sarumansauron - Mark (M/M)

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sarumansauron - Mark (M/M)

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Captured May 01, 2015 ... 57&t=18145

By sarumansauron

Sun Sep 16, 2012 2:59 pm

Chapter 1

Mark is eighteen, but I have known him since he was five. Since we live right next to each other we are good friends, despite the fact that I am thirty years older than he is. He is a great kid: smart, polite, good sense of humor. He is also a handsome fellow. He was always a little small for his age, but had a nice tight, compact, athlete's body and was good at sports.

About a month ago Mark dropped in for a visit as he often does. I had some friends over and we were playing cards in the kitchen. I had taught Mark to play poker when he was seven so I invited him to sit in on a hand or two. It was penny ante, but he didn't have much cash on him and was soon busted. The evening wore on and my pals departed one by one and soon Mark and I were alone.

We talked about this and that, problems he had, things he wanted to do with the money he was making at his new part-time job at the supermarket, getting ready for college, stuff like that. We had been having impromptu one-on-ones like this since he was ten years old. I was about to put the cards and other stuff away when he grabbed them and said "One more hand! OK?"

"What for?" I asked. "You don't have any money left, Mr. Las Vegas?"

"No sweat," he said. "We'll play for a dare! C'mon. It'll be fun!"

So I agreed.

Five card draw. He opened for one dare and I called. He drew three and I drew two to my three fours. He bet the dare and I called. He had two pair and I had drawn another four. Loser! I enjoyed taunting him and he took it like he always did my teasing--with a smile and shrug.

Pay-up time. I had known since he was about six that he was ticklish as hell, so I told him his dare was to submit to twenty minutes of unrestricted tickling. He balked, but I could tell he didn't want to go back on his bet, honest kid that he is. We bantered back and forth for a few minutes and then he suddenly looked at his watch and said "Oh my god, I gotta get home! My folks will kill me-- it's three AM, man! Oh, shit!" So he left with me ragging him about how he owed me, bigtime! Both of us were feeling pretty good and I certainly didn't hold anything against him for his last-minute chickening out. But I sure did regret that I hadn't had the chance to tickle him.

I didn't think any more about it until the next weekend. I was on my third cup of coffee when Mark comes in the back door, right into the kitchen where I was sitting. He's been letting himself into my place for years, so no big deal.

I could tell he had something on his mind, and it turned out to be our bet. He wanted to pay up as his conscience was bothering him, but he wanted to know if we could change the bet to something like washing my dishes or maybe mowing the lawn. Anything but tickling. Oh, no! I wasn't going to let him off that easy. Twenty minutes of tickling, or he was a welcher. He agreed, but I could tell he was pretty nervous about it.

I took him by his nice firm biceps and steered him playfully down the hall into my bedroom.

"Take off everything but your underpants," I told him. He didn't like that idea, but when I said he could pay up or chicken out he did it. I made him lay down face up on my double bed and then went around from corner to corner and tied his wrists and ankles to the corner posts with old neckties. I gotta say it: he was one pretty picture all spread out there on my bed in nothing but a pair of boxers woith hearts all over them. I teased him about the undies, and he smiled and shrugged as he always did.

I told him I was gonna torture him until he was nothing but a pool of sweat, and the first few delicate swipes at his restrained feet really got him going. He was crazy ticklish on his feet and I knew it. I also knew he was very sensitive on his ribs and tummy. Within five minutes I had him begging and wiggling and a few tears rolling down his cheeks. In ten minutes a sheen of sweat had formed across his trim, nicely tanned chest and belly. By fifteen minutes he was begging and pleading with me to end the torture.

"Please, please! I'll do anything, man! Anything! Just no more! No more torture, man! I can't take it!"

I told him he could take it and would take it and continued, but a little more restrained now that he was so strung out. And I noticed something, too. Poking out of his baggy boxers was a very nice, very firm, circumsized six-incher. He had to know it was there, of course, but didn't let on and neither did I. The twenty minutes was up and I reluctantly stopped tickling him and untied him. He tucked himself in, a little shamefaced I thought, and got dressed. I joshed him a little asbout his begging and pleading, as he expected I would, and he took it well. We talked for a while and then he went home. I was left to reflect on an extraordinary evening.

