stapled A4s. “There’s really too many rules … Ah, F17 – Oooh, an unlock!”

Ben nodded. “Lucky you.”

“Lucky me?” Alex said. “About bloody time.”

“What did we say about complaining?” Ben said.

“No complaining.”

“We can always rethink the unlock.” Stephen said, looking up.

“No you can’t.”

“Course we can.”

Alex sulked.

“Anyway, F17. Unlock in a public place at the crack of dawn. Two minutes to cum.”

“What?” Alex said.

“Don’t act all innocent, you had your hand in the rules too.” Ben said. “As far as I remember you found this ‘trepidatious’ – your own words. Now,” he turned to Stephen, “where do we unlock him? Church Square?”

“Fuck no,” Alex said, “too public.”


Alex thought. “Behind the sugar factory. There’s some sort of walk there, with benches. It’s public. And I would be clearly visible form the other side of the canal.”

“Public, but not public enough. We need better.” Ben said.

Alex groaned.

“Perhaps he should chain himself to a bench and wait for us to show up?” Stephen said.

“I like that idea.” Ben said.

“Come on, no…” Alex said.

“Yes,” Ben said. “Chained and waiting. Or no unlock.”

“Not there…” Alex said. “What about some woods or so?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Stephen said.

“Naked?” Alex tried.

Stephen and Ben gawked at Alex.

“Naked? In the woods? It’s hardly less public than the canal. You know, people walk there.”

“Not that early.”

“You’d be surprised. Old folks. Always out and about with their dogs. Especially with this weather.”

“Some place difficult to get to then.” Alex said.

Stephen shrugged. “Well, any other suggestions then, Mr. Fickle? Or Church Square it is. Chained.”

“We said not Church Square. Pig Wood?”

“Where’s that?”

“You know, Pig Wood – where the power lines cut through. Top of the hill. We had a party there last year. Outdoor bondage and stuff. No one’s ever around.”

“Defeats the public unlock, as far as I’m concerned.” Ben said.

Alex tried puppy eyes. When neither reacted he whined.

“All right, all right.” Stephen said. “Pig Wood then. Monday, 6AM. Not quite crack of dawn, but it’s the earliest I’d agree to.”

“And you better be on bloody time.” Ben said. “Or no unlock for the foreseeable future.”

“I’ll be there. Chained.”

“And naked.”


Ben sighed. “Fine. Jockstrap, at the maximum. Or no cum. And stop trying to puppy-eye us.”


Vic trudged in high-viz gear up trough the pines, shook a can of spraypaint and marked the peeling bark of a tree with a fluorescent orange cross. With a dozen dying pines standing nearby, this one brought the tally for this sector up to fifty two; soon the entire woods would be felled by beetles. Imported – like Dutch elm disease, ash borers, moths and aphids of various denomination, not to mention the fungi that often did the eventual killing. The world was going to pot. He shook his head, wiped away the sweat, and cursed when he spotted more dying pines a stone’s throw further on. Better burn the whole lot down. He looked at the time. 5.48 – the lads would arrive in a bit over an hour. He shouldn’t linger, the way to the top was even steeper and he had to sort out the trees that were getting too close to the power lines at the other end of the woods. He’d take the car to get there – bumpy but worth it to spare some effort.

When he got down from the pines, just past six, depressed at the state of the world, he was melting like the ice caps. Another excruciating day was in the making. The car’s chassis groaned under the load of new potholes in the narrow dirt road and he cursed when he saw a bike approaching from the other end. Fool.

One of the bikers motioned him to stop when he was about to pass them. Fools – plural: there was a pillion. Both were in oddly-shaped leather racing suits. Mostly black. On such a day – on such a road. He shook his head and leaned out of the window.

“Pig Wood, mate, any idea where Pig Wood is?” the rider said.

Vic raised his eyebrows. “Nope. Got another name?”

The biker turned to the pillion. “Another name, Stephen?”


“Got another name, for the woods?”

“Eh, Gnarlyoak Wood?”

“Gnarlyoak Wood?” the rider said.

