A BOOK OF FIRSTS, Pt 8
I was twelve and he was ten, almost eleven. No boy ever had more imagination than Howie and me. Howie was also hugely inventive.
We lived close by. We went to movies together. We played together. We slept over.
Our parents worked, so we were free during the days to build our private worlds at either his house or mine.
We liked to play games that involved chase, capture, and tie-up. Soldiers, pirates, Tarzan, wild Indians, Robin Hood. All kinds of games. Sometimes the "prisoner" would have to be tortured, like in the movies we went to see together. We both liked the ones with dungeons and lots of sweat and racks and that sort of thing. And villains that said things like, "Tell me what I want to know or I will torture you exquisitely!" Corny stuff like that.
His basement was our favorite play place because it was really private and there was so much neat stuff stored there. We used an old dining table for a rack. Some thin ropes around the four legs let us tie each other in a spread eagle position. Totally vulnerable.
At first, we did it shirts off, like in the movies. Like I'd tie Howie up, and stand beside him, looking down on him like an arrogantly wicked Prince John. Then I'd casually draw my finger across the skin of his heaving belly.
"You will suffer greatly, Little John," I warned him, "if you do not divulge to me the location of Loxley's lair."
Any boy who's pretended in play to be wounded can remember the feeling of lying as if helpless while his friend’s hands played doctor; the feeling of being touched that way. This was the same; perhaps even more so, because even in play, there was a certain intimacy between the captor and captive.
Then there was the day that Howie ordered me to take off my pants. I was a “long knife” and he was an entire tribe of Apaches. So I obeyed. He tied me down on my back on the table, telling me that he was tying me down on a red ant bed.
“You plenty sorry you come Apache land,” he warned, menacingly. And then he began a slow dance up my bare legs with his fingernails.
It actually made me squirm. “No!” I shrieked in mock terror.
He came around beside my head and danced with his fingernails on my shoulder. “Ants here, too,” he grunted, and then grabbed my hair with his other hand. “We scalp golden hair.”
I gasped, pulling my head away, as he danced his fingernails onto my chest and bent down to stare me in the eye. I almost smiled to myself, because I knew when I got my turn, the “ants” would drive him crazy; Howie was ticklish.
Sure enough, a short time later, when I had him tied on top of the table in his loose, white briefs, I had him gasping for breath in no time.
From then on, we tortured each other in our underwear. That is, until one day when we were playing Tarzan and he was the evil native chief. He tied both my arms back on the table and then moved on down to my waist where he hooked his fingers under the elastic waistband of my underwear. I lifted my head in surprise.
Howie started pulling my briefs down.
“Wait! What are you doing?”
Howie laughed wickedly, as appropriate for an evil native chief, and just kept slipping down my underwear. He pulled them all the way off and tossed them aside.
I felt really vulnerable all naked on my back like that, especially as Howie spread my legs and tied them down.
"So, Tarzan,” he said, scowling down at me. “Will you tell me where your golden city is?"
“Never, Ungamba!” I answered heroically. “You will never see it.”
“Then I shall have to torture you to make you talk! I will use the special jungle way!"
The special jungle way, I wondered. That was a new one, and I had a little flutter in the belly because Howie could come up with good ideas, and I was naked.
He moved to my middle, bent over me, and his fingers lifted my dick.
My head flew up with a gasp. I watched his hand silently, trying to will my dick from hardening up as Howie examined it closely with obvious curiosity. What he was doing felt terrific and my dick was stiff in seconds.
Howie pointed my erection around this way and that, and then he glanced over at me. "Tell me, Tarzan!” he said. “Or the torture will begin!"
I gulped and shook my head. “No, Ungamba,” I croaked. Then I gave him a gallant look. “I have my pride.
“The jungle torture,” he announced, as if to a roomful of native henchmen, “will begin.”
He closed his fingers around my boner and started stroking it. Barely breathing, I laid my head back and closed my eyes.
For several seconds, Howie subjected me to the “jungle torture” of a good wank. I hadn’t been wanking all that long myself, but he seemed to know what he was doing.
“Tell me, Tarzan,” he said, “or you’ll suffer the worst of jungle torture. You will be made to spunk up.”
“Never!” I cried out.
He jacked a little faster. When I wanked on my own, I liked to play with my balls. “Whatever you do, Ungamba,” I said in a pleading voice, “don’t play with my balls at the same time.”
Almost instantly, I felt the fingers of Howie’s other hand tickle over my scrotum. “One last time, Tarzan,” he said, menacingly, “tell me where the city lies.”