Chapter 2

My first tickle session with Mark had been a "heavy" event for me. Except for a few times as a kid, mostly in camp, it was the first time I had actually tied someone up and tickle-tortured them in a concerted fashion. Despite the fact that this was a long-standing fantasy of mine. That it was Mark, a kid I had known for a long time and really had affection for made it both more special and also a little scarey. His erection really complicated things, too.

For a long time I had been reading stories and accounts (some here) about orgasm denial and the subject fascinated me. But I had never really thought I would get a chance to actually try it on someone. Now there semed to be a teeny-weeny chance of that fantasy coming true. The problem was that I still subconsciously thought of Mark as a "kid," even though he was 18 and off to college in a short time. He was still that little boy who popped in for a visit (and a sandwich, coke, chips, whatever!) whenever he wanted. That 13-year-old who went around all summer in nothing but shorts and flip-flops. I could admit to myself that I had found him very attractive at that age, but I couldn't quite get myself used to thinking of him as an adult now in the eyes of society and the law. My sense of caring and the responsibility I had always felt for him had made any thought of a "relationship" absolutely and completely impossible. But now... Well, I was pretty confused.

I guess I shouldn't have made it so friggin complicated. As it turned out it was Mark himself who sorted things out for us both.

A week after his ordeal he came over again and as we sat in my kitchen drinking iced tea he began to turn the conversation to his ordeal. He admitted that he had had fun. But he said he regretted being so weak and "begging like a little kid" for me to stop. I said that there was always a chance for redemption if he wanted to try again. He came off as very reluctant to let me at him again, but I could tell that he really wanted to and was just working out how to do it. "OK," I said, "Here's the deal. You get a chance to show how tough you are. I get to tie you down again and do you for half an hour. If you can keep from begging me to stop in that time then you win." He wanted to know what he would win and I didn't know what to say. He supplied the answer: "If I win, then it's MY turn and I get to tie you up and do it to YOU!" While I found both the idea and the new-found reality of tickling someone to be great fun, the idea of being the one tickled was not quite so appealing to me. But fair is fair (said Mark, several times-- "C'mon, you're scared, aren't you!?") and so I agreed. Besides, I thought, he will NEVER be able to hold out against the flashing fingers of fiendish torment!

We went into my bedroom and he started to strip down. When he was down to his boxers (no hearts this time), I suddenly and impulsively took the bit in my teeth and charged ahead.

"Lose the shorts," I said, and immediately felt a tingle of fear in my chest.

"Why?" he said.

"Because this is the big test. Anything goes."

"What's anything?" he asked with a little twist of his head to one side. At least he hadn't bolted out the door and was even smiling that devilish little half-grin of his.

"Whatever I want to do," I said. "Within reason, of course. That way you really get to see how tough you are. So get 'em off."

"OK," he said, "but no red hot irons, promise?"

"Oh, do I have to--well, OK then, I promise" and we both laughed a little nervously.

And then he did it! I almost couldn't believe it. He actually did it! He slipped his thumbs into the waistband of his Hilfigers and slipped them right down and off without even turning away from me. I pretended indifference in the traditional just-us-guys mode and told him to get up on the bed and spread out. Once again I tied his wrists to the headboard with the old ties, pulled him down by his legs and tied his ankles all spread out to the footboard. Mark was now ready for his torture, and believe me I was ready to torture him!

Mark is a trim, toned guy. I would guess him at about 5-6 or 7 (I already said he was a little small for his age, always had been), about 120 or 125 pounds, but I'm not too good at guessing weight. Just like when he was younger he seemed allergic in the summer time to anything but shorts and sandals or low-quarters, so between the pool and the basketball net in his driveway he was nicely dark from the sun. Well defined. Nice chest. A great little sixpack. Except for leg fuzz, which didn't reach above the knees, and some soft, light-brown hair in his armpits and at his groin, he was still a pretty smooth guy. Nothing between my fiendish fingers and his most tender spots!

