The usual caveats apply.  If you are underage for reading this sort of
thing, please don't.  If you like male with male sex, but don't find
rope and gag sex exciting, this will likely bore or repell you, so
please don't read it.  If you do like either to be bound and gagged for
love-making, or to bind and gag your partner, you may enjoy this.
	When he showed up in the movies and on TV, we weren't supposed to like
the Sheriff of Nottingham--he was the villian--but he was rather sexy
as an authority figure.  A friend and I got to talking about that one
day, and ... well, if you read this, you'll see.


THE SHERIFF OF NOTTINGHAM

	"Leave us,"  the Sheriff of Nottingham said abruptly to his men.
	With an exchange of glances, the two men at arms hesitated.  The
Sheriff looked at them in annoyance.
	"I said ..."  he began ominously.
	Hastily, his sergeant at arms spoke.  "Yes, sir.  I know, sir, and we
will obey, but your safety is my concern, sir, and you have made me
responsible for it."  He looked his lord straight in the eye, his own
blue eyes showing a mixture of emotions.  The Sheriff stared back at
him a moment, considering.  He suspected not so much defiance as a
jealousy he found both flattering and annoying.  He decided to ignore
the question this raised for the time being.  He turned from his
sergeant to their prisoner.
	"Do you think I am in any danger from this man?"  he asked, and the
tone of his voice indicated not sarcasm or offense to his own manhood
at the implication, merely scorn for the man he referred to.  The two
men at arms and the Sheriff all looked at the prisoner.
	Robin Hood knelt in front of the Sheriff, his head thrown back, his
gray eyes staring hard at the other man.  Stare at the man was all that
he could do.  His wrists were tightly bound behind him with strips of
leather, and more strips bound his arms closely to his sides.  A great
wad of cloth was stuffed into his mouth as a gag, and a heavy scarf of
black silk was folded into a wide bandage and tightly bound through his
jaws and around his head to hold the gag in place.  He was a
strong-looking fellow, a little over medium height and well-conditioned
by his life as an outlaw, but he looked, in his present state, quite
helpless.
	The Sheriff smiled at his prisoner.  It was not a smile the prisoner
found pleasant, although the Sheriff's teeth were even and white, and
he was a handsome man.  Those who had heard of his reputation before
they met the man himself were always surprised to find him so, and then
surprised at their surprise.  Good-looks and ruthlessness in rule are
not, as they well knew, irreconcilable human characteristics.  The
Sheriff was known for being ruthless, if not evil.  Whether other men
judged him as evil or not seemed to depend less on his actual deeds
than on whose side the man who judged pledged his own loyalties.  If he
was King John's man, the Sheriff seemed to be a man who carried out his
duties with a rigid adherence to what he saw as the letter of the law. 
If he was for Kind Richard, he saw things in a less tolerant light. 
But the good-looks of the man, by those who had met him, were not
easily denied.  He was in his late thirties, taller than the average
and built well and big, with wide shoulders, a deep chest, and
well-muscled arms and legs.  He had dark hair that he wore long and
clubbed behind his tall, well sculpted head, and he wore his beard
carefully trimmed and shaped into a narrow dark line along his strong
jaw and ending in a crisp point.  His mustaches were luxuriant and
carefully combed into thick curves.  His features were strongly and
cleanly cut. Beneath heavy, well-defined eyebrows, his dark eyes were
bright and intelligent, with a steady look that some read as scorn, for
themselves and everything else, and that others guessed to be the
expression of an intense desire to know the why and wherefore of
everything their owner saw.
	The Sheriff turned to his sergeant.
	"Robin Hood kneels before me.  His hands and arms are tightly bound,
are they not?"
	The sergeant nodded.  "They are, sir, for I bound them myself."
	"And his lying, disloyal mouth is securely gagged, is it not?"
	Again the sergeant nodded.  He had taken not a little pleasure in
stuffing in that cruel gag and tying up the other man's mouth, cutting
off the other man's angry curses.  "Yes, sir, and I gagged him myself
also."
	The Sheriff had a look to give the man when he said that.  "And
enjoyed doing so, I am sure, Geoffrey."  He smiled at the sergeant, who
blushed, perhaps at this use of his name rather than his title, and
looked away.  There was a pause as the Sheriff watched his sergeant,
the smile still curving his mouth.
