Date: Tue, 14 Jan 1997 09:21:30 -0800 From: tantalus Organization: http://www.mailmasher.com pseudonymous service Comments: Please report abuse to abuse@mailmasher.com Subject: STORY: That First Summer (b/b) THAT FIRST SUMMER My cousin Tom had this book with real dirty pictures in it. He used to like to show it to me and then tease me by taking it away just as I was getting interested in the pictures. I was twelve and he was about fourteen, just enough older so he could think he was supposed to be the boss all the time. One day he showed me this picture of a girl kneeling down in front of this guy and you could see his big hard dick disappearing into her mouth. That really was an exciting picture. I wondered what it would feel like to have someone do that to you. After I saw that picture it was like I couldn't get it out of my mind. I'd be daydreaming about something else and it would pop into my mind. That picture became my number one fantasy thing for jerking off, too. I jerked off a lot when I was twelve, just like everybody else I guess. I would estimate that that picture got me off about a million times. I even tried to borrow it from my cousin, but he wouldn't let me. So I had to rely on my memory. I just couldn't get it out of my head, wondering what it would feel like to have someone actually take your hard prick into their warm, wet mouth and suck and bite on it until you came. God, but that was exciting. And then one day Tom let me look at the picture for a while and after a few minutes he came over and sat down next to me on his bed and asked me if I knew that anyone could do that to a guy, that it didn't have to be a girl. I honestly can't remember whether that surprised me or not. I don't think it did, since I hadn't really spent too much time thinking about the girl part of the picture, just the sucking part-- the mouth part. Tom: I bet that feels real good, don't you think? Me: You bet! Tom: I wish there was some way we could find out what it feels like. Me: Yeah, that would really be great. Tom: You know, I read somewhere that a guy can do it to another guy. Me: Yeah, no kidding? Tom: Yeah, and it's supposed to be even better than when a girl does it because another guy really knows how to make you feel good, you know? Me: Yeah? That's pretty weird. Tom: No it ain't! Listen, what's wrong with it if nobody finds out? It don't hurt nothing. Me: I guess not. Tom: Listen,... if you do that for me I'll do anything you want. Me: What? You mean...? Tom: Yeah, c'mon, what do you say? Will you? C'mon, you'll like it I bet! Me: I don't know, we could get in a lot of trouble. I don't know. Tom: Oh don't be a pussy! Let's do it. It took him a while, but he finally persuaded me to at least look at it. He stripped out of his clothes and I checked him out. His dick was about half hard. I touched it with a finger or two and it felt warm and a litle moist. It moved when I touched it and I thought it got a little harder. Me: OK, maybe, but only if you do it for me, too. Promise? If I do for you, you have to do it for me. Promise? Tom: Sure, sure, anything, like I said. I made him wash his cock in the bathroom and even insisted on watching while he did it. It got real hard when he put the warm soapy water on it and I could feel myself stiffening up pretty fast, too, just watching what he was doing because I knew so well what soapy hands felt like from my own shower and bathtub experiments. Then we went back into his bedroom and he lay back on his bed and told me to get between his legs. I was pretty scared, but once we got started it was all right. It only took about ten seconds that first time anyway. He yelled, too. It scared the hell out of me, also the stuff squirting up into my mouth. I still to this day don't know why I continued sucking and pulling with my mouth when that happened. I wonder why I didn't just pull off it, but I didn't. I stayed right there on it until he told me to stop, that it was hurting him almost. I swallowed his warm salty come, and that still amazes me to this day. We were alone in the house that day, his mother having gone shopping and his sister was over at her friend's house. Then it was my turn and he didn't want to make good on his promise. But when I told him I would never do it again and might even tell his mother what he had made me do he agreed. I only had on a pair of cut off jeans so I stripped in about two seconds! I took longer than he did, maybe because I was so excited. It was the greatest feeling I had ever had in my life. The pleasure was so intense that for a few seconds I wondered if it was possible to die from it. Finally I came, but didn't squirt anything because I hadn't started ejaculating yet. I was dripping wet with sweat. We both were. It was a scorching hot day and the bedspread was soaked from our sweating. He was hard again, his cock sticking up between his legs as he squatted between my wide spread thighs and looked down at me there, panting and gasping for breath and as wet as a fish. We ran into the bathroom giggling and yelling to dry off and I got the bar of soap and ran the water until it was hot and got my hands real soapy and then jerked him off as he sat on the side of the bathtub with his legs spread. He took longer this time and when he finally came I saw a small jet of milky white juice squirt out the tip of his cock and fall back onto my fist. We dried off and got dressed. We were getting scared now that we might get caught. I went home and got real nervous that we might really catch it, and then after a while I went into my room and lay on my bed and slowly jerked off thinking about what we had done. It had been such a great feeling, I knew that I would want to do it again, and again, and again. The desire was winning out over the fear. * * * Two days later we did it again. This time he took longer, and I took less time. But this time we did it too each other more than once, he got it three times and I got it twice. And afterwards we took a