After setting the clock on the bedside table at 12-straight-up so we could keep track of the time, I started on his ribs. Light, brushing, strumming strokes along his sides with a few little digs thrown in. He gritted his teeth and tried not to make a sound.

"You're gonna lose," I teased him. "You're gonna start begging and you're gonna lose, Mark. You can't take the torture for a whole half hour!"

"Unnnnnh!" he almost choked he was holding himself so tightly. "! I can! You can't make me give up! I won't beg! Never!" I was working both hands up his sides now, with alittle finger twirling in his armpits. He pulled hard against the ropes that held him to the bedframe and bit now on his lower lip. His eyes were tightly closed.

"Oh, you'll beg all right!" I continued to taunt him. "You'll promise me anything just to get me to stop!" I started on his belly now and he tightened his abs against the assault. Light, fluttering strokes, answered by an involuntary trembling and shuddering of his stomach muscles.

"Ahhhhh! No...I...won't! You...can'!" Oh, this was such fun!

Chapter 3

By the time we had used up ten minutes I had worked my way down to Mark's lower belly and was having fun watching his hard, flat tummy tremble and shake from my light tickling probes. When I would hit a really good spot he would tense up, pulling hard against all four of his bindings and making the muscles of his legs, arms, chest, belly go rock hard. Sometimes even lifting his butt right off the bed as if to get away from my fingers and the agony they were causing him. He was making noise all along, too, but so far no begging. Just a lot of "Unnnnh!" "Arrrrr!" and "Nggggggg!" sounds. Pretty standard tickle-victim stuff, I guess, from what I read here and elsewhere. All this time I kept up a steady verbal teasing and taunting.

"Give it up, man. You can't take this! A little kid like you? A wuss? Give up will you? You think you've been tortured up to now? Just wait! You'll be begging me to stop pretty soon now!" That sort of stuff. Strangely, Mark didn't seem to mind the teasing all that much. I got the strongest, feeling that we were both having a lot of fun--maybe him as much as me.

I worked on his thighs and bit and found he was very ticklish high up on the inside of both legs and just about went ballistic when I worked behind his knees. I also noticed that his penis seemed a bit plumper than it had been when he skinned out of his boxers. I guess you could say it was "primed," but hadn't committed itself yet. He was also sweating. I don't like to use the air conditioning in my house unless it's really unbareably hot, preferring instead to open windows, so the bedroom was a little warm. But what's a good torture session without some honest sweat anyway!

I went to work on his upper thighs and was delighted to discover that the "trough" where his legs meet his lower abdomen was amazingly sensitive. He would bridge right up off the bed when I would drag the point of my thumb slowly down each of them.

"Auuu-gh-gh-gh! No-o-o-o-o, don't! Pl-e-e-e-ase!"

"Please what? Please stop? Is that what you want to say, please stop?" He must have realized how close he was getting to losing his test of toughness.

"No-o-o-o-o! I don't ...mean that!"

"Then you want me to go on? Is that what you want?" He was trapped and he knew it.

"Yeah, go on. I guess!"

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure! Go on! I can take it, man!" But a fingernail drawn down the middle of his left sole brought him up off the bed again and drew from him a wail like a wounded banshee.

"Oh, god, ohgodohgodohgod! Please! Nonononononononooooo!"

"You give up then? Beg me to stop?" He took a while to answer and I waited.

"No! I won't beg!" he finally said. He was sweating pretty good by now. I wanted to rub it in a little more.

"Then if you don't want me to stop, you must want something else. Tell me what it is or I'll know you're a wimp!" In a few seconds he took a deep breath and answered me. I relished the bind I had put him in. This was really fun!

"OK. OK. I want you to...go on."

"Go on what?" Another pause.

"Go on...torturing me! Just do it, OK!" And of course I did. And after two or three more slow strokes on his feet I noticed something very interesting. His penis was no longer hanging plumply over his balls, but was now pointing up toward his head and was 99 and 99/100s hard-on! I moved up away from his feet and sat on the bed near his hips.

"Mark," I said, very quietly, "you've got a boner." He raised his head, as if he hadn't noticed until now.