“Never!” I repeated with a genuine moan.
“Then your fate is in my hands, Tarzan,” he said, decisively.
I only nodded, my belly and legs tightening. Quietly, Howie wanked away until, with gasps and cries as if I was being tortured, I came, shooting up my belly.
“See, Tarzan,” Howie said with a big grin, “I said that you would suffer greatly.”
Within half an hour, I had Howie, on his back, hands tied, and I was pulling down his white briefs. “I warn you, Tarzan,” I told him. “Unless you talk, you will be subjected to the dreaded ‘jungle torture’.”
“I’ll never tell you, Ungamba,” Howie said, his naked body dramatically tugging against the ropes around his wrists. “And I’m immune to the worst of your jungle torture. I don’t spunk yet.”
His ten-year-old dick was already hard. I tossed his underwear away, tied down his legs, and closed my fingers around his long stiffy. “Immune, Tarzan? I don’t think so. You will suffer.”
Howie looked at me pleadingly. “Ungamba, whatever you do, don’t play with my balls.”
I cocked an eyebrow and reached for his balls with my other hand.
I had him in almost the exact same position three or four weeks later, fondling and wanking him, when Howie raised his head to look down his body at me. “Long John,” he said. “Please, please, don’t suck it!”
The smart ass! I’d thought about trying to get him to suck mine. I’d wondered if he would be receptive and just how I could suggest it. But now he’d gone and done it first. At least, he was first up that day, and my turn was coming.
“You tell me where the map be, young Jim Hawkins, or I’ll do just that,” I told him, jerking his hips down closer to the foot of the table, where I stood. I leaned over, pointing his stiffy up at my face.
“It’s my map now,” Howie said. “I’ll never give it to you!”
I looked down at his stiffy and he watched me. Then I just plunged onto it, closing my mouth around it. It was easy to get most of the length in my mouth. I sucked on it and fondled his balls.
Howie shuddered. His head lolled around and he squirmed. “I’ll never tell you now, Long John,” he uttered breathlessly.
Howie couldn’t spunk yet, but he could come. He had dry orgasms like kids that age can get. That afternoon, he had a really good one, squirming against the ropes and crying out as I sucked for all I was worth.
Afterward, he lay there, breathlessly for a few moments while I watched his wet stiffy throb down. I rolled the softening tube back and forth with a finger, idly, while pressing my own upturned member against the side of the table.
Howie sighed. “Okay, Long John, you can have the map.”
A few minutes later, after tying me to the table, he looked down at my achingly hard boner and shook his head.
“You American spy,” he growled. “I will leave you now, to consider your fate.”
“What?” I cried out.
He smiled at me from the stairway and started up, in only his underwear.
“Howie! You prick!”
He paused on the stairs. “You Americans are always so insolent! We’ll see how brave you are when I get back.”
“You fiend! You owe me!”
I was so desperately horny by then, that I tried rolling to the right or left. Even with my hands and feet tied, I figured if I could just rub my dick on the table, I could come. That would get him. I couldn’t roll far enough.
Exasperated, I rolled onto my back, stared at the ceiling, and groaned.
It seemed like hours, but a few minutes later, Howie came sauntering down the stairs with a glass of ice water. He came over beside the table and took a sip, looking down at my middle with a look of faux distain.
“Are you ready to talk, American?”
“Never!” I told him.
My dick had softened slightly. He flopped it around.
“I will make you ready to talk,” he threatened. Then he casually stroked my dick, while sipping from the glass in his other hand.
I quickly grew hard again, more than ready for my turn getting sucked. But then Howie got one of his ‘ideas’. I saw him get it. I saw him look from my cock to the glass of ice water and back at my cock. And then I saw him grin.
“We SS have many ways to make people talk, American,” he said.
He fished an ice cube from his glass.
“Ha!” I bravely said. “Ice will not affect me. All I’m really afraid of is that you will suck my dick!”
Howie laughed diabolically, and then took the ice cube between his thumb and fingers and rubbed it slowly up and then down the underside of my boner.
My whole pelvic floor tightened up. My balls pulled up tight. Surprisingly, I felt hard as hell.
“Oh, geez!” I murmured. “You’re going to freeze my dick.”
“Hmm,” Howie murmured, “a dick-sickle.” Then he laughed at his own joke, amused.
“Haven’t you ever heard of frostbite?” I yelled, trying to move my dick out from under the ice cube.
Howie palmed the cube and closed it and his hand over my balls.
“Eeeyow!” I called out.
