Date: Tue, 8 Jul 2008 11:41:31 EDT
From: EddyRiha@aol.com
Subject: games with stefan 26

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.

All stunts were performed by professionals.  Do not attempt these at home.

Thank you again to all the readers for the encouragement and the
constructive criticism you have provided as I continue to develop this
story.  This chapter, which I had wanted to write for some time and finally
was inspired to do this week, is especially dedicated to trekboy008, a
faithful reader.

No Tour de France riders 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.  Why, indeed, have you read this far?


Games With Stefan

by eddyriha

Chapter #26-The Impala's Back Seat

The summer after I turned 16, I had already talked my folks into letting me
get my driver's license and also letting me drive this old Impala that had
once been Grandpa's.  It had a honking huge engine that purred like a
gentle cat when it was on the highway.  At 65, it felt like you were doing
20.  Sure, the gas mileage wasn't good, but back then gas was a whole lot
cheaper than it is today. . . .

Of course, in my state when you're 16 and have a driver's license, you
can't drive anywhere solo after dark-well, you're not supposed to.  So I
did a little driving here and there, running errands for Mom, proud of the
fact that I had a license and willing to go anywhere to show off the fact
that, hey, I could drive, damn it!

But, as you well can guess, this old Impala had a wickedly large back seat.
It had vinyl upholstery and was about as comfortable as lying on a pile of
innertubes.  But there was one thing I wanted to do on that back seat.  And
one person I wanted to do it to.  But that summer, he was gone the first
month to his parents' camp, and Mom wouldn't let me drive there because she
thought it was too far for me to drive solo, that soon after passing my
driver's test.  Before he left for camp, I hadn't even had the opportunity
to tell him I'd passed my driver's test.

So I was sitting in my room sulking one day when I heard a whistle outside,
under my window.  It was Stefan.  "Hey, you doing anything?" he asked.

"Nah, nothing at the moment," I replied.  "I'll come on down."

We shot the breeze a few minutes, when I said, "Hey, you wanna go for a
drive?"

"How?" he asked.  "We ain't got a car.  Nor a license."

"I do," I said, as I pulled my wallet out of the back pocket of my denim
shorts and flipped it open, ever so casually, to reveal the brand-new photo
ID license that had arrived in the mail the day before.  (Between passing
the driver's exam and receiving the permanent license, I had the temporary
paper license stamped to say I was a legal driver, etc., but it was soooo
much more impressive to show that I had a real license-the first boy in the
neighborhood with one.)

I walked him around back to the spot where I parked the Impala.  "Wanna go
for a spin?"  When he said yes, I popped my head in the back door to tell
my Mom, who had come home from work an hour earlier, that I was going to
take Stefan out for a drive.

"As long as it's OK with his folks, it's OK with me," she said.  So Stefan
ran across the street to obtain that permission, and I started up the car
and drove it around the house and onto the street.  In a moment, he opened
the side door and slid onto the front seat, which (for those of you who
haven't owned or ridden in a '69 Impala) is a full door-to-door bench seat
(as is the back seat, too).

"Put on your seatbelt, boy," I said quietly, but firmly.  I swear I saw a
definite movement in his navy athletic shorts as his cock stirred to
attention.  Stefan buckled the shoulder belt into place, and I put the car
in drive.

"Where are we going?" he asked, his hands resting in his lap, as if to hide
his erection from me.

"You'll see."

In a few minutes, he said, "We're going to Thacher Park, aren't we?"  I
didn't answer, but that was indeed where we were headed.  Of course, at
night it was a big makeout place at the time (now they have gated all the
parking areas after dark to prevent that activity), but it was late
afternoon, around rush hour, and as I drove the ten miles to the park, I
pondered where we could park so we could break in the back seat.

We parked and got out at the overlook, and I pointed out the various things
you can see, including the entire downtown area, even though it was ten
miles away.  I discovered that Stefan had only once been there before, and
that was a long time ago.  But neither of us was as interested in
sightseeing, seeing as how both of us were already somewhat aroused, and we
kept finding reasons to stand next to each other and brush hands in
passing.  There wasn't anyone else around except a harried pair of parents
who were occupied in keeping their kids from climbing over the stone wall
and peering down the face of the cliff that is the park's chief natural
feature.

As our conversation petered out, we each looked at each other and, without
speaking, knew what we were both thinking.  So we went back to the Impala
and drove off slowly through the park, looking for that secluded spot where
we could park and get busy.

I also was keeping an eye on my watch because I knew that my Mom would have
dinner on the table at six-thirty sharp, and I'd better not be late or she
might curtail my driving privileges.

I pulled into a one-lane dirt road where a sign pointed to "Hikers'
Trailhead."  The road ran alongside a field, then dipped into the woods.
We reached the end, where two cars were parked--hikers, no doubt, who were
out exploring one or another of the marked trails that began there.