	"Yes,"  he continued after a moment, "bound and gagged as he is, I do
not think he poses any danger to me for now, Sergeant.  I relieve
you--for this time--of your responsibility for my safety."  He smiled
at the man once more, and those who thought the Sheriff of Nottingham
evil might have felt some doubts, seeing that smile.  The Sheriff could
be persuasively charming when he chose.  "With my thanks for your
concern,"  he added.  The smile went and he looked suddenly stern. 
"Now, leave us."
	This time, without any hesitation, rather, with some haste, the two
men at arms bowed and withdrew, shutting the heavy door to the
Sheriff's private chamber behind them  The Sheriff turned to gaze down
at Robin Hood where he knelt.  All this while, the captive man had
watched the interchange between the lord and his men, his gray eyes
intense above the heavy swath of his tight gag.  He had seen the look
the two exchanged when the Sheriff had teased his sergeant for the
pleasure he had taken in rendering Robin Hood the helpless prisoner he
was.  Now he gazed back at the man who had him at his mercy.  He
shifted in the bonds that held him.  The leather strips that secured
his hands were wrapped tightly, forming snug cuffs that encircled and
held his wrists inescapably.  The leather bands that lashed his arms to
his sides were equally tight and equally firm.  The huge soft wad of
the gag filled his mouth from his throat to his lips, and the scarf
that held the gag in place was tied with ruthless severity around his
head. 
	After a moment of looking down at his prisoner, the Sheriff crossed to
the heavy oak table that stood beside the one window of the small,
wooden-floored room, and sat down in the chair drawn up beside it.
	"Well, Robin,"  he said in a pleasant tone.  "So we meet once again,
and in rather similar fashion, wouldn't you say?"  He smiled.  "Of
course, the circumstances are a little changed from what they were the
last time we met.  That last time, I stunned you with the flat of my
sword, do you remember?  and tied you up, and gagged you, myself.  This
time, my loyal Geoffrey has done that service for me."  His smile
widened.  "Do you know, Robin, I think the poor fellow enjoyed his
task, but he has begun to regret it now?  What do you think?"
	Robin Hood looked across the room at him.  He lifted his chin up a
trifle in a gesture of defiance, but within he was remembering his
first face to face meeting with the man opposite.  The memory troubled
him, since it was accompanied by a mixture of feelings he did not like
to let himself think about.  The Sheriff stood up and crossed to where
his captive knelt.  He reached out one long-fingered hand and grasped
the brown-blond goatee his prisoner wore.  Suddenly, he bent forward
swiftly at the waist to bring his face inches from Robin Hood's face. 
The other man flinched involuntarily, but the Sheriff jerked at his
beard and forced him to face him still.
	"You do remember that episode, don't you, Robin?  It has only been,
what, two years since then?"
	The Sheriff stared into his prisoner's eyes, a smile still curving his
lips, but his own eyes had a fierce expression under their dark brows.
	Robin Hood did remember, all too well.  Being reminded angered him. 
He had tried to forget it, distressed at what it had revealed to him
about himself, anxious not to know what that night had made him know. 
He had been taking a risk on that adventure, going alone to rob a
venial merchant.  He had not known the Sheriff was even in the area,
for the man was said to be visiting relatives many miles off.  When the
tall man in black leather armor had appeared in the road with his
little troupe of men at arms, Robin Hood had been taken entirely off
guard.  At first, when the Sheriff and his men followed him into the
forest, he thought this chase would be like many another before.  He
had easily eluded, he thought, the pursuit, and was surprised a second
time when the Sheriff, alone now, having separated from his men in his
search, suddenly appeared on his trail once more.  Robin Hood had fled
into the gathering dusk, with the Sheriff hot behind him.  The two
mounted men had galloped deep into the forest, and both lost their
bearings among the darkness and the shadowing trees.  The stumbling of
his horse pitched Robin Hood to the ground, and the other man was
immediately upon him.
