Date: Fri, 21 Jul 2000 21:43:13 -0400 From: Reiter Mann Subject: "A Game of Persuasion" Part 3 (T/b bond cons) A GAME OF PERSUASION- PART THREE A Youthful Memoir by Reiter Mann Rule #1. No boy of 12 is capable of knowing what he wants sexually, nor is he is capable of any sort of sexual relationship. Rule #2. Any person three or more years older than the victim is guilty of serious sexual abuse. This is particularly true if the abuser is also in a position of authority of some sort over the victim. Rule #3. The use of restraints of any sort (rope, handcuffs, etc.) invariably indicates a seriously abusive situation. Additionally, abusers who employ such restraints are severely unbalanced and are also probably psycho-socially dangerous. Well, three strikes and you're out. In baseball at least. Here's how the news article of my first experience with Charles would probably have looked if we had been discovered by a "responsible person of authority." "Local Boy Scout Bound, Abused, Sexually Assaulted. A local boy, 12, was lured to the house of another older local juvenile recently where he was made to disrobe and then bound with ropes and repeatedly sexually asaulted and abused. The boy is under psychiatric care while the investigation continues." Scarey, but still rubbish. From a certain point of view it's all true, I guess, but it certainly bore no resemblance whatsoever to what had actually happened between us that first time. Yes, I was "lured" to his house; yes, I was "made to disrobe"; yes, I was "bound with ropes"; yes, I was "repeatedly sexually assaulted." Oh, but did I ever love every minute of my sinister ordeal! My own experiences have caused me to take such published accounts with a very large chunk of salt. I know there are genuine monsters out there, preying on the weak and the defenceless, but Charles certainly wasn't one of them, and I certainly wasn't in need of any "psychiatric care." What I was "in need of" was more time with Charles. I could hardly wait for our sleep-over, and imagined all sorts of things that we might do. Just thinking about Charles' hands and mouth on me made me instantly hard and the night after that first day I must have masturbated at least three times before finally going to sleep. I began to think of the ways I might get Charles to play the interrogation game that Jimmy and I had become so fond of. Finally I decided that the best way would be to simply explain it to him and ask him if we could play it. The thought of being Charles' "prisoner" and having him invent ways to make me talk was very exciting to me. Charles was very lucky--perhaps even spoiled--in that his parents allowed him a great deal of freedom. They were also, he told me, very respectful of his privacy and the sanctity of his room. What a good thing that was, considering what was happening there! Charles was shy at first, and acted almost as if nothing had happened before. I didn't say anything about it or push the issue, as I figured we had all night. But I did remind him that I had agreed to model for his drawings again. I guess that did the trick because in just a few minutes I had stripped naked and he began to direct me in the poses he wanted to try to draw. There was no mention of the loincloth this time and I was happy to be completely naked in front of him because I hoped it might "move things along" more quickly. By the time he had finished the first sketch I had been unable to control myself and was completely, shamelessly, hard. He tried to ignore it, but I could see his eyes flash across my erection every few seconds and could tell by the way he fidgetted on his chair that it must have been getting to him. When he indicated that he was ready to try another drawing I went over to the bunk beds and assumed a standing spread-eagle against the beds, facing him. I took the bed frame in each hand and pulled myself up onto my toes, my legs very widely spread, and tensed all my muscles especially my legs and belly. My cock bounced and throbbed as it stood straight up along my belly. "You want to tie me up this time?" I suggested. Jimmy always liked this position for our games. I guess it was because it gave him such good access to all parts of my body as he worked me over. I liked it because it felt good, so sexy-- as long as it didn't go on for a very long time and my muscles got to hurting. Charles sat on his chair, drawing pad on his lap, just looking at me. Then, after a fews seconds, he got up and dropped the pad onto his desk. "I've got a better idea," he said. He went over to his closet and pulled out a raggedy blue sleeping bag, opened it up and dropped it onto the floor. "Get down on that," he said, and went out the door to the bathroom next door. I lay down on the sleeping bag on my back, not knowing what was going to happen. When he came back into the room he had an armload of stuff from the bathroom: a towel, a basin, a couple of bottles. He set them on the floor next to the sleeping bag and went back and locked the door to his