Date: Fri, 14 Apr 2006 18:54:04 EDT From: EddyRiha@aol.com Subject: games with stefan 10 The usual disclaimers apply. This is a work of fiction, and those folks who are prevented from reading such fictional works either by age, by moral preference, or by law should not read any further. All of the characters presented here are fictional representations, including the narrator. Some of the events and characters are inspired by actual events and people I encountered in my younger days, but the presentation here of events and characters in no way is meant to portray actual, historical persons and events. It's just a story. Thank you to those faithful readers who have given me ideas, constructive criticism, and occasional rebukes. You have made the writing process even more enjoyable. Though some of the ideas that have been shared with me would be too extreme for my characters to use. . . . All stunts were performed by professionals. Do not attempt these at home. No librarians were harmed in the writing or reading of this story. If anyone is offended by the premise of the story, or by explicit sexual acts, please do not read any further. Games With Stefan by eddyriha Chapter #10-Weekend at My House (Part 3) When I awoke later that afternoon, the bed beside me was empty. I sat up, wondering what had happened. Why wasn't Stefan still in bed with me? Then I heard a tinkling in the bathroom. The boy had simply gotten up to use the toilet. But he should have first asked me. I hadn't given him permission to get out of bed. . . . In a moment, the door between the bedroom and bathroom opened quietly, and Stefan tiptoed back to the bed. Just as he was about to slip back under the covers, I suddenly sprang at him, yelling and grabbing him, totally frightening the shit out of him. As I had launched myself into the air, the weight of my body pushed his to the floor, where I stretched out his arms over his head and applied pressure to his chest to stop his squirming. "Who gave you permission to get out of bed?" I demanded. "No one, my King. But I just thought-" "Who asked you to think?" "But, my King, you were sleeping-" "You should have asked, regardless. The worst I would have said is 'no.' But now you will have to be punished." "Please, please, don't punish me-" "Quiet, slave. Or else I will gag you again." Stefan immediately shut up. For the first time in a long time, he sincerely looked frightened as I reached for some ropes and began tying his wrists together behind his back. I then dragged him up by his leash, and told him to crawl on his knees to the kitchen. It took a few minutes, and he fell over a couple of times, each time bringing with it a slap on the ass. I was realizing I was hungry-and that, with the arrival of Sandro, I'd forgotten to feed my slave. So I tied the end of his leash to a leg of the kitchen table, told him to remain kneeling, and then went downstairs to fetch our cat's food and water bowls. Having done something without permission, Stefan would get to each like a cat for the rest of the weekend. Or at least for this meal. When I came back upstairs, Stefan had not moved. I patted him on the head, said, "Good slave," and then fixed his breakfast-dinner. I mixed in equal amounts of the soft moist catfood we'd used in earlier games and some Captain Crunch, one of the cereals we had in the house. I set the bowl before him and said, "Eat it all, my slave. And don't use your hands-only your mouth." Of course, since his hands were still bound behind him, I was being sarcastic. As Stefan began sucking up the catfood-cereal mix into his mouth, I patted him on the back and fondled his ass, saying, "Good slave, good slave," every so often. His ass kept trying to get under my hand more, and he was clearly wanting me to fuck him again. But he had been a disobedient slave, and so he wasn't going to get the desired fucking until I was ready. So I slapped his ass a couple of times, just to let him know who was still King. Then I prepared something for myself to eat, turned on the kitchen TV, and then sat down, resting my feet on Stefan's upturned ass. He continued to eat, making sure to catch anything that fell outside the bowl. From time to time, he slurped up some water from the bowl. When we each had finished eating, I wiped his face off with a dishcloth, and then untied his wrists. He got down on all fours, and I sat atop him, saying, "To the bedroom, good horsie." To reinforce the command, I kneed him in the ribs, and he began crawling on hands and knees. It would have been much faster to make him walk before me, but this way was more humiliating to him. And a disobedient slave needs to be humbled. When we reached the bedroom, I told him to lie on the bed, face up. Once again, I tied him so that his limbs were stretched toward the corners of the bed. Then I left him for a moment, going into the kitchen for some more supplies. When I returned, the room was growing dark, as the drawn curtains blocked most of the waning evening light. I was carrying a candle before me, and I knelt beside the bed. "Why did you get out of bed without permission?" I demanded. This was the interrogation game, something we hadn't played in awhile. "I had to take a piss." I dripped some candle wax onto his hairless chest. "Wrong answer," I said. "Tell me the truth, why did you get out of bed without permission?" "I had to take a piss." "Wrong answer." Some more wax on his belly. He twitched from the sudden sensation of warmth on his skin. The wax wasn't hot enough to burn him, only enough to make him feel some warmth. "Why would a slave like you get out of bed without permission?" "I had to take a piss." More wax, this time near one of his nipples. I repeated the question. Finally, he got it. "Because I'm a bad, disobedient slave." "Very good." No wax this time. "Now what should I do with my bad, disobedient slave?" "You should burn him with wax?" Stefan's answer seemed more like a question. "Not exactly, though that may happen," I replied, as I dripped some across his pubic area, where I had shaved the hair earlier in the summer. It had been kept shaved, at my request. "You