	The fight had been evenly matched, both men skilled and intent.  But
again luck deserted Robin Hood.  He tripped on a half-buried tree root,
and a blow from the flat of the Sheriff's sword knocked him
unconscious.  When he came to his senses, it was full dark.  He was
lying in the clearing where he and the Sheriff had fought, the Sheriff
himself sitting on the ground beside him.  He found he was bound with
leather thongs, his hands, arms, and legs tightly lashed, the thongs
knotted too tightly for him to free himself.  And he was gagged, a big,
soft wad of cloth stuffed into his mouth and bound in place with a
scarf.  It was clear that his captor had no intention of allowing him
to escape or to call for help, if his men should be somewhere in the
woods.  They had spent the night together in the forest, the Sheriff
and he.  In the morning, the Sheriff's men had found them before Robin
Hood's men had done so, and they had carried him off, still tightly
bound and gagged, to the Sheriff's castle.  He had been rescued some
days later, of course, as he hoped to be rescued again.  But it was the
memory of the night he and this man had spent in the forest together,
not his narrow escape from death by hanging afterwards, that troubled
him ever after.
	Still holding him by his beard, the Sheriff spoke softly.  "Geoffrey
is a handsome fellow, wouldn't you agree, Robin?  Not so very tall, but
well fashioned, and with a very well-favored face."  He paused, smiling
into the other man's eyes.  "I've always liked men of his sort, that
light-eyed, brownish fair type.  Your type, Robin."  He paused, still
smiling.  "Does he remind you of anyone, Robin?  Geoffrey, I mean?  But
then, perhaps you don't see your own handsome face so very often,
living rough in the woods the way you do.  You don't really resemble
each other, he's too much like a boy, and you have rather a more rugged
look about you, Robin, but you two are a bit the same type."
	Robin Hood glared back at the other man.  His breath was loud in his
nostrils and he tried to look as defiantly at his captor as he could. 
But he was shaken within himself.  He strove not to let himself think
about it, but he found this tall, dark man who seemed to taunt him and
yet spoke almost affectionately very handsome.  That he found the man
handsome in and of itself did not trouble him.  He had shared his bed
in the forest with more than one of his men, and with men he had met on
the road, and he had done so without shame for all the years of his
exile.  That he loved men did not distress him.  That the man who now
held him captive had raped him that night in the woods two years
before, and that while he had lain bound and gagged and helpless in the
other man's arms he had been more aroused than he had ever been in his
life--that disturbed him, it disturbed him very much indeed.  And even
more, that this man knew how he had enjoyed that night, had raped him
and yet had taken the time to use his captive's excitement to bring the
bound and gagged fellow to the ultimate height of a man's pleasure--for
all that he felt a shame he wished to forget.  He swallowed, feeling
how huge the gag was that stuffed his mouth.  He could feel how stiff
his cock was, straining at his tight leathern trousers.  It had been
rigid ever since that man, Geoffrey--and yes, damn him, he was
handsome, and did he resemble him?--had begun to bind his hands and
arms and gag his mouth.
	The Sheriff released his captive's beard and slowly stood upright.  He
was still smiling.
	"You do remember that night, don't you, Robin?"  He chuckled.  "You
do, I'm sure, and so I'm equally sure you know why I had you brought
here, bound and gagged like this, and why I wanted to be alone with
you."
	"Mmmmugulmph!  Mmmmmummmph!"  Robin Hood grunted into his gag and
shook his head, but the Sheriff only smiled more broadly.  He half
turned and pointed to a low bed that stood out from one wall of the
room.
	"Over there, Robin."
	The other man followed his gesture with his eyes and then looked back,
shaking his head violently.
	"Nugulummmgulph!  Nummmmgummmph!"  He grunted again into the cruel gag.
	The Sheriff only chuckled again and then bent over his captive.  Robin
Hood struggled desperately as the other man dragged him toward the bed.
 Bound as he was, he was still strong, and he fought hard.  He tried to
kick at the Sheriff and he grunted and mumbled angrily through his gag.
 The other man never lost his amused expression, despite having to use
all his own great strength to force his bound opponent across the room
and up onto the low couch.  Taking some more leather strips from a
pouch at his belt, he used them to bind first one and then the other of
Robin Hood's ankles to the side slats of the couch.  When he was done,
Robin Hood lay face upward, his arms and hands bound behind him, his
feet secured to either corner.  He jerked and tugged angrily at his
bonds, and struggled to shout through the smothering gag, but it was to
no avail.  The leather strips were tight and unyielding, and the gag
muffled his cries to pathetic grunts.
