Burt 'The Roper' Jackson (M/M) - Revival chapters added- 21 Sept 2025

[Bootmark]

So glad to see this one revived. Love the direction it's going.

[MountainMan_91]

Part IV: The Ropers Shadow

Chapter 3

“What gives!” Jake hollered into the burlap sack cinched tight around his neck. His body bucked, muscles straining, twisting every which way to break free of the ropes biting into his skin.

“You see, kid,” Burt said, low and steady, “bein’ the Roper ain’t just about carryin’ a grudge. Over the next few weeks, we’re gonna dig into every damn part of what it means to be the Roper, startin’ with gettin’ outta tight spots.” He planted his boot on Jake’s back, the spur digging into the young man’s backside. “Hey, Lambert, be a lamb and haul our prisoner to the shed.”

Jake’s mind snagged on the word—prisoner? “Wait, prisoner? I ain’t your prisoner, Mr. Roper! I ain’t!”

“Hush now, Jake. Save your strength, boy. You’re gonna need it.”

Jake felt himself hoisted off the ground, slung over a broad shoulder—Lambert’s, he reckoned. His morning wood, still raging, pressed hard against Lambert’s frame. No way the man didn’t feel it. Jake’s face burned under the sack.

The warm prairie air hit him as they stepped outside, followed by the creak of a wooden door. Without ceremony, Lambert dumped him onto the ground. Dust choked his lungs, nearly knocking the wind out of him. “Good luck, kid,” Lambert whispered softly.

Jake clamped his mouth shut. What started as a shock was now a challenge he was dead set on beating.

But the ropes… they were tight. Too tight. Burt’s knots were a devil’s work, no give, no slack. Were there even knots? It felt like the ropes were woven straight onto his skin. Jake rolled in the dirt, desperate for any looseness in his bonds. His wrists burned, his elbows cinched so close he could barely twitch. His fingers clawed at the ropes, searching for a loose end, but found nothing. Drat.

His legs were no better. The rope around his thighs and booted ankles was lashed together, locking him in a cruel hogtie. He squirmed, hips grinding against the ground, but the knots held firm. His boots, heavy and unyielding, kept him from rubbing the ropes loose. Sweat poured off him, mixing with the dust. Stripped to the waist from the night before, he was spared some heat, but the grit clung to his skin, caking his chest and arms. His ranch pants trapped the heat, especially in his crotch, where it felt like a furnace.

Jake’s struggles wore him down fast. His shoulders ached, trying to shift the ropes around his elbows, but they were cinched perfect, holding his arms like a vice. He went still, heart pounding in his ears, listening for any sound beyond his own ragged breaths. Nothing but the faint whistle of the prairie wind.

The shed door creaked open. Burt’s boots crunched in the dirt. “Still at it, kid?” Jake, panting, twisted toward the sound, the sack muffling his world. “Please, Mr. Roper, let me out. I can’t… I can’t find the knots.”

Burt crouched beside him. “You gotta get free yourself, boy. Out there, ain’t nobody comin’ to save you. That’s the mark of a true Roper. When your down on your luck, you should always have this ace up your sleeve, being able to escape from anything.” He pulled a couple of bandannas from his pocket—one faded blue, the other stained with sweat, Burt pulled the burlap sack off Jakes face, the kid squinting as the sunlight rushed in. “Open up.”

Jake shook his head, but Burt’s rough hand gripped his jaw, prying it open. The first bandanna, ripe with the smell of dust and man, was stuffed into his mouth. Jake gagged, the taste bitter. The second was pulled tight between his teeth, tied off behind his head, sealing the first in place. “Mmmph!”

“Keep at it,” Burt said, standing. “You’ll figure it out, or you won’t.” His boots crunched away, leaving Jake alone again.
Time dragged. Jake’s wrists burned raw, his face streaked with dust and tears he hadn’t noticed shedding.

Hours crawled by, his body screamed for rest, but he kept at it, twisting, pulling, until finally—finally—a knot at his wrists gave just enough. His fingers clawed at it, loosening the ropes bit by bit. The hogtie fell away, and he spat out the gag with a gasp.

He staggered to his feet, legs shaky, and stumbled back to the cabin, his pride as raw as his wrists. Inside, Burt sat by the fire, pipe in hand, while Lambert leaned against the wall, free and dressed in his union suit.

