The Telemachus Story Archive

Essays
Part 7 - Hoods and Blindfolds
By Hooder
Email: hooder@ntlworld.com

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Hoods & Blindfolds

I originally chose the name ‘Hooder’ because of my life-long obsession with hoods and blindfolds. For some reason the idea that there is a piece of kit that someone has sat down, thought about, designed and constructed for the sole purpose of blindfolding a victim - making it impossible for him to see anything, turns me on like crazy.

Blindfolds – and even more so, hoods – make a victim more vulnerable and helpless than almost any other restraint. When you can’t see you’re dependant on the other guy; you don’t know what’s coming, or where, and you can’t steel yourself against it. You can’t see the way out, so even if you have no other restraints on, if you can’t get the hood off you’re fucked. And being hooded makes most victims more ticklish, less able to resist, and much, much more horny.

To me, they are one of the sexiest bits of kit ever invented by the wonderfully devious mind of man.

It was the first time I’d played with Andy. He'd spent a very horny afternoon being tied up, strapped down, used and abused in various ways, and he was looking forward to a similarly fun-filled evening. Now, though, I had to go out for an hour or so, and Andy was wondering what sort of bondage I was going to leave him in while I was away. My playroom is fairly well-equipped with fixtures and restraint devices - some of which Andy had experienced already. There was a very interesting-looking straitjacket hanging on the wall of the room, and a leather body-bag in the corner - neither of which he'd tried yet. Andy hoped it would be one of those.

I opened my hand, and held up a simple but strong little combination lock. "I want you to have a look at that." I gave the lock to Andy. It was the shape of a normal padlock, but instead of a keyhole it had a single knob with a small dot on it. The knob rotated easily and freely. Around the outside of the knob was a dial with numbers from zero to nine. "Right - set the dot to zero. Good. Now move it round to the left, to number eight.... Ok, now back past zero to number eight again... and then left again to number five....... Right - now pull it open."

Andy pulled, and the U-shaped part lifted easily and turned sideways.

"Excellent. Ok - close it up again and spin the knob." I watched Andy close the lock. "Now you play with that for a couple of minutes until you're familiar with it, and you can open it easily. Remember - set it to zero first, then it's left to 8, right to 8, left to 5. Left - right - left; 8,8,5. You practise with that for a while." I left Andy to get used to the lock while I got my things together in readiness to go out.

A few minutes later I was back. "Can you do it ok?"

Andy quickly and easily opened the lock.

"Excellent. You could have been a safe-cracker." I took the lock from the boy's hand. "Come over here." I took Andy over to a wall of the bedroom, on which was a full-length mirror.

I opened a drawer and took out something black and shiny, which I held out for Andy to inspect. It was a black leather hood. "This hood was designed for one purpose, and one purpose only," I said. "As you can see, it's not a heavy hood, so it's not intended to feel constricting or particularly restraining - the leather is very thin, and there's a mouth hole. However, it does fit very tightly. It’s a blindfolding hood - it's one purpose is to make it absolutely impossible for you to see anything at all."

Andy's cock jerked as he looked at the device.

I turned it over and showed the boy the back. "These straps tighten the leather across your face - particularly below your nose, so that you can't see anything down through the mouth hole, and there are no nose holes to see through." I glanced at Andy, standing with his hands crossed behind his back. "Are you okay breathing through your mouth?"

"Yes Sir!"

"Good. Now, this thicker leather piece covers the fastened straps up tightly so you can't get to them, and it's held closed by the collar strap, which can be fastened at the front of your neck - so that you can't get the hood off, loosen it, or play with the straps at all. Understand?"

"Yes Sir..." Andy had realised where this was going.

"Ok." I held the combination lock under Andy's chin. "Get closer to the mirror. Now - can you see the lock ok?"

"No problem, Sir."

"All right - now open it, just looking in the mirror."

Andy took only a couple of seconds longer to open the lock than he had before, when he'd been looking at it directly.

"That's good." I turned a light so that it shone more brightly onto the boy's throat, to make opening the lock ever easier for him. "Ok." I dropped the hood over Andy's head and tightened the straps fully, then pulled the collar tight and locked it in place with the combination lock. I clapped Andy on the shoulder. "Feel free to use the facilities while I'm gone - there's the TV, or the CD player or the video. I'll be about an hour. Enjoy yourself." I started to leave, and then, as an afterthought, reached out and spun the knob on the lock so that Andy didn't know where the little dot was. Then, with a chuckle, I left the room.