	Taking his dagger from his belt, the Sheriff bent over the helpless
man and used the sharp blade to cut the groin of Robin Hood's snug
leggings.  He put away the dagger and then drew his captive's stiff
cock free.  It stood upright, rigid with excitement, a tiny bead of
precum glistening at the tip.  Robin Hood writhed and strained at his
bonds and made a cry more like a whimper than a shout into his thick
gag.  A single tear squeezed from one eye as he struggled in shame and
anger and desire.  Without a word, the Sheriff began to stroke his
prisoner's stiff dick, his long fingers encircling the other man's
tender privates, applying gentle pressure with practiced skill.  Robin
Hood trembled uncontrollably in the leather strips that held him
helpless and whimpered into the mouth-filling gag.
	For several long moments, there was silence in the room, broken only
by the smothered whimpering of the bound and gagged Robin Hood.  The
Sheriff stroked his captive's cock slowly, keen to heighten the
fellow's unwilling pleasure, but determined to prolong his control over
the man's desire.  Lying on the couch, Robin Hood strained in his
bonds, but he knew that he was no longer truly eager to be freed from
them.  He relished the feeling of forced surrender, of being made so
helpless and against his will.  The tight bands of leather on his
wrists held his hands behind him irresistibly.  The bands around his
arms and chest held him even more immobile.  The soft wad of the gag
filled his mouth, stuffed it solidly from far back between his
distended jaws, and the tight binding of the heavy silk scarf sealed up
his mouth, holding the gag firmly in place and defeating any attempt he
made to loosen it.  He twisted in his bonds, straining with all his
might against them, and he felt nothing but deep arousal in discovering
again and again that he was helpless, that all his struggling gained
him nothing.  He moaned and whimpered into the thick and smothering
gag, and again he felt nothing but a yet deeper arousal at how the soft
cloth and the ruthlessly tight bandage silenced and muffled his every
attempted noise.  The fingers in his groin stroked and caressed his
trembling cock, and he opened his eyes to stare up at his captor.  
	The Sheriff found deep satisfaction in his ability to excite this
handsome man who lay beside him, bound, gagged, utterly helpless.  This
was his sworn enemy, the outlaw he had vowed to bring to justice.  The
man hated him, had spent the past dozen years defying his orders,
defying the law of the land, taunting him with his ability to escape
his every scheme to take him captive.  But there had been that one
night two years before, when he had overpowered the other man in single
combat, man to man, they two alone, and he had won.  He had surprised
himself when, instead of ending the conflict then and there with a
quick thrust of his sword, he had instead knocked the man unconscious. 
He had told himself that he was acting in deference to the law, but he
knew all too well that the law would have sanctioned the fellow's
immediate death, and even if it had not, he was the law in this part of
King John's realm.  He had bound the man while he was insensible, and
then, thinking he might have followers nearby, had gagged him.  He had
taken a very physical pleasure in doing both these things.  He had long
known that to take another man in physical desire while the fellow was
bound and gagged and at his mercy was the most exciting act of sensual
love to him.  He had often taken one or the other of his officers in
that fashion, but they, whatever their real feelings in the matter, had
always been his willing partners.  Geoffrey, his sergeant at arms, was
another matter, but he was determined not to think about the sergeant
on this night.
	But that night in the forest, and now this night in his castle, were
both something different from any other physical taking of a man he had
experienced.  Robin Hood was his true enemy, and yet ... and yet.  The
sheriff had no way of explaining these things to himself.  The man was
his enemy, and to have him captive satisfied some need to defend his
honor, soiled by the fellow's defiance for so long, but it was far more
than that.  To find that the man was so deeply aroused by being
sexually played with while he was truly his enemy's captive, that had
astounded the Sheriff and yet it had aroused him more than anything he
had ever known.  It was in part the feeling of power, the knowledge
that he could force this man who had so long defied him to submit to
his will, and force him to want to submit, even as he tried to resist,
that was part.  But there was something more, something deeper.  He
knew that somewhere he and Robin Hood were alike, too alike, in this as
in so many things else.  He had long recognized that his enemy truly
believed in the righteousness of his actions, as much as he believed in
his own.  He had come, reluctantly, to respect that truth, once he had
recognized it, and with it, he had begun to respect the man.