My balls drew up tight as a nut. It surprised me, but the sensations weren’t all that bad. My dick felt big and hard as hell and my balls felt like they were going to draw right up inside me. Howie’s cold, wet fingers on my perineum caused my sphincter to clinch.
He set down the glass, taking out a second ice cube for his other hand. Then he worked both of them over my dick and balls and lower belly while I howled and squirmed. And then suddenly, his cold fingers held my dick, and I felt his warm mouth close over the end. The warmth of his mouth slid half-way down my shaft.
And then, like a pro, Howie fondled my balls and sucked on the end of my cock, extending and retracting his tongue on the underside. I could barely breathe.
“I’m gonna shoot!” I warned through clinched teeth.
He pulled his mouth off and stroked me. He pressed the fingertips of his other hand hard on my perineum and held them there while I shot geysers into the air.
I closed my eyes and my head lolled. “You will pay for these war crimes, you evil Nazi,” I murmured. “Boy, are you going to pay.”
Not long after that, one afternoon when Howie had me squirming so badly, I was trying to jam my stiffy up into his mouth, he pulled off completely, patted my tummy, and left his hand there.
“Will you give me the names now?” he asked. “Who are the other rebels?”
I squirmed. “I won’t tell you,” I told him, sounding desperate enough for him to continue that Howie grinned widely. “Even if you suck me some more!” I added.
Howie grinned, and, lifting my dick, he sucked my crown for a moment, but just as my hips began to pump again, he stopped and stood up.
“The names!” he said.
“I’m not telling you.”
He grinned, gave me a second more to calm down, and then sucked my dick again until I started to writhe once more. Again he stopped once more, standing up and letting my dick go.
“I haven’t heard any names, rebel scum. Give me some names!”
He teased me! He dragged it out for ages that afternoon, and when he finally let me spunk, my desperate cries were pretty genuine.
Later, when I took my turn, I wouldn’t let Howie come up for at least as long as he made me wait. It was an exquisite torture technique. At ten, almost eleven, and twelve, Howie and I learned orgasm denial as an interrogation technique.
When my pubic hairs started to come in, Howie gleefully worked those into our “torture” sessions. It’s a wonder I kept any.
Howie turned eleven, and we continued our almost daily play. His balls grew larger and more egg shape. His dick grew larger and thicker. His legs and arms grew longer. His butt firmed into two white, little globes.
I enjoyed fondling him when he was tied up. I enjoyed running my hands and eyes over his slender limbs, flat belly, and growing equipment. I was growing into adolescence and an addiction to sex with Howie, and with his body.
He grew as addicted as me, especially once he started spunking; and he seemed to enjoy running his hands over my body as much as I enjoyed running mine over his. We both enjoyed having it done.
I turned thirteen and then he turned twelve. His first pubic hairs came in. Our play became more overtly sexual. And yet, because it was play, it kept the impact of our developing sexuality somewhat at a distance. Often, when one of us was tied up, the other would climb on top of him on the table and rub cocks while watching the other one’s face as if for the results of his torturing; but really, to watch the effects of his rubbing.
And then, one day while I was strapped down on my back, and Howie was on top of me, rubbing his dick alongside mine, up on his hands like he was doing a push-up off me, he gazed down into my eyes with a weird look.
“I can see that I’ll have to use a particularly strong torture on you, Mr. Holmes,” he said. He lowered his face closer to mine. “I’ll use the kiss of ecstasy.”
When my eyes went wide, Howie grinned and puckered his lips. He lowered his mouth toward mine and I thrashed my head right and left, trying to keep my lips away from his.
“No, Professor Moriarity!” I cried out. “Not that!”
Giggling, Howie caught my face between his forearms and lowered his mouth to mine while I squirmed under him. And then I quit squirming as Howie’s lips softly pressed mine.
Slowly, he ground his dick down against mine and probed at my lips with his tongue, while holding my head. I opened my mouth and his tongue probed inside; tentatively at first, then more assertively.
He licked all over inside my mouth, and, in only moments, I spunked, big time, up between our bellies.
“Damn your kiss of ecstacy,” I murmured when Howie let me catch my breath. “A Dastardly torture Moriarity! You’ll pay for this!”
He was the first to suck nipples; mine. It was pretty effective ‘torture’ and I sucked his in return.
One day, after stripping to our underwear, Howie ordered me onto the table… on my stomach.
“You know the punishment for disobeying your captain’s orders, Mr. Christian,” he said, tying my hands to two table legs. “Lashes, Mr. Christian. A hundred lashes.”