In fact I wasn’t going out at all. I’d never leave a hooded guy alone – it’s too dangerous. No, after going downstairs, opening and closing the front door, I crept back up and settled down in the bedroom next to the playroom to watch Andy through the mirror, which was two-way glass.

It took Andy a short time to realize exactly how cleverly he'd been restrained, and the more he thought about it, the more my devious cunning appealed to him - and the hornier he got. Andy knew the combination of the lock - there was even a mirror in front of him and a bright light so that he could see to turn the knob to the right numbers - but the thin leather of the hood was blindfolding him completely. He couldn't see anything until he got the hood off - and he couldn't open the lock to get the hood off because he couldn't see anything. The boy was in no other restraints at all, and yet he was helpless. Even the thinness of the hood was a turn-on: far from being a thick, heavy-duty, multiple-layer hood, there was just a single thickness of extremely soft, light, and very thin leather over his eyes - but that single layer of black leather confounded him totally.

Over the next hour Andy lumbered around the unfamiliar playroom bumping into things, spinning the combination lock furiously to try to get that damned hood off - and failing miserably. He was still trying to get the thing off when I ‘returned’ an hour or so later - and he was incredibly horny - in fact the reason I reappeared when I did was because he was just about to wank himself off. He said that that had been one of the most intensely frustrating – and surprisingly horny - experiences he'd ever had.

To say that Jim was a big lad is something of an understatement. He was 23 years old, 6' 2" tall, his 15-stone (210 lb) body was solid muscle, and his biceps were about the same size as my thighs. His cock was in proportion too. Apart from working out, he also spent a lot of his time rowing for a club in London. He was a skinhead, and the most powerful boy I'd ever had in my playroom.

He'd got in touch with me after seeing my website, and said he was interested in what I called ‘cock-rape’ and that I would never be able to do it to him. He was basically straight, though he’d fucked one lad a while ago.

He also admitted that there was something else he'd never tried, but which he thought about a lot when he was wanking: being hit in the abs while he was tied up and couldn't defend himself. I said that was no problem.

Now, I'm 6ft and reasonably fit - but, from his description and the photos he sent, I knew that there was no way on earth I'd be able to overpower him in a straight fight - he could flatten me with his little finger. So, deviousness was called for. I suggested that after I picked him up on the bike in the usual way (blacked-out visor on the spare helmet so he couldn't see where I was taking him) and leading him up to the playroom - all of which would call for his co-operation - once inside the playroom he could resist and fight as much as he wanted to. Outside the playroom he would be a good boy and co-operate; inside he could do what he liked to try to stop me from raping his cock.

He thought that was fair, and we had a deal.

His train was due in at 3pm, and I spent the morning preparing things. The playroom is full of equipment and sharp things that stick out at odd angles, and navigating your way around it has to be done with care at the best of times - but I needed it to be even more hazardous than it already was. I stretched a couple of ropes across bits of the room, about 6" above the floor; I moved various pieces of heavy equipment around and fixed them so they projected into the space more; I took nylon straps with ratchet buckles, inserted their ends through the buckles and left them lying on the floor in odd places; and I made sure handcuffs, ropes, chains and leather restraints were distributed around and easy to get at. By the time I'd finished, it was impossible to move very far without bumping into or tripping over something unless you looked very carefully where you were going.

When I met him at the station, Jim was even more physically impressive than I'd expected. He was wearing an MA1 jacket over a shiny black tee shirt; Doc Martens; and tight, and very well-filled, bleachers. They were straining under the pressure of his muscular thighs, and the bulge between his legs got me instantly hard. He could have made a lot of money as an escort. He accepted the blacked-out helmet, fastened it on, and got onto the pillion. During the ride back to my house he kept his hands on the sides of my waist, his fingers gently stroking the shiny black leather of my jeans. I couldn't wait to get him home and get to work on this big, muscular lad.

At the top of the stairs, outside the playroom door, I told him to keep still, and that I was going to take his helmet off. I opened the playroom door wide, then turned him so that he was facing towards it. Standing behind him, I unfastened the buckle, and removed the crash helmet. For about one second he saw the playroom - and his mouth dropped open. In one fast movement I dropped a very heavy-duty leather hood over his head and clicked the lock on before he had time to react. There was no way that even he was going to get that off without the key. A surprised grunt came from under the leather, and his hands shot up to it. I stepped back and let him feel it and the heavy padlock that was holding it on, and waited until he realized that it was staying there until I decided to undo it.

"Ok," I said, "the blackroom door is right in front of you. 'We're going in now." I started to push him through, but he felt for the door frame, braced himself against it, and refused to budge.