	The man.  He looked down at the man beside him.  Robin Hood was
straining against his bindings with all his strength.  Sweat beaded his
forehead, and his face was clenched in a grimace of pain that the
Sheriff knew was actually pleasure.  He increased the intensity of his
strokes on his captive's cock, and then he watched with increased
arousal as the other man struggled desperately either to escape the
pleasure of his captor's torturing fingers or to find some final
release.  His bindings and his gag prevented his escape, and the
Sheriff was careful not to let the other man climax at his hands.
	The Sheriff stilled his fingers and sat looking down at the outlaw
with a smile.  Then he took another length of leather from his belt,
and he used this to bind  up his prisoner's privates.  He tied the thin
strip first around the base of the man's cock and balls, and then he
looped the soft leather around the base of his balls alone, pulling it
snug and forcing the man's testicles into a tight globe, the tender
skin of his sack stretched smooth.  For a moment he simply sat there,
gently caressing the man's balls, while Robin Hood twisted in his
bindings and whimpered softly into his gag.  Then, abruptly standing,
the Sheriff bent over his captive's feet and quickly unbound the strips
of leather that fastened his ankles to the couch rails.  Robin Hood was
still too aroused to fully realize what was happening, and before he
could respond, the Sheriff had flipped him neatly onto his stomach and
was already binding his ankles down once more, but this time with his
captive face down on the couch.  Robin Hood began to resist, but too
late, and, bound as he was, his resistance was hampered and unavailing.
 In a moment, the Sheriff had him firmly secured.  Reaching to the top
of the couch, the Sheriff pulled the bolster from under Robin Hood's
head and pushed it under the bound man's hips, being careful to ensure
that the fellow's leather-tied privates were positioned over the thick
roll of cushion, his cock pointing straight up his taut belly.  
	The Sheriff now took out another long leather strap, and this he used
to bind his prisoner's shoulders down to the bed.  He passed the narrow
band under one of Robin Hood's strong arms and up over his broad back,
then under the opposite arm and through the armpit, like the first. 
Then he pulled the two ends of the strap tight and down over the top
rail of the couch, where he tied them in a secure knot.  Without
pausing, he reached behind his captive and Robin Hood felt with
surprise the leather bindings on his wrists being freed.  The freedom
was useless to him, however;  with his shoulders secured, and his upper
arms bound to his sides, and his feet tied to the bed, he could do
nothing to help himself.  And even this hampered freedom was
short-lived.  The Sheriff immediately used the leather strip to bind
his right hand down to the frame at the side of the mattress, and then,
taking another strip from his pouch, used that to bind down his left
hand on the opposite side.  Then he stood back to study his handiwork.
	The outlaw lay face down on the couch, his body stretched taut between
the bindings on his shoulders and those on his ankles, forced down
tight to the mattress except at his hips.  The bolster under his hips
forced the man's ass up, exposing its rounded contours to the Sheriff's
appreciative eyes.  The bindings on the fellow's upper arms kept them
pulled closely to his chest, and his hands were immobilized by the
bindings that held them to either side of his hips.  The Sheriff
watched with aroused satisfaction as his captive strained at the
leather straps and was unable to do more than twist slightly from side
to side.  He was utterly helpless and vulnerable.  The Sheriff came
around to hunker down at the top of the couch, and Robin Hood forced
his head up to lie with his chin on the mattress, glaring back at his
captor.
	The Sheriff cupped his hand under the bound man's bearded chin and
rubbed his long thumb gently over the tight swath of the heavy silk
scarf tied through Robin Hood's mouth.  He smiled into the man's angry
gray eyes.
	"Quite helpless, aren't you, Robin?  Bound so that you cannot move,
gagged so that you cannot speak or cry out.  The handsome and famous
outlaw, Robin Hood, is just a man, after all, isn't he?  A very
handsome man, but a man for all that.  And at my mercy now."
	"Mmmmugulummmph!  Mmmmummmummph!" Robin Hood struggled with the huge
gag, angry and ashamed to find that doing so stiffened his bound cock
even more.  To be made a prisoner of the Sheriff in this manner, to be
bound down with his cock tied into violent erection, to have his mouth
stuffed full of a huge gag, to be utterly at the other man's mercy in
this way deeply angered him yet deeply aroused him, and he was
uncertain if the anger were not merely a shamed response to his
arousal.  His cock lay pressed tightly between his belly and the
cushion, and he felt desperately impelled to rub his stiff member
against the firm but yielding mound.  But to do so would be to
acknowledge openly, to himself and to his captor, that he was aroused
by, even as he resisted, his bound and gagged helplessness, and he
refused to do that.