He tugged at the back of my underwear, pulling my briefs down over my butt and then down off my legs. I’d gotten to where I liked him stripping off my briefs as much as I liked stripping off his.
Howie spread my legs and tied them. I felt his hands caress my bottom. He pulled apart my butt cheeks. He rubbed his fingers down between the backs of my legs, beneath my balls; rubbing my perineum. I moaned and squirmed. He popped my butt with his hand, and then drew his fingers down the back of my thighs.
“You will regret your insubordination, Mr. Christian,” he said, climbing atop the table and kneeling between my spread legs. Falling forward onto his hands on the backs of my shoulders, he laid the length of his boner between my butt cheeks. Howie thrust his hips, and his dick slid up between my buns and then back.
“Take that!” he said, and then did it again.
The underside of his shaft rubbed my anus, and felt good, as did his balls draped on my perineum.
He lay down onto me, grabbing on under the fronts of my shoulders. His mouth was behind my ear and I could hear his breathing.
“A hundred lashes at least, Mr. Christian,” he murmured and pumped his dick between my buns.
Somewhere, I’d heard of ‘hot dogging’; a wiener between two buns. I hadn’t imagined it would feel this good, but the weight and feel of Howie’s naked body on top of mine, skin on skin, was good; real good. I rubbed my erection on the table and moved my butt with him. I made a mental note to stuff a cushion between his dick and the table when I did this to him.
“Stop!” he said when my hips began to move more emphatically, I paused, clenching his dick between my butt cheeks. “Enough lashes,” he said.
Howie sat up on my butt. “Let that be a lesson to you,” he said.
I wiggled my hips.
“Halt!” he called out. “Do you want another hundred lashes?”
He crawled off me and began untying my hands and legs. “I see that you will require more discipline, Mr. Christian. It’s time to strap you to the deck,” he said. “Roll over.”
I rolled over, and he retied me, on my back. Then he climbed on top of me, straddling the tops of my legs so that his dick pointed up my belly along with mine.
“I can see, Mr. Christian,” he said with mock, English gravity – sounding a lot like Winston Churchill, “that I will have to take my time with you. A long time.” He closed his hand around our two erections.
We both came before Howie was done with me that day, and so it wasn’t until the next time we ‘played’ that I had a turn tying Howie to the table, face down. I tied his hands, and then felt over his back with my fingers.
“Lawrence of Arabia, is it?” I asked, slipping my fingers into the back of his briefs. “Stupid Englishman. You will regret falling into Turkish hands.”
I came around to the foot of the table and tugged down his briefs to reveal the smooth, white skin of his twin globes. His skin was soft. I bent over him to rub my cheek against it, and when I did, I got a whiff of the scent from between his legs and from his bottom. My cock hardened to steel. I pulled apart his butt cheeks and could see his pink pucker.
After stuffing an old pillow under his middle, I spread Howie’s legs, tying them. The pillow raised his butt up in the air. As I stood at the foot of the table, stroking myself and looking over Howie’s twelve-year-old body, strapped down, butt up, my mouth grew dry and my breath grew shallow.
I ran my fingers over it and down along the tender skin inside his thighs. His relaxed scrotum rested between his legs on the pillow like a puddle of balls. I could see their shapes. I could also see the thick root of his boner from down in his perineum. He was really hard and the skin there looked thick and tight.
Using the heels of my hands, I parted his butt cheeks, stretching his opening. Holding his buns apart with one hand, I pressed a finger to his pucker. It was tight.
I pressed my finger, wanting to feel inside, but his opening didn’t give.
“Wet it,” Howie suggested. “Wet your finger like you wet an air needle when you inflate a basketball.”
So I did. I slobbered up my finger really well, and pressed again. This time, my finger slipped in, and I watched fascinated as the length of my finger disappeared inside.
I hadn’t expected the muscles at his opening to be as thick as they were. I didn’t know there was an inner sphincter and an outer sphincter. The thick ring of muscle held the base of my finger snugly. Farther in, he was looser and moist and soft. I felt around.
“Oh,” he murmured, as my finger ran across a small bump. I touched it again, lightly, and his sphincter clenched around my finger.
I looked at my finger, buried to the knuckle, and then down at my dick.
We certainly knew about cornholing, but hadn’t really talked about it. I’d pretty much always let Howie lead in our play because he knew that I was game for anything and I didn’t have to worry about me trying to introduce something that Howie wouldn’t be into. Until now.