"Not until you take this fucking thing off me," he said.

I reminded him of our arrangement, and that we were still outside the blackroom, so he must co-operate until we were inside. After a moment's thought he grunted reluctantly, nodded, and let go of the door frame. I guided him through, closed the door behind us, and stepped to the side, out of his way.

The hood I'd put on him is made of a double layer of extremely thick leather. Apart from making it quite impossible to remove even by a lad as strong as Jim, the thickness of the leather also cuts out a lot of sound. This meant that provided I didn't make too much noise, he wouldn't know where I was at any given time.

He was standing, still facing the same direction as when he'd come through the door, not knowing where I was, and waiting for me to touch him. I picked up a long piece of dowel I'd left leaning against the wall, and reached out, brushing the end of it against his arm which was furthest away from me. Instantly he turned in that direction and lashed out.

He took a step towards where the dowel had been and walked into one of the vertical wooden posts. He swore, felt the post, turned, and came towards me, his arms flailing the air menacingly.

I was enjoying this, and decided to play with him for a while before trying to get him helpless. I moved out of his way, then threw the dowel to the other side of the room, and it landed on a coiled-up chain with a clatter. He turned again, heading towards the noise, and tripped on one of the ropes. His momentum carried him forward and he caught the side of the 'A' frame with his shoulder, then, managing to right himself, knocked his head on a heavy chain hanging from the hoist. He yelled, and tore at the hood, trying to get it off so that he could see. "This fucking thing - get it off me!" But the black leather continued to cover his eyes: immovable, indifferent, frustrating, blindfolding him.

I moved carefully around so that I was crouching beside him, then risked a grab at his cock - which was now hard and stretching his jeans into a big sausage-shaped bulge along his left thigh (I always ask boys not to wear anything underneath their jeans). I grabbed it, gave the shaft a quick squeeze, and ducked out of the way as his arms came down, reaching blindly for me.

His left foot snagged on the second rope stretched across the floor and he almost tripped again, but saved himself just in time. However, being off-balance he staggered into the centre of one of the nylon straps on the floor. I waited until his other foot joined the first, then, bending low, I darted in, lifted the strap so it was around his ankles, and pulled it tight. Immediately I dived to the side so I wouldn't be where he thought I was any more. The buckles on the straps are ratchets, and once pulled stay tightened. To release them you have to press a little button on the side of the buckle - not easy unless you can see what you're doing - and with that hood on he couldn't see a fucking thing.

As he felt the strap tighten around his Docs, he roared in frustration. His fists flew, but he had nothing to aim at. He bent down and fiddled with the strap, tearing at it, moving his feet and trying to release it. I was at the side of him now, and I took the opportunity to get another of the straps around his knees. Now his legs were tied together tightly.

He swore at me, swore at the hood, and started ripping at the leather over his face again. But it was far stronger than he was.

Now, he couldn't walk. I moved one of the ropes out of the way and slid a foam mat into place on the floor behind him, then I waited for an opportunity, when he wasn't expecting it, and pushed him sharply in the chest. With a shout of rage, and unable to move his legs, he fell over and landed in the centre of the mat.

I'd known that getting his arms restrained was going to be the most dangerous and difficult bit, so I'd prepared two pairs of handcuffs - each was attached by one cuff to a long rope, the other end of which went through one of the restraint rings at the top of the vertical posts. Before I’d pushed him over I’d taken one of the cuffs, and as his hands came down to break his fall I was there ready, and snapped it on quickly and unexpectedly. At least now he was chained by one hand to a fixed point.

I waited again for his other wrist to become available. But he kept it moving, guessing what I was trying to do. After a while I decided that I was going to have to force the issue. I grabbed his cock again - and he locked my wrist in a grip that would have been unbreakable - but I could now use my free hand to snap the other cuff onto him. The feeling of the steel going around his wrist was almost enough to make him let go of me - but he re-tightened his grip just in time. I was not going to be able to get my wrist free - and it was hurting.

There was not much I could do, and so I knelt astride his head, gripped it between my thighs, and sat down hard, sealing the two small air holes in the hood with the crotch of my leather jeans. He started to struggle, but I stayed there, riding his head like a bucking bronco, knowing he couldn't breathe, and that it was only a matter of time. Eventually he let go of my wrist and made a grab for my crotch - but I was ready for that, and got off him fast.

