Beckett tried, valiantly, to extricate himself from the trap he had fallen into, but it was fiendishly difficult. The fabric of the drapes pulled and stretched with him, and the way they crossed over each other it was almost impossible to figure out where he could unwind himself. He twisted his wrist, feeling it loosen, but once his weight was less supported the knot around one of his ankles seemed to get tighter, and his thighs spread a little bit further, and whatever was holding his tail up increased its pressure. Cursing under his breath, he grabbed the drape and pulled himself up. It was a strain, but eventually he was able to lift one of his legs and unwind the knot around his ankle. With a half-noise of victory, he lowered himself down again.
Which was when he realized that his wrist was once again tied up.
Beckett slumped, beyond exhausted and quietly wondering if the drapes were alive, and just quietly messing with him. Unfortunately, he did not have time to be tired or curious. Every second he wasn't thinking about how to get out of his bonds, he would be forced to think about other things. Like how the large glass window right behind him was close enough that he could feel the fur on the end of his ass shift, with every squirm and twitch. Then, of course, he would have to think about the fact that he was being forced to moon a window, that the way his legs were spread meant that his ass, his hole, the underside of his fuzzy nuts, were all exposed. He would have to think about the fact that the room was illuminated, that anyone looking at the manor from the outside would naturally draw their gaze to the room with all the light coming from it. And then he would think, if they did that, there was no way that they could avoid seeing...
That was usually around the time Beckett would start feeling the feeling. The one that, for lack of a better word, he described to his close friends as "fear." Ever since the day he came of age (in fact, nearly exactly starting the day he came of age), the very concept of exposed bodies brought something not unlike panic to his chest. Other people's exposure, and most especially his own. The description was perfectly apt; he was able to navigate schooling and the bulk of his daily life with only a handful of people knowing and having to only endure the occasional mockery or ribbing about it. It was, however, not the entire story. Sure, he was afraid of being naked. Fear was definitely one of the feelings he was experiencing, at that moment in time. To the best of his knowledge, however, fear tended to not also come with spontaneous, rational-thought crushing, obscenely powerful erections. No man had ever brought themselves to completion on fear alone.
At least, no man he was aware of. He never had the courage to research such things, and he hadn't the foggiest idea where one would even begin researching that.
The point was, when given the choices of continuing to struggle, potentially hurting himself, and trying to reckon with the fact that somebody right now might be looking at his soft, naked body... Once he had his breath, Beckett was flailing against the drapes like a prey animal in a snare.
He tried scrambling up to the curtain-rod, hoping that what was keeping the knots in place was simply the tension his bodyweight was putting on it. This was harder than expected. Once again, the drapes seemed to respond to his attempts to pull by stretching beyond any sort of normal capacity. Only when he looked all the way up did he realize that his bindings were way more complicated than just a lone sheet of fabric he had wrapped around himself slightly wrongly. The drapes had split into multiple tendrils, which all latched around him at key points.