	The Sheriff stood up and took out his dagger.  With a careful stroke,
his slit the his captive's leathern trousers up the center of his ass
and then cut the heavy leather belt that encircled the man's waist. 
Putting away the knife, he peeled the soft leather away, revealing the
other man's firm and rounded backside.  
	"Mmmmmmugulummmph!!  Mummmmmmmummmph!!" Robin Hood grunted into his
smothering gag.
	With a private smile, the Sheriff took up a flask from beside the
couch and spilled from it onto his long fingers some thick oil. 
Putting down the flask, he began to oil his captive's asshole, gently
rubbing the slick lubricant around the tightly constricted entrance. 
With the tip of one finger, he probed at the man's hole, forcing the
finger end inside and rubbing more oil around the opening.
	"Mmmmmmugulummmmph!!"
	After a moment, the Sheriff took up the flask once more and spread
more oil on his hand and spilled some into the crack of his victim's
ass.  Then he began again to caress the bound man's asshole, and then
to probe it once more, first with one fingertip, and then with two,
thrusting his long fingers in slowly, first part way, then all the way,
to their full length.
	Robin Hood struggled, but he was bound and gagged and unable to defend
himself--and half or more unwilling to defend himself as well.  He
found he was beginning to struggle to push his hips back against the
other man's caressing hand.  Then he caught himself, and stopped,
jerking at the leather strips that held him nearly immobile and
whimpering in shame into the huge mouth-filling gag.
	"It's all right, Robin," the Sheriff said softly.  "It's all right, my
handsome outlaw.  You struggled the last time, too, you know, but I
took you just the same.  I have you bound down so securely, there
cannot be any thought of your escape, and I have you gagged so tightly
you cannot even plead for mercy.  What will be, will be, Robin."  As he
spoke, he continued to probe and stroke the helpless man's asshole,
thrusting in three long fingers and rubbing around and around the
slowly loosening circle.  After several long minutes in which the only
sounds were his own increasingly rough breathing and the gag-smothered
whimpers of his captive,  the Sheriff reached down and slowly unlaced
the leather thongs that fastened the groin of his leather pants.  As he
did so, out sprang his long cock, which had been straining in rigid
arousal long since, from the moments when he had sat in his room,
waiting for Robin Hood to be brought from the dungeon as he had
ordered.  With a deep sigh, he now oiled his own cock, and then, using
his left hand, stroked himself gently while he once more probed his
victim's ass.  
	"I am going to take you now, Robin," He murmured.  "I am going to take
you the way I did that night in the forest, while you struggle in your
bindings and grunt and whimper into your gag.  I will even tell you,
Robin, as I did that night, that having you this way, bound, gagged,
helpless but straining to resist, to do that arouses me more than
anything I have ever known in love-making with another man.  I might
fear that by telling you I would lessen your will to struggle against
what I am going to do, lest your struggles heighten my pleasure, as I
promise you they will, but I know very well that you desire me to take
you just as you are, bound, gagged, and helpless, as much as I desire
to take you in this fashion."
	Robin Hood stiffened in his bindings, and he felt hot tears leak from
the corners of his eyes despite all his efforts to suppress them.  But
even as he felt the welling of shame fill his chest, he felt the other
man's cock probing his asshole, and he struggled, whether to resist or
to help he could not understand.  The Sheriff had mounted the couch and
was now lying close over his bound prisoner, his hips over the other
man's hips, his fingers guiding his stiff cock against the other man's
asshole.  With a sudden thrust, he forced the swollen tip past the
tight circle of muscle, and then he seized the other man's hips and
held himself tight to them as his prisoner bucked and struggled to
throw him off and out.
	"Mmmmmugulllummmmph!!  Mummmmmmugummmph!!  Mugulummmmmmmmmph!!!"
	The Sheriff held hard to the other man, riding his struggles, and at
the same time slowly thrusting his long dick deep into the other
fellow's ass.  At last he sank down to wrap his arms over the other
man's bound shoulders.
	"Ah, Robin, my poor man, resist me if you can now.  Escape me if you
can now.  You are truly my prisoner, now, you are my bound, my gagged,
my helpless prisoner,"  the Sheriff whispered into the ear of the
handsome man beneath him, and he began slowly to stroke his cock up and
down again in the fellow's tight asshole.