I could relax a bit more now - cuffed to the two anchor points he couldn't sit up and he wasn't going anywhere - so I set about getting him restrained vertically between the two posts. First I dragged him, on the rubber mat, more centrally between the posts, then, one at a time, pulled the ropes through the rings on the posts and tied them off when his wrists were above his head. It was difficult to get him into a standing position, but he had no option if he wanted to avoid the pain of the cuffs digging into his wrists. Using the hoist to pull his arms up gradually, and frequently shortening and re-tying the ropes, I helped him to stand.

When he was vertical I replaced his handcuffs with more comfortable strong leather restraints, also attached to the hoist, buckling each leather cuff on before I removed the metal handcuff, so that at no time was he able to get free.

Next his legs. I put another pair of leather cuffs on him - one around each ankle - tied to ropes running through the rings at the bottom of the posts, and unfastened the straps holding his legs together. Immediately he started to kick, but using both arms to heave on one rope at a time, I managed to pull his feet apart with the ropes. When they were as wide as the posts would allow, I tied them there tightly.

He was now restrained inescapably with his arms above his head, his legs spread, and he was helpless. I breathed a sigh of relief, and silently went to stand behind him. Being careful not to touch him, I reached around his waist with one hand, the other going between his thighs, and then suddenly locked them simultaneously onto his cock and his balls. He struggled and swore, pulled at the restraints, and I let him move as much as he wanted, my hands following him wherever he went, gently and slowly tickling his balls and jacking him off through his tight jeans. He closed his knees together, gripping my invading arm with thighs like tree trunks, but he couldn't stop my teasing, tickling hand working on his balls - and the feeling of my wrist between his thighs only served to make the humiliation worse. As I usually do with visiting boys, I'd insisted that he didn't cum for a few days before his visit, and so I knew he was as horny as fuck.

His cock was leaking precum into his bleached jeans and I knew he wasn't far from cumming. Teasingly slowly, I gradually forced my hand back, working my way between the tops of his muscular thighs, until my fingers were again tickling the bottom of his balls. He’d squeezed his thighs together trying to keep my hand out, but his feet were just a little bit too far apart to make that possible. He was knock-kneed trying. I kept doing that - pulling my hand out then working it back in again (with him grunting and swearing at me every time I did it - and all the while the fingers of my other hand were working on his cock, very slowly rubbing and squeezing and teasing his cock through the worn bleached denim of his jeans. He'd been swearing and cursing non-stop since I'd started playing with him, and the leather hood was ballooning in and out with each breath he took.

He began to thrust his hips urgently, and I knew he was close - so I stopped. I unlocked his hood. Before I pulled it off him, I clamped both my hands over it - one over his eyes and the other over his mouth - pulling his head back against my shoulder. He moaned under the leather and bucked his hips again.

Releasing his head, I slowly pulled the hood off him. I wanted him to be able to see for a while now. Standing in front of him, I smiled under my leather mask - he really was a hunk - and then slowly began to unfasten his belt. He began to struggle again, and that was fine with me: he could move quite a bit in the restraints, but he couldn't get away from my hands. Feeling wicked, I actually lowered the hoist a foot, and slackened by a few inches the ropes holding his feet to the posts - this allowed him to move and struggle even more. Having made sure he was secure again, I went back to unfastening his belt. Now he REALLY started to struggle and swear. Ignoring him, I undid the metal button at the top of his jeans, and very carefully and slowly pulled the zip down. As I eased the top of his jeans down over his hips, his cock sprang out and waved in the air, dripping precum. It was one of the biggest I’d seen. Uncut, the purple head started at me like a cyclops through a ring of foreskin, above two large balls. While I'd been doing this, he'd been struggling and pulling in the restraints, and he even spat at me once, calling me a fucking faggot.

Standing directly in front of him, I slowly pulled on a pair of long, black rubber gloves, and coated them with lube, and then stepped over his right leg, so I was standing at his side with one leg in front of him and the other behind him, leaning against the vertical post. I wrapped my right hand gently around the shaft of his cock, and with the middle finger of the other hand, explored between his arse cheeks for his hole. He went ballistic at that – yelling that no fucking guy was going up there. He put up as much of a fight as he could, but my finger slipped inside in spite of his best efforts to stop me. I crouched down to get a better angle, and explored with my fingertip until I felt his prostate. Then, while gently teasing it, I began to milk his horny cock slowly.

He fought, struggled, and cursed, but his eyes never once left my leather-masked face.

"Now then, big boy," I said, "you might be a big powerful lad, and you could flatten me if you were free, but I've got you fucking helpless - and all because of a little bit of black leather. Even big strong boys like you can't see through a leather hood. Makes you as helpless as a nine-stone weakling, doesn't it...?"

He looked at me intently, gently thrusting his hips in time to my slowly pumping hand, and said, "you fucker. You fucker. That wasn't fair..."