“Good,” Burt said, not looking up. “Took you long enough. Now tie Lambert up. The second he gets free, you’re back in ropes, kid. So you better make it count if you wanna stay loose.”

Jake’s heart sank, but he nodded, grabbing a coil of hemp rope from the table, seeing the raw red marks on his wrists. Lambert sat on the floor, his expression calm, almost encouraging. Jake set to work, his fingers still sore but steady. He bound Lambert’s wrists behind his back, then looped rope around his chest, pulling his arms tight against his body. He bent Lambert’s knees, tying his ankles to his thighs. Jake worked carefully, mimicking the knots he’d felt on his own body, placing them where Lambert’s fingers couldn’t reach.

“Done,” Jake stepped back, his hands trembling from effort.

Burt glanced over, nodding. “Not bad. Now, you look beat, kid. Why don’t you have a bite to eat and catch a nap?”

Jake dragged himself to the kitchen and ravaged down a bowl of beans and eggs. Then collapsed on the rug by the fireplace, his body begging for rest. He lay down, the warmth of the fire lulling him. He had barely closed his eyes when heavy footsteps approached. He didn’t get time to react before Burt and Lambert were on him.

Lambert—free already, the ropes lying in a heap—grinned as he grabbed Jake’s arms.

“What the—!” Jake yelped, but Burt’s hand clamped over his mouth.

“You gotta be quicker than that, boy,” Burt said, dragging him to the chair Lambert had occupied yesterday. They worked fast, their hands a blur of rope and muscle. Jake’s wrists were lashed behind the chair, his elbows pulled tight. Ropes circled his chest, the caked dust cracking under the new position. He was pinned to the backrest. His thighs were bound to the seat, and then Burt yanked his booted feet off the floor, tying them to the chair’s back, forcing his knees up and leaving him helpless.

Jake squirmed, the ropes biting into his skin, he could tell this was equally tight as what he had spent hours getting out of. “How’d you get free so fast?” he mumbled, half to Lambert, half to himself.

Lambert chuckled, rubbing his wrists. “Years of practice, kid. You’ll get there.”

Burt stood back, arms crossed. “Here’s the deal, Jake. You wanna be the Roper? You gotta learn to tie a man so he stays put, and you gotta learn to get yourself free when the tables turn. Lambert’s your test. Every time you tie him, you’re free ‘til he escapes. When he does, you’re back in ropes ‘til you break loose. The better you tie, the longer you stay free. Simple as that.”

Jake glared, his body aching but his resolve hardening. “And if I keep him tied?”

Burt’s eyes gleamed. “Then you might just have what it takes, kid. But don’t count on it—Lambert’s real slippery.”

Lambert winked, leaning close. “Better get good with those knots, Jake. I ain’t fond of sittin’ still.”

Jake’s jaw set, his mind racing. He’d tie Lambert tighter next time, make each strand count. He had to. If he was gonna be the Roper, he’d need to outsmart the best.

“Alright,” Jake said, his voice steady despite the ropes. “I’m in.”

Burt smirked, tossing another coil of rope on the table. “Not like you have a choice kid. Now start workin’ them knots. You got a long night ahead.”

Burt eased back into his chair by the fireplace, puffin’ on his pipe. “Go ahead and gag him, Lamb. Use Kirby’s hood.”

Lambert pulled a leather mask from a drawer, its straps worn but sturdy. Jake bucked in his ropes, voice muffled but frantic. “What the hell! What’s that thing?”

“Easy now, kid. It’s less trouble if you don’t fight it.” Lambert crammed another sweat-stained bandanna into Jake’s mouth, then yanked the hood over his head. Jake went limp, feelin’ the straps cinch tight behind like a corset squeezin’ his skull.

Blind, half-deaf, tongue-tied.

Trapped tight as a calf in a loop. Burt was right—this was gonna be one long night.

[gag1195]

A crash course, a live demonstration, a practice dummy? Lots of time roping and being roped? Jake doesn't know how lucky he is! I also appreciate Burt's musings about what it takes to live the life! We'll have to see if Jake is ready for it!

[blackbound]

Well, that is certainly an incentive to get good quickly. Loved it!

[DeeperThanRed]

Lambert better enjoy his newfound freedom while it lasts - with this rigorous training routine, I can see Jake surpassing his teachers in no time!

[ETBMichael]

So, Jake's graduation will be when he ties Burt in an inescapable position I assume?