I turned the car around and was about to give up as I drove back to the
main road, when I saw a narrow lane to the right.  It was not much more
than a grassy track between the trees, and probably if I had more driving
experience I wouldn't have dared it.  But I flipped on the turn signal
(driver's ed class was still on my mind) and pulled into the narrow lane.
The car bounced a little, as I slowly navigated the car between the
branches which slapped at the car from each side.  In a few moments, the
lane turned to the left and opened into an overgrown grassy field.  There,
the road seemed to end, but it suited our purpose.  There was no one in
sight, and I backed the car toward some overhanging bushes to one side,
thus partially camouflaging the vehicle.  (Did I forget to mention that the
car was medium green?)

"Well," Stefan said as we both watched the sunlight filtering through the
branches dance on the dashboard.  "What now?"

"Slave," I said in my most commanding tone, "why are you still dressed?"

In a flash, Stefan had his seatbelt off and was pulling his t-shirt off
over his head.  Then he kicked off his shoes and pulled off his socks,
before slipping his fingers under the elastic waistband of his shorts and
sliding them and his underpants down in one motion.  Then he turned to face
me, a smile on his face, his dick fully erect and waiting.

"Slave," I said, "why are you still on the front seat?"

Immediately, he slid off the seat and onto the floor.  Not what I had in
mind, but it immediately suggested all kinds of future possibilities to my
mind. . . .

"Slave," I repeated, "why are you still on the FRONT seat?"

Then he understood.  He climbed back onto the seat, then slid his tanned,
sinewy body headfirst over the back of the seat, landing with a crumple of
arms and legs half on (and thus also half off) the back seat.

As he started to make himself more comfortable, I said, "Stay put, slave."
And he did.

In a moment, I had shuffled out of my own clothes and had slipped even less
gracefully into the back seat.  I reached under the driver's side and
pulled out two items I'd stashed there the first night I'd had my driver's
license, just for a time like this: a small tube of Vaseline and a small
coil of rope.

Stefan's eyes lighted up when he saw what was in my hand, and he gave no
resistance when I pushed him onto his back, with his head against the
passenger side wall.  (Keep in mind that this car was a two-door, which
meant that the back of the front seat normally had to tip down to let
passengers into the back seat.  That's why we'd gone to the effort of
sliding over the seatback to reach our destination.)

In the back seat, there were no shoulder belts, only lap belts, and I used
one of them to hold Stefan's torso in place, as I pushed his hands up above
his head.  I tied his wrists together with one end of the rope, and then
threaded the rest through the handhold built into the ceiling on that side.
That stretched his hands away from his body, and gave me plenty of rope for
the next step.  I pushed his legs up so his knees touched his chest, and I
separated the ankles, tying one to the rope, then looping the loose end
back through the handhold, so his right foot was out of my way.  That left
me full access to his ass, his cock, his face, and his nipples, without
anything he could do to stop me--not that he would.

I began lubing his hole, running my finger around inside the sphincter and
poking his prostate.  Though it had been several weeks since we'd last been
together, and a whole year since that wild weekend we spent at my parents'
house, little had changed between us.  I was sixteen, he was fourteen--that
was the sum of the changes.  He was keeping himself shaved just for me, and
he still couldn't cum, which bummed both of us out.

I was in the process of covering my rockhard cock with the Vaseline, when
we suddenly heard voices.  I immediately froze in place, and when Stefan
started to say something, I clamped my hand over his mouth.  From where he
lay, he couldn't see anything but the ceiling inside the car, so I had to
look for the both of us.  I peered over the back of the front seat--and saw
a young couple walking by.  They were probably in their 20s, and the guy
was carrying a knapsack.  With their t-shirts, jeans, and hiking boots, it
was clear they were out on a hike.  But, to my absolute relief, they didn't
see the car, they didn't even look in our direction.  I was thanking myself
silently for having the sense to back the car as much out of sight as
possible-and thanking my grandpa for having the good sense to buy a medium
green car. . . .

As soon as the hikers were out of earshot, I resumed my focus on the bound
boy lying on the back seat.  "Shouldn't we perhaps not do this here?" he
whispered, still obviously frightened by our close call.  (We later
discovered that what looked like an abandoned grassy lane was actually the
beginning of a prominent hikers' trail, so I guess we were fortunate not to
be discovered that day.)  Also, I realized later that, had the hikers seen
the car, they might have been prompted to investigate when they saw an
ankle being held aloft by rope-Stefan's right ankle was the only part of
either of us that could be seen through the front window.

"You chicken?" I asked.  "Because if you are chicken, you're getting
punished."

"I'm not chicken," he replied, but it was too late.  I had already begun
slapping his asscheeks, alternating between left and right, until both were
red and sore.  SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!
SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!
SLAP!  SLAP!