room. Then he came and squatted down next to me on the floor. I propped myself on an elbow. "I'm going to give you a nice massage," he said. "I read about it in a book and I want to try it." This was fine by me. I had enjoyed very much the feel of Charles' hands on me that first time. Jimmy had good hands, too, but they were different from Charles'. Charles seemed to like to take his time, and I could tell that he liked running his hands over my body. He seemed to enjoy stroking and feeling my muscles, too, and I liked that a lot. I especially liked it when he told me that he thought I had a very good body. That gave me a big tingle inside, and I was hoping to hear something like that again. Boys of that age, twelve or so, are mysterious little bundles. I was pretty shy of my body, but here I was willingly and eagerly baring myself to two different boys. Sex was a new mystery to me, but already I knew that I liked it very much indeed, and wanted as much of it as I could get. I liked to masturbate, and did so frequently, but there was nothing like someone else doing it for you. Nothing! The feel of someone else's hands on me, moving slowly over my bare skin, was just about the best thing I had ever felt. Jimmy was usually, compared to Charles at least, in too much of a hurry and most of his touching had something to do with one or another of his "tortures." I liked those a lot, and that game was still my all-time favorite, but there was something very different about what I was now looking forward to from my new friend Charles. The pan contained hot water and I could see the little wisps of steam rising from it. One of the bottles was the same mineral oil bottle he had used during our first time together. He put the bottle into the hot water, along with the two other smaller bottles. I didn't pay any attention to them. "Lie back," he said. "We'll have to wait a few minutes. Meanwhile..." and he started to run his hands very lightly over my legs and up along my sides to my chest. I lay back on the sleeping bag and put my hands under my head, staring at the ceiling as I enjoyed the light fluttering touches of his hands. He began at my chest and with a kind of rotating motion of both hands, side by side, moved down across my chest to my belly and then across my left thigh and leg down to my foot and then up the upper leg and back up to my chest. My penis was still hard and throbbing, but he never touched it at all. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feel of it: it was wonderful. Charles was paying exclusive and intense attention to me, me alone. Not only attention, but he was touching me. And not only just touching me, but taking his time at it and seeming to really enjoy what he was doing to me. This was heaven! But it was only going to get better. After about ten minutes of this he stoped stroking me and I heard the swish of water as he removed the bottle of oil. I opened my eyes and watched him take off the cap. He held the bottle about a foot over me and let a trickle of the very warm oil fall onto my tensed stomach. He put the bottle down and began to spread the warm oil around with his hands, very slowly, rubbing the oil into my belly and then spreading it higher up to my chest as well. This was so, so much better than when he had put the oil on me for the drawing that first time. This felt so wonderfully good that I never wanted him to stop what he was doing to me. Usually when something feels as good as this did, you're always thinking about how the person doing it is going to stop any minute and it'll be over. But somehow I just knew that Charles wasn't going to stop, that he was going to do this for as long as I wanted. As long as we both wanted. Charles worked on me for a long time. He went from my chest and neck to my shoulders and then down to my belly and thighs, knees, calves and feet. Very slowly he worked the oil into me and then stroked, rubbed, pulled, poked. Several times he added more of the almost hot oil. I raised my head a couple of times to look down over my glistening body. The room was dim now as it was almost dark and the shine of my oiled body seemed very sexy to me. Throughout all this I had not lost my ever-present erection. (Another distinctive aspect of being a twelve-year-old boy!) But Charles had still not so much as brushed against it. I was starting to ache to feel his hands on me there again. "Turn over," he said, and I rolled over on the sleeping bag. For just a second I was woried about the oil I was getting on it. As if he read my mind Charles said "Don't worry, it's an old one" and I relaxed. Again I put my hands under my head and let him work. He did the same for my back as he had done for my front. The feel of the oil and his wonderful hands on the muscles of my upper and lower back was exquisite. "You've got a really great build, you know that?" he said. I felt the pleasurable tingle of his praise through my almost hypnotic trance. He ran his hands up and down that muscular trough in the