"No, it wasn't, was it?" As I spoke quietly to him, I continued to jack his cock slowly, rubbing the foreskin backwards and forwards over the sensitive cock head. "I'm gonna milk you boy - I'm gonna make you cum. Gonna rape your fucking cock . I'm gonna work on your cock so that you can't stop yourself from losing control. Fight against it, big lad. Use those muscles to stop me." I laughed at him. "You're gonna shoot your fucking spunk into my hands."

While I whispered this to him, his eyes were riveted to my face. He was breathing quickly and shallowly, and he was concentrating on my every word. Now, he started to shake his head slowly. "Fuck... off... you... sexy... bastard... you... won't... make...me...fucking...

Suddenly his hip-thrusting increased in speed and intensity, and he started to moan, 'noooo.....' over and over. I put more pressure on his cock and my rubber-gloved hand worked on it, sliding over his hard, horny dick on a film of lube while my other finger fucked him.

With a yell he closed his eyes, threw his head back and came. "NO! YOU FUCKER! YOU BASTARD! NOOOOOOOO!!"

But his cock was pumping spunk into the air helplessly as I milked him.

That was the first of four orgasms that boy had during that session - and the only one where he was able to see.

I cleaned him up, then pulled his restraints tighter so he had less room to move again. Standing in front of him I took off the rubber gloves, and slowly closed my right hand into a fist. "So," I said, "you like being punched in the abs, do you? Ok then, get ready..." He watched me as I pulled my fist back, and tensed his muscles. I let him have one. It wasn't hard, and he didn't make a sound - just held his breath until the blow had hit, then relaxed. I smiled. "Hmm, those muscles are hard." I gave him another one, a bit harder this time, and managed to get a slight grunt out of him this time. Giving him time to recover between each blow, I punched him ten or twelve times, and noticed that his cock getting hard again. This was turning him on.

But I wanted to be a bit more unfair to him. Every time I got ready to give him a blow, he would watch my hand carefully, tense his muscles, hold his breath, and receive it easily - I was about to make it a lot more difficult for him. I walked around behind him, and picked up a device which I'd prepared earlier. It was a blindfold made out of a piece of bin liner - just about the thinnest, most flimsy black plastic you could get. I slipped it over his head. It fitted very loosely, hanging down below his nose. He immediately started to shake his head to get it off, but it stayed there. Now, he couldn't see.

Taking up my position in front of him again, I waited for a few seconds, then punched him in the abs again. This time he wasn't ready. Unable to see my hand, he hadn't been able to prepare for the blow, and his muscles weren't tensed. He gasped, and doubled up - at least as much as his restraints would allow. "Oh fuck.." he said.

I waited for him to recover, and smiled as he tensed ready for the next one. I just waited until he relaxed, then gave him another, with the same result.

"You fucker. This isn't fucking fair. Get this fucking thing off my head."

I punched him again, just a little bit harder - this time to the left-hand side.

"Oh SHIT!" He yelled.

"I'm not hitting you anything like as hard as I was before," I said. "Ok - I'll give you a countdown to the next one... Five..four.. three..." I hit him again, before he was ready.

"You fucking bastard! I can't fucking SEE!!!" His hands clawed towards the plastic over his eyes, but the restraints held them and he couldn't quite reach it. He tried to shake it off, and when that didn't work he attempted to rub it off against his shoulder. But again, he couldn’t reach. And his cock was harder than I'd ever seen it.

"It's not even a thick leather hood," I said. "It's a thin, thin piece of black plastic. You could tear it off with one finger... if you could get to it..." I teased.

"Ok. Another one coming up. Are you ready?" I paused, watching him tense his muscles - and then, without touching him, I clapped my hands together loudly, once. His entire body jerked as if I'd hit him, and then he swore at me.

I laughed.

After a few more unexpected and unpredictable blows, I removed the bin liner and smiled at him. "Never ever underestimate the power of a blindfold," I said, before locking the thick leather hood over his head again.

During the rest of the session I put him in many different positions and restraints - that big, powerful, muscular boy struggling, swearing and fighting - but every time I made him cum in spite of anything he could do to stop me.

For his fourth and last orgasm I made him cum in his jeans. He really fought against that because I’d told him what I was going to do before I started. And when he’d cum, I shot my own load over his bleachers as well.

He hung there in his restraints, still all muscle, but with a bit less attitude now. A big, powerful, 23-year old lad made as helpless and vulnerable as a little boy, just by being unable to see.

A leather hood is a very useful thing.

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