Vic shook his head. “No mate, never heard of it. This is Bluebell End.”

“Ask for the power lines.” the pillion said.

“The woods with the power lines?” the rider said.

“Yeah, Bluebell End.” Vic gestured upwards, through the trees. “But I wouldn’t go there – off limits today. Forestry work.”


“Come from far?” Vic said.

“Not really, no, but we’ve left some stuff there.”

“I see. Well, I still wouldn’t go.” He frowned. “What’ve you lost?”

“Eh, some keys and, eh, some gear.”

“Keys and gear?”




“Look, if I see anything, or the lads find anything, I’ll tell them not to touch it, OK? Come back tomorrow.”

“Yeah, eh, OK – and, eh, the power lines, how’d we get there?”

Vic sighed. “Straight ahead, to your right on the first Y – no, you’d better take left on that bike – you’ll end up on a sort of cobblestone path: turn left. Once you cross the bridge, turn right, keep going until you reach a shop called eh … Carbide Precision – I think – then up the road to their right – Bluebell Close. You’ll end up in a dead end, twenty minutes, half an hour walk from the power lines – can’t miss the path. But I wouldn’t go there. Not today lads. Really.”

“No shortcuts?” the pillion said.

“Sure,” Vic said, “but not on that sort of bike. On a dirt bike, just, maybe. Even I struggle to get through in this beast.” He patted the side of the weathered car door. “I wouldn’t recommend you try.”

“Great.” said the biker, turning to the pillion. “You and your bloody shortcuts. Better be going.” He nodded to Vic and thanked him, closed his lid, and drove off, leaving a plume of off-white dust expanding in the air.

“Idiots.” Vic said.

On his way to the power lines Vic saw ash with black, bare branches. He stopped, sentenced them, and drove up a steep, twig-littered path in which the spring torrents had cleft a foot-deep, craggy channel. Nettles whipped inside his open windows, and the occasional bramble clawed at the door frame.

He parked within sighting distance of the power mast – it towered over the trees – in a clearing mostly devoid of offensive vegetation. A few foolhardy saplings were trying to colonise the soft hummus. He poured himself a cup of coffee from a flask and ambled back under the canopy. The leaves above him gave off some cooling dampness. It was a nice spot. Blackbirds rustled in the brown leaves. He could hear the scurrying of wildlife and, muffled by the vegetation around the mast, some beckoning whispers and the tinkle of chains.

Vic tracked the un-woodlike noises to the base of the power mast where, from within the saplings and brambles, he could see someone leaning against the scaffolding. When Vic emerged from the shrubbery a startled, near-naked lad stared at him. Vic gaped. “Well fuck me.” he said and shook his head. The lad wore nothing except for some black, pouch-like underpants and a collar around his neck. Thick drool was stringing down from a red ball strapped in his mouth and when he shifted, Vic saw that he was handcuffed to the mast.

“Prank? Hazing?” Vic said as he walked towards the lad.

“Kind of.” Alex said around the gag.

“Do you want me to…” Vic gestured at the gag and flinched when another foamy strand of drool glooped down.

“If fine.” Alex said.

“Look, you can’t stay here. Forestry work. Can you get loose?”

Alex shook his head. “Wai’ing for mates. ‘ey have uh key.” he said.

“I see.” Vic cocked his head. “Biker types?”

Alex nodded.

Vic sighed. “Will take them a while. The lads should be here before them. I’ll ask them to cut you loose, they’ve got more suitable tools. I’ve only got this–” he shook his spray paint bottle, “–and some pruning shears. Now, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve got trees to sentence.” he said and walked back into the woods.

A car horn joined the hissing of paint and the shifting of handcuffs around the mast.

“Morning.” The voice came from the clearing.

“Over here.” Vic shouted back. “You’re early.”

“No traffic this time of day.”

“I’m nearly done.” said Vic. “You’ve got your work cut out. Bloody hell, all those trees. Makes me sick.”

Jason shrugged. “Can’t be helped.”

“Still. You alone?” Vic said.

“Yeah, Ted’s coming later.”

“Later? Fool.”