But I wasn’t sure I had enough spit for my whole dick. Then I thought of oiling it up, but maybe using cooking oil, not machine or motor oil.
“Are you really prepared for what awaits you if you resist, Lawrence?” I asked in my best foreign accent.
“I can handle anything you can dish out, Colonel!” he said, his voice sounding strained.
I withdrew my finger and patted his bottom. “I’ll return in a minute,” I told him. “And we shall see.”
I ran upstairs and into the kitchen, looking for cooking oil. That’s when I saw the shortening, and I realized I could grease my dick up real good with that; and greasing with shortening might be better than oiling my dick with oil. I grabbed the can of Crisco and ran back downstairs.
First, I tested it on my finger, and sure enough, my finger went in really easily. I scooped out a glob of shortening and spread it all over my cock. Wiping my hand off on one of the old rags we kept down there, I climbed up onto the table, kneeling between the backs of Howie’s legs.
“Are you ready, Lawrence?” I asked.
Howie nodded. “Just remember, Colonel, that someday, you may fall into my hands, and whatever you do to me could happen to you.”
I laughed diabolically. “I think not, Lawrence! We Turks have larger tools of torture.”
“Ha!” he replied. “Not much larger, and I bet I know how to use my ‘tool’ to advantage.”
“We shall see, foolish Englishman,” I said
Falling forward over Howie, I held myself up on one hand while I used my other hand to aim my boner down between his butt cheeks. I probed and found his pucker, and then pushed.
The thick ring of his sphincter slid over my crown and closed around my shaft behind the head. We both gasped.
Slowly, I eased it in. Whenever he tensed, I stopped until he relaxed again. Finally, holding myself up on both hands, I watched my belly flatten against his bottom. I could feel inside him with my dick; it was all warm and soft. I pulled my hips back until I could see my shaft sliding out and then slid it back in. His tightness slid up and down my shaft.
I lay down onto him, his butt fitting under my lap perfectly. I grabbed the backs of his shoulders and whispered behind his ear. “We will take our time, Englishman. You will remember this.”
We did take a long time, though not as long as I might have wanted it to last. I remember savoring every sensation, every feel. I suppose that it was, technically, my first ‘fuck’, and I guess everyone remembers that sort of thing in vivid detail.
Eventually, the sensations simply became too strong, and I banged away until I came inside Howie. He came, too, under me, with all sorts of gasps and shudders.
“I spunked!” he exclaimed breathlessly. “My first spunk!”
We’d been playing our games for over two years, and I was fourteen when Howie’s parents divorced and he moved away with his mother. Eventually, I lost touch with him.
We thought we were the only boys who knew of such wonderful games, and we enjoyed every minute of our play. I suppose if he hadn’t moved away, Howie and I were such good friends that we could eventually have become genuine lovers.
Perhaps we were.
Thanks for the encouraging emails, guys (though I didn't get so many after the last story :( ). As you know, reader emails are the only pay we Nifty writers receive. My email address is email@example.com.
And, because several of you guys have asked, here's information on some of my other stories here at Nifty...
All of my stories are listed under Jack Edwards on Nifty's prolific authors page. The ones I'd recommend would be
Sex Olympics Boys who decide to hold their own Olympics. It turned out to be pretty popular.
High School (mostly Junior High summer)
Boy Play I'll warn you that this one begins with a very young character for a couple of chapters, but that's to set things up (and, I've heard from several guys over the years who started with other boys that young). Most of the story develops over a summer when the boys are junior high and early high school ages. This story definitely had a following.
Waisen A story of an American and a Brit and war orphans in post war Germany. I received a number of emails from guys who thought it a true story. Everyone who wrote, seemed to like it very much.
Gator I've only posted part one so far, but it has been well-received.
I've also written more romantic, and more polished stories under a second pen name of Josh Maxwell. All of those stories are also listed (under Josh Btomandback) on Nifty's prolific authors page. I'll mention a couple you might like...
The Least of These A love story between 'special' boys, one of the first I wrote, set in San Antonio, Texas.
Sealing Our Fate An idyllic love story, set mostly at South Padre Island.
High School to College
Sea Change My longest story, a love story set in south Texas with some Hill Country bicycling.
Jeet Another long story, a departure for me, along more 'epic' type lines; young boys and powerful influences in Hellenistic Persia.
High School with a Twist
Masquerade A love story with a surprise ending.
And, since it's
so close to Halloween, an early one that I wrote to be scary,
The Touch Short, meant to be fun.
Please do let me know if you read any of these and enjoy them. And thank you for reading Book Worms!