should tie him up and never let him loose?" "Tempting, but not exactly that either." More wax, along the top of either thigh. He was silent for a few minutes, during which time I dribbled a little wax here and there down both legs. At last, he spoke. "My King can do whatever he wants with his bad, disobedient slave." I leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. "Good answer, my slave." My tongue forced its way into his mouth, and for awhile our tongues rubbed against each other. Then I stood up. I dripped a little more wax on him, heightening his excitement. He was lifting his ass as far off the plastic sheet as he could, maybe only an inch or two, as he tried to get me to turn my attention to his erect and excited cock. But I ignored the invitation, choosing instead to drip some wax across his chest, on his belly button, on the soles of his feet. Each drip of wax caused both a touch of pain and a wave of pleasure as the boy maintained his intense erection. Soon his skin was dotted with wax and the surrounding pinkish marks. He was writhing and purring, trying to get me to brush against his dick, to touch it, to bring him past the point of no return. Instead, I set down the candle on the desk and left the room for a moment, allowing him to wonder what was next. When I returned, I carried the cloth bag of clothespins from the laundry room downstairs. When the weather was good, my mother would often hang washed clothes on the nylon lines which stretched between trees in the backyard. So there was a good supply of old-fashioned wooden pins in the bag. These held their grip even on the windiest afternoons, and I knew from personal experience they would do the same on human skin. I placed a clothespin to his left nipple. "What's this I hear that my slave has been hanging out with the M. brothers?" His eyes opened wide at this. We hadn't played this game in quite awhile, not much since we had discovered other pleasures. But it was a game we used to enjoy playing over and over. "Sir, I haven't hung out with them." I knew that was the literal truth, but truth wasn't the object of the game. I allowed the pin to close over the soft nipple. Stefan gasped with the sudden, rough pain. I twisted the pin slightly to heighten the feeling for him. "I am not fooling around." I placed a second pin to his right nipple. "Have you been hanging out with the M. brothers?" These were real people, not imaginary characters, who lived on the other side of the woods behind my house. They were our enemies, going as far as to burn our forts or to attack us while we were playing games in the woods-other games, of course, than the kind we were playing tonight. They never knew about the games Stefan and I most loved to play, which was probably a good thing. Ricky, the oldest, had by this point discovered girls and beer, and when he wasn't consuming the one, he was consuming the other. Larry was between a state institution and our local public school during that summer, and I wasn't sure which direction he was heading. Neither of us had seen him since last winter when he was behaving very oddly and running in circles one day in school. If he weren't potentially dangerous-he did bring a knife to school one day-we would have felt more sorry for him. Gary, the youngest, was a punk and occasionally would come by to harass us, but without his brothers to back him up, we didn't fear him. "I tell you, I haven't seen them." I clamped the second pin on his right nipple and gave it a twist. Stefan's breathing came in shorter bursts. Then he relaxed a little. His dick still pointed straight up, and I resisted an impulse to give it a good stroking. "I have it on good sources that you-" and I paused, thinking of a good detail here- "that you have sucked Ricky's dick." "No, sir, I wouldn't suck his dick." Another pin clamped down on the side of his neck. "Then maybe it was Larry's dick." "No, sir, I wouldn't suck his dick." Another pin clamped down on the other side of his neck. "Then maybe it was Gary's dick." "No, sir, I wouldn't suck his dick." Another pin clamped down on his left earlobe. "What if I gave you orders to suck Ricky's dick?" "But, sir, you didn't give me orders to suck his dick." Another pin clamped down on his right earlobe. "But you would gladly suck his dick if I told you to do so?" Stefan paused a moment. I clamped a pin on the soft skin beneath the base of his ribcage, on the left side. He hesitated long enough I placed one on the right side. "I would do it, if you told me to," he finally said. "But I wouldn't enjoy it." Another pin on his belly button. Actually, on the skin which rimmed it, as both Stefan and I are innies and so the pin couldn't have clamped on the navel itself. "Even if I told you to enjoy it?" "How could I enjoy sucking the dick of someone I hate? Of someone who isn't my King?" He had a point there. But I still clamped a pin on the sensitive belly skin which tapers toward the groin. It took me a moment to come up with the next line of questioning. "But you sucked Sandro's dick." A pin on the other side, in the sensitive groin skin. Stefan hesitated, and I thought for a moment he was going to cry. "I didn't think you'd mind." He didn't think I'd mind? I clamped two pins on the soft hanging skin of his scrotum. He winced a little in pain, but otherwise no reaction. "Did I give you permission to play any games with Sandro?" "No, sir, you didn't. But you also didn't say I couldn't." He was right, on that account. But I wasn't going to admit defeat on any point. "The fact is, I didn't say you could." I applied two more pins to the scrotum, then a couple on the inside of the thigh. I deliberately avoided clamping any on his erect cock because that would both send him over the edge and cause him more pain that I knew he would be able to stand. The purpose of the game was to push the envelope of pain, not to run right past it into full scale torture. We were kids, after all. "So what have you done with Sandro?" I asked, applying another clothespin to his lower leg. "Tell me everything. And, before you start to lie or hide anything, I should