“You know him. He doesn’t mind the heat.”

“This isn’t heat – it’s hell.”

“You should move to Siberia, mate.”

“They had 35°C there last year.”

“Antarctica then.”

Vic huffed. Both men savoured the stillness of the morning sounds and went back to their cars in the clearing.

“Oh, before I forget – there’s a guy handcuffed to the mast.”


“Yeah, prank or something. If you could cut him loose. Didn’t have anything heavy enough with me.”

Jason rubbed his neck. “Sure.”

“Well, I’m off. I’ve got more bloody trees to tag – it’s napalm we need. Or agent orange. Don’t forget the lad.”

Jason waved off the receding car and waited for silence to return, then waded through the saplings towards the mast.

“I don’t believe it!” he said when he saw Alex. “I don’t fucking believe it! You! The fucking twat!”

Alex frowned – puzzled – and stammered something unintelligible behind the gag.

“Don’t remember me then, eh?” Jason said.

Alex shook his head.

“Caligula's Den? Two weekends ago? Bare chest night? No? ‘Burly’? ‘Brutish’? ‘Beauty and the Beast’? I heard you and your fucking friends.”

Alex recoiled, terrified at the sight of Jason now stomping towards him.

“Can’t even remember what fucking names you call people?”

Alex looked apologetic, confused, and cornered all at the same time. He was still shaking his head.

Jason cocked his head, put one hand on his hips, and tried to look smug and disdainful. He cleared his throat. “Aren’t you a bit big to suck pretty boy cock?” he said in a thin, parodying voice.

Alex’s eyes shot open, confusion stripped from his face. “Oh no…” he said.

“Oh yes. Me. The Cocksucker of Notre-Dame.”

“Fugh. Oh fugh. Pweafe. Pweaf, I’m fowwy. It wasn’t meant to be wude. Pweafe don’t–”

“Sorry now, eh?” Jason said. “I could be nasty, really nasty – it’s tempting, bloody tempting,” he said, clenching and unclenching his fists, “but I think I’ll just cut you loose and chase you down to the village. Like that. In your jockstrap. Yeah. Fuckin’ twat.”

Alex watched Jason fume to his car, tried to force the handcuffs’ chain – although it was a cheap thing he knew fighting it was useless, all it did was bite in his wrists – and decided to run for his clothes as soon as the cuffs were cut. Jason rummaged in the boot, but wasn’t carrying pliers when he came back. He peeled off a long strip of duct tape in front of the boy and smiled.

“I’ll get you loose. In a minute.” he said and shoved Alex against the scaffolding. He crouched, gripped his legs, and taped them to the metal. “After I’ve sucked you off. A few times.”

A few wraps over the knees and around the stomach were enough to immobilise the boy and start enjoying himself. Jason yanked down the jockstrap and froze, staring at the metal cage cast over the boy’s cock. Alex wanted to giggle and hum a defiant tune, but stopped himself in time.

Jason got up. “No bit of flimsy metal is going to spoil this.” he said and went back to the car. This time he did come back with chain cutters.

“No!” Alex said. “Ikch ‘itanium! Won’t work!”


Alex protested and tried to squirm away from the pliers but Jason didn’t care. He positioned them over the built-in lock, steadied, heaved, and felt like he was trying to cut wet granite with scissors. He frowned.

“No, don’f!” Alex said. “You’w mamage the wock!”

Jason heaved again – Alex winced – but the pliers slipped off the cage, leaving a gash in the only brass bit. There was no way he’d be getting through this. He rubbed his neck and put the pliers down, then crouched. He patted the boy’s balls, lifted Alex’s sabotaged tackle. A built-in prince Albert pinned the device to his cock – he couldn’t even force it out of the cage. Jason felt the prickle of sweat around his armpits. The boy smelled nice – so nice – and his caged cock chanted to him like a siren peeking from behind a rock. “Oh bugger it,” he mumbled, shuffled forwards on his knees, took the caged cock in one hand, cupped the boy’s balls with the other, closed his eyes, and started kissing and licking the tip of the cage. With some twirling he managed to get his tongue under the foreskin, pushed it back a bit, and slobbered. The cage clicked against his teeth but was open enough to savour the boy through its bars. He tasted as good as he smelled.