middle of my back. "You think?" I responded. "Oh, yes" he said. "I have a lot of art books and I...notice...that sort of thing" he said. "You have great muscles and a really great shape, too. That's why you're such a good model for me." He moved now and I felt his weight straddling my butt as he continued to work on my back. I could feel my prick under me surge and throb from the contact. He wore shorts and a tee shirt and was barefoot, and I could feel the warmth of his skin against my legs. After a few minutes he slipped down so that he was holding himself up over the backs of my knees. He reached down and moved my right leg so that it was spread and then the same with my left. Then he settled down on his knees between my spread legs. The new position felt good to me and I closed my eyes. He trickled more oil from the bottle, not quite so hot now, onto my lower back and let the little stream run over and across my buttocks. I could feel some of it flow down into my crack. He began to massage my butt now, and my upper thighs. "Is this OK?" he asked. "I'll stop if you want me to." "No," I said, eyes closed, "Don't stop. I like it." "Sure?" he repeated. "Sure," I said. And he continued the massage of my butt. I clinched my muscles, making my butt cheeks as hard as I could. "Your butt is really hard, too." he said. Despite what we were doing, and despite the highly sexual games that Jimmy and I played, I was a pretty naive kid when it came to sex. It had only recently become clear to me that some of the smutty jokes and sly innuendoes of the guys in the Scout troop were referring to the disgusting practise of one male inserting his rigid penis into the anus of another male. For a brief moment I had a brain-flash that Charles' comment and his concentration on my butt might be leading up to something like that. What would I do? Would I yell for help, get up and run out of the room naked, fight back? What? And then I felt Charles' slippery hand sliding in under my crotch. I instinctively raised my midsection slightly and felt his oily hand gently glide across my tightly tucked sack and then across my aching penis and take it firmly into his fist. He stroked me once and then twice more and then stopped. "Is this OK?" he asked, very quietly. "I'll stop if you don't like it." "No!" I said, too quickly. "Please don't stop! Don't. Please." And he stroked me once more, a deliciously firm long slippery pull from the root to the tip, with a little swirl and squeeze at the tip. I was circumsized, and my glans was large and very sensitve. The slippery twist he had given it had made me shiver and I raised my butt even more to ease his access to me. But he took his hand away and slapped me lightly on the butt with both hands. "If you want," he said, "turn over and I'll do that some more. If you want." Did I want? I wanted that more than anything the world had to offer at that moment. I felt a tremendous rush of...what?--relief? gratitude?--towards Charles, and a great rush of guilt that I had just been fearful that he might be about to take me anally. Perhaps that's why I did what I did. I took my hands from under my head and put them behind my back, crossing my wrists. I could feel the sliperiness of my back on the backs of my hands and my forearms. "Tie me," I said. "Please?" Charles hesitated a moment, I thought he was going to refuse. And then he leaned way over and reached under some stuff near his bed and came back with a length of rope, maybe the same one he had tied me with before. "You sure?" he asked. I turned my head and could see him squatting there betwen my widely splayed legs, the cord in his hands. "Yes," I said. "I want you to. Please." And he leaned forward and began to tie my hands behind my back. This was so exciting that for a moment I thought I was going to squirt, but I didn't. He was finished in about half a minute. Once again, they were good strong knots and I was completely helpless-- just the way I wanted to be. It seemed so right to me. The position I was in, what we doing,-- it was as if being tied would make it all perfect. He turned me over then and with a few contortions I was lying on my back with my legs still widely spread and Charles still squatting between them. I raised my legs off the floor and pointed my toes and lifted my head to see the tense, knotted muscles of my thighs and belly. Charles put his hands on each of my rock-hard thighs and squezed slightly. "Great legs!" he said, as if he were talking to himself, and I felt that thrill in me again. My arms, tied behind me, felt good. I liked to be like this: naked, oiled, tied helplessly, hard, waiting. This was perfection! Even the tension and slight discomfort of my weight on my bound arms felt good to me. "You sure you want this?" he asked. I said nothing, but merely nodded my head. He let go of my legs and I continued to hold them off of the floor for a few seconds as he reached forward and took my penis into his right hand, his left hand fell to my ball sack and began to