The soft rope caresses my hands as it slides effortlessly around. I feel eyes watching, but the binding is all that matters. Too lose and it all goes for naught. Over and under the weaving goes, as the rope snakes upward through the eye hook above and is pulled through, but not too snug. Then with a quick flourish it is bound in place with no fear of it loosening. I turn and step out to relax for it is time to enjoy the moment.
A pleasant mix of pine, freshly mowed grass, and sweat fills the air as I fill my lungs and take in the sight before me. Under the overhang the mower sits still warm. The fragrant greenery mixes in the faint gas odor that fortunately is carried off with the mild fall breeze.
Everything is in its place, as this is a place of security and solitude for me. The tools hang above the work bench, each on their own wooden peg. Leather bridles and cinches hanging near the saddle on its stand, pushed out of the way but not forgotten. My peaceful sanctuary where stress from work is forgotten and only pleasure can inhabit.
Now music to float in the background to soothe the beast within or send it into a frenzy of motion that can drive it beyond its natural bounds to heights of excitement. Something mellow today, at least for now, to keep the mood of relaxed, and simple to keep the pleasures alive.
Running finger tips over the covers over the neat rows of CD covers they tenderly glide about searching for just the right one. Before frustration can ruin the moment they fall onto the stack of vinyl and quickly settle on a soft, yet tantalizing instrumental selection.
The art of Vinyl records has its own magic that starts from the moment it slides out of its paper sheath. It is a reverent act of control, soft, but firm touches, around the edges of its being. The guiding of it to the desired place where it will come alive as the needle begins its spiraling dance.
That delicate movement as it glides into place instead of those that rudely let it slam into place. To hear that swoosh of sound as the life within the trenches push back against the needle. Sometimes a single gasping note emerges or may it be a symphony of angels bursting forth. It all depends on the partnering of two together.
For now the notes come out low, and slow, yet build in rhythm as it evolves into that soul nurturing sound that grabs hold as it says hello to the world. With that first vibrant note I spin and snatch two pieces of rope from the table and let them run lovingly between my fingers as I walk back to the center of the room.
Keeping head bowed, refusing to look into my eyes, I drop into a kneeling position to wrap one end of rope around calf and carefully tie around the ankle leaving the remaining rope dangle. Then wrap the other rope around until they are mirror images of each other. Careful that the circulation is not cut off I stretch the rope over to an eye-bolt anchored securely to the wall. Sliding the rope through I slowly add more pressure until the angle looks about right. Then grabbing the other rope I do the same to that one as it is secured to the opposite wall.
The music plays on, as the breeze carries with it the subtle scents of fall in all its glory. Not able to resist I use my open palm to smack the ass so firm and muscular. A resounding clap it is as it falls to the beat of the music. Oh, the pleasures it will bring right up to the climatic moments of that final movement. Placing my palms against the chest I caress and then burying my fingers into the sweat soaked shirt I pull hard making my own chest bulge as the shirt rips apart.
I smile at the figure hidden within the shadows of the corner. I can almost smell the sexual need emanating from there. I look back to my play toy and our eyes meet for a fraction of a second before they drop from mine as if a heavy weight pulls them downward. Reaching down I grasp the crotch area firmly and a "Sorry Sir." is whispered lightly for my ears only. It may have been a stray breeze so faint it was, but I know and loosen the grip.
My hands only travel a short distance as the belt falls open and the button loses the battle popping open almost of its own accord. A faint snick as the zipper falls, and again I hear a faint sound from the corner. As if a sharp intake of air from deep within the shadows. The pants slip down a short ways as the ass comes into view. Even though there is no underwear the spread legs keep the pants from falling all the way down.
So walking to the table I select a large pair of sheers that rest upon two wooden pegs to the right of the work bench. My whole hand wraps around the throat of the sheers and lift slightly as I pull them free. Long dagger blades catch the fading light and mirror it around the room as I inspect them for imperfections. The snick of the blades sync with the mandolins light tones.
Coming around front the protruding cock is full and firm. Not massive, but pleasant to view, with firm full balls hanging beneath. My free hand slides over the top of the cock and then around to cup the balls pulling them totally free of the dangling pants. With a sigh of resignation I smile and bring the shears to bear. With a snip the cloth separates with a couple more in quick succession the pants part and fall to the ground with only the cuffs under the ropes still touching his skin.