"Uh, sorry!" he muttered. "I couldn't help it. Sorry." He seemed really embarrassed, but his embarrassment didn't seem to have any effect on his erection, which was now bouncing above his stomach and seemed to be flexing and bouncing with each beat of his heart. I felt my own heart in my throat, also pounding wildly. I felt like a complete wuss, but I had to say it.

"Mark, if you want I'll untie you now. We'll call it a draw. No loss, no win. Just say the word." He seemed to think for a moment before he answered.

"No," he said. "I want to go on! I wanna win, damnit!"

"Well, OK," I said, plunging right into it, "if you wanna win so bad, you might as well win big. There's something else, another torture, we could try." I nodded down at his hard-on. "You game?"

"I dunno," he said. "What is it?"

"It's called cum control, or orgasm denial. You know what that means?"

"I... I'm not sure."

"It would mean that I would...touch you...there, stroke you without letting you shoot until you can't take it anymore and give up so that I'll let you come." I nodded at it again. "But I won't do that without your permission. You have to want to do this. What do you say? I'll untie you if you want, or we can keep going with tickling only. It's your call." He thought for a second or two.

"You wouldn't tell anybody?"

"Are you kidding? This would HAVE to be our secret, pal. Big-time secret, you know what I mean?"

"OK, then. If it's just between us. Go ahead." He let his head drop back onto the bed. My heart was now in my throat just behind my tongue, pounding like a jackhammer on steroids.

"You sure? You know what this means I'm gonna do to you?"

"Yeah. It's OK. I wanna see what it's like. Do it!"

I reached over and drew three fingers of my left hand lightly and gently up his now tucked balls, barely touching them. He bridged again and gave a strangled little cry deep in his throat. Then I took the base of his dick in the tight circle of my thumb and forefinger and squeezed. His dick felt like it was electrically charged to me. He moaned.

"Ohhhhhh, my goddddddd!"

"You really sure about this?" I asked again, shaking his tool gently from side to side while squeezing it gently but very firmly.

"I can take it! Go on!" he managed to say.

The clock showed that I only had about 18 minutes left. I released his boner and got up to find the KY. I was so excited my hands were shaking.

Chapter 4

I didn't think that 18 minutes was going to be enough time. Even though I didn't have any experience with this sort of thing, I knew from my reading that you needed a nice long time to make this particular "torture" work. But I wanted to try it anyway. In fact, I couldn't WAIT to try it! I found the Ky and went back to the bed, this time climbing up on it so that I was squatting between his wide-spread legs with my knees touching his thighs. The position was very uncomfortable for me, but I had other things on my mind now.

I squeezed out a big gob of KY into my right hand and let it warm up for a few seconds. Then I reached out and began to smooth some of it onto his boner using my left forefinger only. Gently up and down his hyper-rigid shaft, enjoying the little twitches it was responding with. Then I took his whole shaft in my slippery right hand at the base, squeezed tightly, and slowly drew my hand up until it was just under the glans, hesitated, then drew it up and over the head and then off. He was tense as a board, all of his muscles taut and still and when I drew my hand over his glans he gave a long low moan of either pain or bliss or both.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, jeeeeeeez! Oh, holy......."

Next I turned my hand over and did it again, with my thumb on the bottom of my fist this time. This time I stroked him like that, up and down, very slowly and tightly three times and then removed my fist entirely and waited. In a few seconds he relaxed his flexed body a little and looked up over his sweaty chest and belly and straight at me.

"Oh, man! That felt so good! Awesome! Do that some more, please!"

"Sure. You can have all you want of that. After you give up."

"Aw, c'mon! That's not fair, man! That's...cruel, man! That's torture!"

"Of course, it's torture. That's the idea, you doofus!" I took his slippery cock in my left hand, with no KY on it, and gave him a squeeze and then a very, very slow stroke from bottom to top. The different feel of the lubricant from my sopping right hand was very evident, and I could tell that he felt it, too.