tell you that under similar circumstances, Sandro has confessed everything." I had done no such thing, but I was being so serious-and probably, to a certain degree so jealous-that Stefan would have believed everything I was telling him. Just as I was likely to believe everything he was telling me. And perhaps imagining even more. Throughout all of this, I was placing pins around his body, from head to foot, doubling up pins in places I'd already covered. Stefan had an unbelievable amount of endurance for clothespins. "I sucked his dick a few times," Stefan began. "How many times?" "I dunno. Maybe eight, ten times." "How many times did he suck your dick?" "Probably twenty-five to thirty times." "Why did he suck yours more than you sucked his?" "I was his King, he was my slave." "How did you make him your slave?" "One day he asked about what kinds of games you and I did together, and then he4 said he wanted to try some of them. So I made him take off all his clothes, then take off all of mine. I had him kneel down in front of me and lick my cock. Then he sucked it until I had an orgasm. I had him lie on my bed while I tickled him and explored every area of his body. Then I licked and sucked his dick. But his dick was so big that when he had his orgasm I couldn't keep it in my mouth, and some of his sperm splattered across my face. He laughed at me, but then I made him lick it off my face, after which we ended up kissing and kissing, lying in each other's arms. But then I got pissed at him and tied his hands behind his back and spanked him something like fifty times, until he stopped laughing and said he was willing to suck my dick again before we got dressed-and he would be willing to suck my dick any time I asked him to." The boy certainly learns fast. It had taken me a couple of years to figure out the whole master-slave thing, but he did it in one afternoon. Of course, once he had the model in his mind, he had had no trouble creating his own master-slave relationship with his best buddy. "Before today, had you ever fucked Sandro?" "Yes, sir." "How did that begin?" "One afternoon when he came over, this was right after you first fucked me, I wanted to try it on someone. But I wasn't sure he would go for it. So I got him to strip and to let me tie his hands together behind his back, as we often did when I sucked him and he sucked me. That time I had him bend over the bed. I didn't have any Vaseline, so I had to find something else-that's when I discovered that baby oil does the trick. I rubbed it into his asshole and worked it around. He began to realize what I was about to do, and he begged me not to. I slapped him upside of the head and told him to take it like a man, unless he really was a wimp and a pussy. Then I thrust my cock into his tight hole and began fucking him, in and out, while he was crying out in pain. I pushed his head into a pillow as I kept fucking him. When I was done, he was crying, so I held him in my arms and licked his tears and kissed him. Once he had caught his breath, he insisted on fucking me, and I had to let him, though I thought it wouldn't hurt too bad because I thought his cock was smaller than yours." "It isn't," I said. "It's at least an inch bigger-and somewhat wider, too." Stefan smiled as I applied another pin to his stomach. "I sure found that out. I had untied his wrists, and he tied mine together. Once he had bent me over and put the head of his dick to my hole, I knew I was in fucking trouble. He pushed in slowly, but that made it worse. I felt like I was being ripped in two-much worse than it felt when you fucked me that first time. Once he was all the way inside me, I felt like I'd been fucking impaled by the jaws of life, and they were trying to tear me in two. He pushed my head into the pillow, which was wet from his tears and drool, and leaning heavily into me, he began fucking me slowly at first, then faster and faster. It didn't matter what speed he fucked me, I could hardly breathe without wanting to scream. At the same time, it was so fucking glorious. I wanted that cock in me forever, to be always ripping me apart, because it was so wonderful. But I knew, after he came inside me, that what I really wanted was always to have your cock in my ass, in my mouth." "But you still played those games with Sandro." "I know, I know. But you weren't always around, and he was. And I sometimes wanted somebody to suck me and fuck me more than you can understand." Oh, I understood all right. Some nights I would look out the bedroom window at Stefan's bedroom window across the street, and I would wish there was some way I could creep over there and sneak my lover outside and back to my bedroom, so I could spend the night with him. I had run out of clothespins. Stefan's skin was mottled with pink marks which surrounded each pin as it clamped a bit of skin. I climbed over to his head and dangled my cock above his face. "Lick my balls," I said, as they hung down to his mouth. His tongue began working on my balls and, when I leaned across his body to give my attention to his erection, then began licking and sucking my dick. My body lay across his, and I could feel the clothespins as the unsnapped under my weight. I could also smell the vanilla of the wax the closer I came to his skin. His dick was fully engorged and bright pink, and I tongued it carefully, trying to draw out the inevitable as long as reasonably possible. He was trying to thrust himself into my mouth, all the while he was sucking my cock into his mouth. Later, we would find this maneuver was called "sixty-nine," but at the time we simply thought of it as a mutual suck. In a moment, Stefan was at the brink of orgasm, and I held him there as long as I could, before he shuddered and quivered, his dick trembling and shaking in my mouth. Then I came in his mouth, unloading my cum down his throat. For awhile I lay there, licking his softening dick, as I though of what game next to play. I was simply enjoying having my boy's dick to myself and enjoying the smell of his warm, slightly sweaty, wax-dribbled and pinned skin. And the evening was still young. . . .