	Robin Hood strained against the leather bindings and moaned into the
gag.  His cock was rigid with excitement, pressed now between his belly
and the cushion with the other man's heavy weight crushing down upon
him and the man's cock thrusting in his asshole.  Each slow pulse of
the man's strokes rubbed Robin Hood's aching dick against the firm
bolster, bringing him just a little closer to the edge, a feeling he
struggled to control but found he could not.  As his arousal grew, he
ceased even to think of his shame and simply rose up on the pulse of
his desire, straining against his bindings and relishing how the tight
lashings of leather held him pressed to the couch, whimpering and
moaning into his huge gag and savoring how it silenced him, the great
wad filling his mouth, the thick scarf holding the wad firmly between
his jaws.
	"Mmmmmmmummm.  Mugummmmmmmph."
	Above him, the Sheriff gradually hastened the rhythm of his strokes,
pushing his cock in and out of his captive's ass.  He lay full length
upon the other man, and being the taller of the two, he covered the
man's upper body completely with his own.  He gripped the fellow's
shoulders hard in his strong hands, and laid his head close beside the
other's, and began once more to croon into the bound man's ear.
	"Feel me in you, Robin, feel me there inside you.  This is for all
those times you ran away from me, hid from me, escaped me, but not that
one night, and not tonight, no, not tonight.  I have you now, Robin,
you are mine tonight, my prisoner, my captive, my defiant outlaw made
helpless.  You were fighting me before, Robin, just the way you did two
years ago, but you're not fighting me now, are you, Robin?  Yes,
struggle, that's it, I want you to struggle, yes, that's it, try to
shout, try to curse me through that gag that fills your mouth, that's
it, try, Robin, fight me, come on, fight me."
	Aroused to anger and  to desire by the taunting words murmured in a
tone so confusingly tender in his ear, Robin Hood jerked and struggled
with his bindings and grunted into his gag.  His struggles served only
to rub his straining cock harder against the bolster, and he felt the
pressure of his cum rising inside him.  Above him, inside him, the
Sheriff thrust harder and harder, breath rasping in his throat. 
Suddenly the man rose up, pushing back on his arms as his hands gripped
his captive's shoulders, and he flung back his head.  His strong frame
jerked rapidly and then shuddered, and then he pumped his cock into the
other man's ass in an unseeing frenzy, wordless shouts burbling from
his mouth.  Beneath him, as he felt the other man's hot gism flood up
inside him, Robin Hood felt his own hot cum burst from his straining
cock, spurting not once but twice, three times, four times, five, and
he shouted into the huge gag.  His body jerked and trembled in his
bindings, and then, as the blotting fever of his climax fell away, he
felt himself crushed tight in the strong arms of the Sheriff.
	"Robin, Robin, you bastard, O my lord god, O you fucker, you bastard,
I own you, I've taken you, surrender now, surrender, you bastard, I've
had you and you are mine now, I'll have you again, I'll not let the law
have you, you bastard, you're mine."
	Robin Hood half heard and half understood the man's stumbling words
choked out harshly into his ear, and he found himself bucking against
his bindings, striving somehow to force himself back into the other
man's arms, afraid of his desire, but desperate to remain joined to the
strong man above him.  He groaned and wept into the huge gag, his
emotions at war within himself and burning his heart.  The Sheriff
brought up his hand and roughly caressed the other man's thatch of
sandy hair.  He murmured again into his captive's ear, his voice calmer
now and yet the more intense for that very reason.
	"I mean what I say, Robin, I'll not let the law hang you.  I am the
law, and you are mine."
	The Sheriff clasped his bound captive deep in his arms, a long sigh
escaping him as he drifted toward sleep.  Beneath him, the outlaw lay
still, listening to the other man's deepening breath and drifting away
with him into the safe dark.  Tomorrow, he told himself, he would try
to understand tomorrow.
	Outside, in the hallway,  the sergeant at arms stood guard.  He had
held himself stiff and erect all the while, no motion, no sound
betraying that he heard his lord and his lord's captive within the room
he guarded, or, if he heard, that he felt anything at all.  In the
moonlight, the glint of a tear showed at one eye.  He blinked, and the
glint was gone.  He remained standing, listening to the silence.  The
slanting moonlight moved slowly on the stone floor at his feet.

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