Throughout the ordeal, Stefan squirmed and wriggled, but the bonds didn't
allow him much freedom of movement.  "Please, please, please!" he begged,
his eyes almost in tears.  "I won't ever be chicken again!"

"You do that," I said, pretending indifference.  I really hated spanking
him, but it was just a part of our games, and he knew I would never really
hurt him.  But some pain was necessary to teach him how he should behave.
Even fourteen-year-olds need correction every now and then.

I had finished lubing my cock, and so I pressed it against his exposed
hole.  Leaning down, I kissed him on the lips, on the cheek, on the left
nipple.  As my cock slipped into his hole, I found myself kissing and
licking along his neck and his emerging Adam's apple.  Once I was fully
inside him, I realized I hadn't quite allowed myself enough room at this
end of the seat, and I had to bend my back a little to keep from hitting my
head with each thrust inside my lover.  I made a mental note to myself to
give myself a little more room the next time--and then I proceeded to fuck
Stefan.

He closed his eyes and smiled as he felt my cock pushing and thrusting as
deep into him as I could go.  My mouth was busy nibbling along his
shoulder, his ear, his jawline.  The rope scratched against the vinyl
surface of the handhold with each thrust I made into Stefan, and his free
left leg wrapped itself across my back, helping keep me in place.  The
whole experience, fucking my buddy on the back seat of my very first car,
in a place where someone might catch us in the act, brought me to climax
sooner than I expected, sooner than usual, and I was dumping wads of cum
into Stefan's ass, cum that began leaking out onto the vinyl seat as soon
as I slid my cock out of his hole.

"That was awesome," I whispered, as I kissed his lips again.  "You are the
best fuck ever."  And I was glad that he was the first I would ever fuck on
the back seat of my car.

But he hadn't yet had his orgasm, and I wasn't going to serve myself
without pleasuring him, too.  So I began rubbing his cock, massaging his
balls, then running my lips over the wrinkly boyskin of his sack, before I
sucked them into my mouth, kneading and gently squeezing each ball with my
tongue and lips.  Then I licked up the underside of his shaft before I
enveloped his small cock with my mouth, sucking it all the way in until the
head touched the back of my throat.  I wiggled my tongue against the
underside of his shaft, and that was enough to send him into ecstasy.  He
gasped, "Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! OH! OH! OH! OH! OH!" as his cock jerked around
in my mouth.  It was yet another dry cum, which disappointed me, but I knew
if I were patient someday I was drink his first cum.

For a few minutes, we lay there, master and slave, kissing gently and
enjoying the secret pleasure of now being able to carry out our games
somewhere else, all thanks to my having obtained a driver's license.  We
began to whisper together about all kinds of adventures we could have, some
realistic, some fantastic--I wasn't about to be able to drive all the way
to Alaska, for instance, at least not that year.  Then I looked at my watch
and realized we needed to get going on our way back home.

As I untied Stefan and we clambered back onto the front seat to get
dressed, I brought the rope with me.  "Now here are the rules," I said, as
soon as he picked up the first item of clothing.  "When you ride in my car,
you wear no underwear.  That's rule number one."

"OK," he said.  "And what's rule number two?"

"Rule number two is that, whenever we go anywhere for a game like this, as
soon as we are out of sight of the neighborhood, your hands and feet are
tied together."

He thought for a moment, and then nodded.  "Can we try it out now?" he
whispered.

"Sure," I replied.  We had enough time that I could take a leisurely route
back home, and it would be so incredibly intense to drive past all these
places with my boy beside me, and only he and I would know he was bound,
helpless, with his erection barely covered.

So I let Stefan put on his t-shirt, and pull his athletic shorts halfway up
his thighs.  Then I tiued his hands behind his back, ran the loose end of
the rope underneath him and up between his legs, where I wrapped it three
times around the base of his cock and balls, which would keep him aroused
during the trip home.  Then I ran the remainder of the rope through one leg
of his shorts before pulling them up into place, catching the tip of his
cock between the elastic and his belly, so I could see it every time I
looked at him but no one else would be able to.  Then I tied his bare feet
together.  At first, he wanted to put on his socks and sneakers, but I
pointed out that his feet were one of his most beautiful parts, and I
didn't want them to be covered by anything in my car.  Finally, I strapped
him into the shoulder belt, which would keep him in place.

I sat back to admire my handiwork.  No one in a passing car or truck could
tell that the boy in the passenger seat was tied up, not unless they looked
really closely, and I'd drive carefully enough so no one ever had a reason
to do so.

Then I started the car, and we were on our way home.  But a new level in
our games had just been attained, and I couldn't wait for the next
adventure.  As we drove home, and as my free hand kept straying toward
Stefan's bound and erect cock, I was already planning our first camping
trip together. . . .