"Give up, Mark. Give up and I'll give you a nice cum. Will you give up?" I knew it was too early for him to give in, but I was enjoying taunting him during the torture and I had the feeling that he liked it, too, because now I could feel his dick flexing a little while I talked to him. I realized with a real rush of pleasure and satisfaction that the whoile situation, as well as my teasing him verbally, was turning him on. What a thrill it was to realize this. It was also an almost undescribable thrill to be in complete charge of his pleasure. To make it so intense for him that it turned into a genuine torment. That wqas very exciting. Suddenly I understand what everybody has been talking about on this board and elsewhere. This is a real trip!

I tried to vary the kind of stroke, its tempo, tightness, length. How many different ways are there to stroke a cock anyway, about a million? I sure wasn't going to have time for that many but I was determined to try as many as I could. After all, I had been thinking about this for a long time. I don;t mean about Mark specifically, but just being able to try this out on someone. I was having a ball, a real blast. (Actually I was having TWO balls and it was Mark that was going to have a blast. Just not right now!)

Fifteen minutes of stroking, squeezing, tickling, twisting, pinching, and fingering had taken us right up to the deadline. There were only a couple of minutes left, although by now Mark was in lallaland and was completely unware of the clock. He had started to babble, too.

"Ohpleezeohpleezeohpleeze! You gotta let me shoot, you gotta, yougottayougottayougotta! Oh, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeze! I gotta! I'm gonna die if I don't!"

"Then beg me! Beg me, Mark! Beg nice and maybe I'll let you get off!"

"OK! OK! OK! Please! Please, I'm beggin you! Don't stop, man! Don't stop anymore! Make me come! Please make me come! I can't take it anymore! I'll do anything, just don't stop! Please! Pleeeeeeze!"

Well, I figured that was a pretty definite victory. Poor kid, I even felt a little sorry for him and, weirdly, a little envious of him, too. So I leaned over and dropped some nice warm saliva onto his straining prick and took him in both hands. Rubbing his balls at the same time I stroked him, I gave him a series of nice hard even strokes and the he tensed up, came up of the bed for the umpteenth time, bridging on his shoulders and heels, and squirted striaght up in the air. It went up about three feet, maybe more, and splattered back down on the bed and his chest. There was a second that went about as high and dropped mostly on his belly, and then a third much lower, and then a series of about four surges that mostly just flowed out onto and over my hands. O, youth! In a few seconds of urgent moaning he just sort of subsided back onto the bed, relaxed his clenched muscles, and gave out a big whoosh of pent-up air.


I cleaned up my hands in the bathroom and went back and untied him, going from corner to corner.

"You OK?" I asked him. He didn't answer right away, off somewhere in his own space no doubt.

"Yeah, great! OK. I'm fine." He was untied by now and sat up on the side of the bed and rubbed his wrists where the ties had cut into him a little. I made a mental note not to do it that way again. That is, if there was going to be another time. "Oh, man! I can't believe that! That was...awesome!" It was easy to see that Mark had the usual overdeveloped vocabulary of his most of his peers.

"You sorry we did that?" I asked him, while bringing him a wet washrag from the bathroom.

"Sorry? Jeez, no! That was so...great! I never, ever, felt anything like that. Where'd you learn how to do that anyway? Oh, man! Wait 'til you feel it!"

"Me? Hey, wait a sec, sport! You LOST, fellow! What's this talk about ME?"

"Hey, don't be a welcher, man! I won!"

"How do you figure that, mister?"

"Hey, well, it's easy! You didn't make me beg to stop. That was the deal, man! I was begging you NOT to stop! You lost, man! Now you gotta pay up!"

It didn't seem right, but yet it did make a kind of twisted sense. Technicality. But what was fair? Was turnabout fairplay like the saying says? What should I do? Part of me wanted...and part of me was scared to death. What to do, what to do? Well, at least I had some time to think about it, since we weren't going to do anything right then. We had had enough for one day. And frankly I was hoping he might go off home pretty soon so I could...take care of some personal business. I guess it's OK to admit that, isn't it?


Captured May 01, 2015 ... 57&t=18145

By sarumansauron

Sun Sep 16, 2012 2:59 pm