shower together in the basement stall and I tossed him off again with soapy hands, this time with him standing up against the side of the stall. I was getting to really like this scarey new game. Looking back, I know that I liked the power I had over him when my hands were around his hard-on or tickling his balls. I liked the sounds he made when I worked my hands up and down on his shaft and I loved the all-over rock-hard tightness of his body when he came. I knew that I had discovered something very important and very powerful. * * * Another chapter of our adventures opened when Tom's cousin Michael (no relation to me) came to spend a week that summer. Mike was a year younger than I was, small, dark complectioned, with long hair down to his shoulders. Mike introduced us to a whole new set of games. The night after he arrived I went over to visit. We were alone in the house. When I walked into Tom's room they both jumped me, Tom pinning my arms behind me and Mike standing in front. Mike: Alright, prisoner, tell us where the treasure is! Me: What? What are you talking about? Let me go, right now! Tom: Hold still, dammit! Mike: Talk , prisoner, or you'll regret it! Me: Let me go! Tom: Strip him! Mike undoes the snap of my cut-offs and they slip down to my ankles. I am really getting mad, and a little scared, too. He slips his hand under the waistband of my jockeys and then grins at me. Mike: Sure you don't want to talk? And then he yanks my underpants down and off and I'm naked. They drag me over to Tom's bed and Tom throws me down on the bed. Mike: Put the prisoner on the rack! Prepare him for the interrogation! Tom flips me over on my back and sits on my stomach while he holds my arms down over my head. Mike pulls them out to the bedposts and ties my wrists to the posts with nylon rope, then they spread my legs and tie them too. I am stark naked on my back with my arms and legs spread out and tied to the bedposts. Tom leaves the room and Mike sits on the bed and slowly runs his hand across my chest and down my belly and then along my leg to the knee. Mike: Tom told me all about the games you guys like to play. I know some games, too. We're gonna torture you now. I'm gonna show Tom how to do it. Me: Torture me? Why? What did I do? C'mon let me go, Mike, please! Mike: No! You're our prisoner now and we're gonna torture you any way we want for as long as we want! Then when we're finished torturing you we're gonna sell you as a slave or something! Tom came back in the room with a tray full of stuff from the bathroom and the kitchen. Tom: Let the tortures begin! Me: C'mon, Tom, please let me up. Untie me now and I won't tell on you guys! Please? Tom: Oh, no! Not til we're finished with you, prisoner! Mike knows a lot of neat stuff. We're gonna work you over good! Mike: Are you ready to talk now, prisoner? Me: I don't know what you want! Mike: That's too bad. I guess we'll have to persuade you! * * * During that week Mike taught us many new games, and the lessons began on that afternoon. They kept me on the bed for over two hours that first time. My fear of what they were going to do to me slowly turned to other powerful feelings over that two hour period. I learned new pleasures while I was stretched helpless on Tom's bed-- they insisted on calling it a rack-- and I learned a new meaning for the word torture, too. That afternoon they really did torture me, but with the most intense pleasures I had ever felt. That afternoon I learned the gut-deep ecstasy of being Mike's helpless, bound prisoner and I would have willingly agreed to be his slave forever at the end of that first sweaty session on my cousin's bed. Mike took me the next step along the journey. He had shown me things about my body and my feelings that I had only suspected up until then, and when he finally untied my wrists and ankles that day I would have followed him anywhere and he knew it. * * * It was that summer, while stretched out tight between the cornerposts of Tom's lumpy bed, the loops of clothesline biting into wrists and ankles, and while sweating profusely in the stifling moist heat of the small back room, that I learned that nothing sexual can even remotely compare to a handjob executed by a cooperatively sadistic partner who knows the longitude and latitude of that thin line between ecstasy and agony. Michael was such a partner. His hands and fingers were the tools of a genius, a prodigy, a wizard. And, perhaps even more important, he loved his work. And because he loved his work, he must have had the longest and most intense attention span of any eleven-year-old who ever lived. He had an uncanny talent for knowing when I was about to come and being able to back off just in time to keep me from spoiling the session by escaping from him too soon. He would stop and wait just long enough for the boiling lust to subside in me and then he would begin again, slowly building the tension up to the point where I would once again be on the verge of orgasm and then he would again back me off and wait to begin again. Thus, stretched helpless on the sweaty rack of delectable agony and torturous delight, he would keep me in a state of aching tumescence for what seemed like hours. He was an artist. He knew every zone and region of my penis, every response of my groin to his range of movements, his repertoire of tweaks, tickles, jerks, pulls, twists, and pinches. He knew the meaning of every one of my facial expressions, every tightening of my belly muscles, every flex of restrained arm or thigh, every heave or expansion of sweaty chest. He could read my restrained body like a book that he had memorized page for page, and he could turn that knowledge into a fierce burning pleasure that went on and one until it transformed itself into an almost unendurable torture. But because he knew so well the limits of my body, he made sure that I had no choice but to endure and endure and endure. In many ways my sex life has been downhill since the summer of my twelfth year!