Alex groaned and – after some initial reluctance or resistance – Jason felt him swell. He himself was throbbing – he’d started to get hard as soon as that cock had ensnared him. He grabbed his cock through his gear – still sucking the boy’s – and gave it a quick tug. He bucked and almost came. The duct tape creaked. Alex started panting and shifting. Jason took the entire cage in his mouth, chin to balls, sucked hard, and pushed down on the boy’s bulge that had knotted up under his shaved pubis.

“Pweav, it hurf.” Alex said.

Jason looked up and grinned. “Well, stay soft then. Big burly boy like me making you all hard and needy. Tch. You should know better. This isn’t your thing, remember?”

“I haven’t cum in weekf… pweafe, it’s too much.” Alex said.


Jason sucked again, harder now. He’d found the boy’s spots, worked his tongue over the exposed piss slit and pushed up around the frenulum. Alex groaned and grimaced, then started panting. Jason kneaded the boy’s bottom and shoved him deeper into his mouth. Alex’s cock strained as hard as it could in the cage; his cockhead squeezed through the bars and swelled around the pin. He gasped, froze, and with a thin, airy hiss – as if trying to hide his orgasm – came. Jason continued sucking until the boy’s panting became ragged and turned into raspy, weak muttering – then he spat out the cum in his hands. “Good boy.” he said, smeared the cum over Alex’s face and gag, and ruffled it in his hair. “Let’s have another load. I’m sure there’s more in you.”

“No, no, it hurfs! Pweafe.”

Jason shrugged. “Tough.” he said and smirked. He took Alex’s cock deep in his mouth – the tube was bigger than he’d thought – sucked it, swirled it with his tongue – he tasted even better now – and massaged the boy’s balls and the root of his cock. Working the same spots harder, he got Alex to wince at every sharp flick of his tongue – his softened cock got hard again. Jason dribbled some thick spit on his fingers, wriggled up between Alex’s legs, and started playing with his hole. The boy didn’t jump when Jason nudged in – he was rather loose. He snaked deeper and curled for the prostate; with each rub Alex seemed closer to melting. Jason got out his cock, started wanking himself and fucked the boy in the same rhythm. He got saccadic moans for an answer. Jason tilted his head left and right, eyes closed, sucking on the caged cock. He teased its tip with the end of his tongue, flicked the slit, rubbed the perineum with his thumb, massaged the balls, swallowed the head through the punishing bars of the chastity cage, and smothered the frenulum with rubs of his tongue. Only biting didn’t work. The boy was close – he’d started gasping again. Between moans he slurped on the gag.

Jason sped up – he too was close. Alex shuddered on Jason’s hand, his hole clenched, clenched again – it quivered. Jason slobbered over the cage, sucked hard, nibbled when he forgot about the metal, fucked his mouth with the cage, and pounded Alex’s arse – he had four fingers in now. Alex squealed, bucked as far as the tape strapping him to the power mast let him, winced right after the first spurt, and begged and struggled – pweafe – for Jason to stop sucking his cock through the cage and mauling his arse.

Jason sped up his wanking and fucking the boy, screwed his eyes, sucked reflexively harder – Alex retched and jerked around in the tape – and came. To Alex’s relief, Jason calmed down, then stopped. After a good dozen long, gasping breaths, both emerged to the distant sound of chainsaws in the valley. Jason spat out the cum in his own orgasm-slicked hand and smeared it all over the boy’s shagged-out face.

“Ooh, good one. Fuuucking good one.” He wiped his hands dry on Alex’s sides and chest. “Don’t know if you enjoyed it – don’t care – but I did. Hell yeah I did.” Jason laughed, sorted out his trousers and cock, stooped down with a sigh, and cut the tape around Alex’s knees and belly.

“Ready to run for your life, or do you want another go? I wouldn’t mind.”

“Pweaf mo…” Alex said.