lightly massage it. A long, very tight, very slow upward stroke on my dick brought an equally long moan of pleasure from me. I closed my eyes, lowered my legs, and gave myself up to what he was doing to me. I had had some wildly pleasurable times with Jimmy, but what Charles was doing to me, for me, was the zenith of my young sex life up to that point. I could not have imagined anything that could have possibly been more sweetly pleasurable than what was happening there on that old sleeping bag on his bedroom floor. He stroked me with variety: hard strokes; light, tickling strokes; twists of my shaft; twists of my glans as if he were unscrewing a bottle; light teasing flicks across my nuts; an oily finger tickling and rubbing back along my perineum (a term I learned much later); putting my dick between both palms and rubbing them back and forth as if rolling dough; holding me upright very tightly and leaning down and blowing on my glans and the slit; rolling a slippery thumb back and forth across my glans; scratching the shaft lightly with his fingernails-- what didn't he do to me? If he had said he wanted to penetrate me while doing all this I would have probably begged him to go ahead and do it. I would have been his willing slave, his absolute property-- all he had to do was ask. Or take. Just take whatever he wanted. I would have done anything he wanted, or let him do anything. For the first few minutes I was much too excited to be able to come. I wanted to come, but I also wanted the pleasure to never stop. I wanted it to go on and on until I died from it. But I also wanted to feel the honied wrenching of the orgasm. When it started to build I stopped breathing, clenched my muscles, and let it happen. Charles must have felt what was happened as he began a steady, strong stroking rhythm of long hard pulls right up to, but not across, my glans. It didn't take long. I came in five or six gut-twisting spasms of pure, white-hot delight. My thin seed sprayed as high as my chin and then squirted lower with each firm pull of Charles' milking fist, across my chest, then belly, and then it was over. He held me still, not moving now, as I began to breath great gulping rushes of air into my starved lungs, my chest heaving with the exertion of life returning to me as if I were arising from death itself. Nothing in my life up to that point had been so intense, so searing. "You OK?" he asked, still holding my dick in his right fist, his left hand resting gently on mytrembling right thigh. "Yeah... OK," was all I could manage to croak out. None of Jimmy's cleverest tortures had ever had such an effect on me as what Charles had done to me. Still to this day, a really fine, expert handjob with my hands tied behind my back is a kind of sexual nirvana for me. But I don't think any have ever lived up to my mnemonic recreations of what Charles did to me. Nevertheless, after all these years I still contend that nothing can compare to an artful and attentive handjob. I hadn't even been aware that he had stood up, but Charles was standing next to the sleeping bag on which I lay. He had his tee shirt off and was slipping his shorts down, then his jockeys. His cock was hard and pointing at the ceiling. He dropped over me in push-up position, holding himself up so that only the head of his dick touched me as he slowly pistoned back and forth. I felt the silky thing moving back and forth over my oil-slick tummy. "Is this OK?" he asked. "You want me to untie you?" "No," I said. "Go on. Do it. Please. It's great!" He moved over me for a few more strokes and then I felt his weight sink down onto me gradually until his prick was mashed between us. I tensed and hardened my stomach muscles and he began to thrust back and forth more and more rapidly across my slippery belly. I looked up into his face and saw that his eyes were closed, head thrown back, mouth slightly opened. He moaned lowly. And then, after perhaps a dozen oil-lubricated strokes, he pushed down even harder and I pushed up into him and he thrust very strongly and then cried out as he came. "Unnnhhhhhhhhhh!" I wanted to, but I could not feel his seed squirting up between us, but I did feel the hardness of his chest against mine as he dropped onto me in the aftermath of his orgasm. Now it was his turn to pant for breath. After a few more moments of recovery he rolled off of me and slipped his jockeys on. Then he helped me to sit up and untied my hands. He did not seem to be going through the post-orgasm guilt and recrimination that he had suffered that first time. He was very quiet, but did not seem troubled. I stood and stretched, feeling wonderful. "Who's first for the shower?" I asked. Ireached down and spread Charles' semen across my very messy and sllick belly and chest. He lay on his back on the sleeping bag, threw his arms over his head and also stretched. "You go first," he said. "I'm just gonna lie here a minute more." I went to get a shower, my body still tingling wonderfully from what we had done together.