“Suit yourself.” Jason smacked Alex’s arse and cut through the handcuffs’ chain. The boy darted off, fell forward, caught his balance, ripped off the bits of tape that still stuck over his thighs, lost his jockstrap in the process, stumbled weak-kneed over a branch, landed face down, scrambled up, now covered with forest-floor stuck to the drying drool and spunk, and picking up a pile of clothes that lay at the root of a large beech scurried away naked, to Jason’s raucous laughter.

He was firing up the chainsaw when he saw two biker types huffing up the hill, fighting their way through nettles and saplings.

“Hey,” he shouted, “Off limits – forestry work. Can’t you read the bloody signs?”

“We know”, one said, panting. “We’re looking for a friend, should be around here.”

“Naked lad? Shackled to the power mast?” Jason said and laughed. “Yeah, I cut him loose, didn’t even have to tell him to bugger off. He went that way. I doubt you’d catch up with him, he seemed in a hurry.” Jason laughed again when he saw the bikers stumble down the hill, shouting for Alex. Too bad, he thought. He could have done with a solid fuck from either of them. Nothing beats a thin boy lying on top of you and breeding you like a lapdog in heat. Even if they’re wearing leather.


“Keep still.” Stephen said.

“It hurts.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Your knob’s all purple. For fuck’s sake, keep still.”

“Perhaps we should fix the ring in a vice.” Ben said.

“Yeah. Might work.”

“I need it off.”

“Ben, get the key to the prince Albert, will you?”


“Good thing he didn’t fuck that up – or I have no idea how we’d get this damn device off of you. Good thing too that the locking barrel is brass. Should be easy to drill out…”

“I hope so.” Alex said.

“Here’s the key.”

Alex winced when the PA came out, objected by screaming murder when they tried to push his cock out of the tube, and gasped when Stephen clamped the ring into the vice – it was cold yet soothing against his balls. The three boys were peering down. One steadied the drill, one bit his nails, and the last one kept a bottle of water close to cool things down should they get hot. For a solid ten minutes one of the boys whined in concert with the drill.

Alex sighed when the cage came off. He looked at his cock. “I’m blue.” he said and giggled.

“A pretty shade of purple.” Ben said. “I like how you can see where the cage was. Nice pattern. Perhaps we should do this more often.”

Alex patted his cock. “Heheh, I’ve got a blue bellend.” he said.

Stephen smacked him on the head.

“Aw… why’d you do that?”

“You deserved it – all of it. Up to the playroom with you.”

“What? Now?”

“Yes, now. We haven’t made you cum yet.”

“Oh no. No no no. I’m empty.” Alex said. “No-one makes me cum anymore, not today.”

“Fine then.” Ben said. “Perhaps a few hours of edging might change your mind.”

“No it won’t.”

“Shall we lock him back up then?” Ben said.

“Yeah.” Stephen said.

“Ha! In what?” Alex said.

“New cage,” Ben said. “Fresh from the printer. Much smaller. Plastic, but I might print it in titanium if I like it.”

Alex whined. “Can’t we… I mean – what about another roll? Instead of … you know, I can’t, you can’t – it’s just that…”

Ben and Stephen sighed.

“Fine.” Stephen said. “Just roll the dice. Let’s go upstairs.”

“K3” Alex said.

“K3, K3 – right. Oooh… You may not like this.” Stephen said. “Marathon edging session. Relock without orgasm for duration determined by roll.” He sniggered.

“What? No! Can’t we–”

“No! Roll. Now!”

Alex bit his lip, picked up the dice, and rolled again.

Ben laughed when the dice settled. “Q17. Could be worse. But still.”

Stephen counted on his fingers, going through the alphabet. “Thirty four days.” he said and whistled.

“Please.” Alex said. “I can’t do this. It’s– ”

“To the playroom,” Alex said. “I’ll make sure you beg us to lock you back up.”

“After which, lucky you, your cock’s got 34 days of sick-leave, all alone, with no-one to bully it.” Ben said, “A good arrangement, I think. Fair as dice.”

Alex wasn’t too sure of that.

(XII 2020)