From clarkson!ub!news.kei.com!news.oc.com!news.unt.edu!cs.utexas.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!EU.net!news.eunet.fi!anon.penet.fi Fri May 6 00:27:47 1994
Message-ID: <152302Z05051994@anon.penet.fi>
Path: clarkson!ub!news.kei.com!news.oc.com!news.unt.edu!cs.utexas.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!EU.net!news.eunet.fi!anon.penet.fi
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an1993@anon.penet.fi
X-Anonymously-To: alt.sex.stories
Organization: Anonymous contact service
Reply-To: an1993@anon.penet.fi
Date: Thu, 5 May 1994 15:20:35 UTC
Subject: STORY: Bad_Samaritan (Ascii-ized) (by request)
Lines: 249
Here is the story without pix. Censored by technology, sigh.
The Bad Samaritan
by Michael
Nothing happens in Iowa. Ever. Especially not in Butler County where I
grew up. My parents' farm was close to Highway 20 about a half hour drive to
Waverly. For fun, after my parents went to bed, I'd jog down 20 in just a
jockstrap and sunglasses. Some cars and trucks would honk. Others would just
drive blithely by. For the mile and a half stretch where I lived, the police--
all ten of them--seldomed patrolled. That had started as a dare while I was
in high school Soon afterwards, I made way to U of I as a frosh.
I was in the library when I found an illustrated edition of Von Sacher-
Masoch's stories. Women towered over bound, helpless men. I managed to
acquire the book and buried it under my bureau where my snooping brother and
cleaning nut mother wouldn't find it.
<illustration of title page--bound boy, two towering mistresses with whip>
I would pull out the book and read a story and end up jacking off. As I
read about the different stories, I began experimenting. I found that briefs
are a very convenient way to bind hands and feet. If you stick your cock and
balls through the fly (or leg) and give it a few turns, it forms a secure ring.
I ran it under my ass and tightened it and slipped my hands through the leg
opennings. It gave realism to my masturbation. I also toyed with ropes and
other house/farm paraphenalia. My girlfriend at the time was not into it. I
had to keep my "kinkiness" to myself. Closest we came is once she used one
of my ties to tie my hands behind my back. (She was made cause I had had a
little too much and she wanted me to keep my hands off her.) She was nice,
and sex was okay, but I really wanted excitement--sex under pressure. We
split up. I was kind of bummed that Summer, so my mind returned to my old
habits.
<illustration of technique>
At night, after everyone was asleep, I'd try different bondage methods.
I even snuck out to the barn and hoisted myself up by the ankles with one of
my winches. I couldn't find any good cock cages so I improvised with a
styrofoam cup. Hell, if my mother or father had even seen my copy of Hustler
or Penthouse, they'd have shit bricks. Accessible and innocuous was my motto.
It didn't take me long to come up with the idea of running down the
highway with my hands secured. I didn't want to be recognized so I pulled a
jockstrap over my head. I had rehearsed this so much in my mind that just the
thought of it gave me a hardon.
Having prepared myself, I creapt cautiously towards the kitchen door.
Every board seemed to scream. My heart was pounding so wildly that I could
hear the blood gushing in my ears. I was drenched with a cold sweat.Could I
do this? Woiuld I do this? I was driven by a compulstion. After I stepped
outside, the cold night air envelopped me. My teeth began to chatter. The
adrenalin had hit my system, though. I looked up at the crisp, clear moonless
sky. It had to be tonight. I had waited a week for the new moon to conceal
my activities.
I made my way quietly down the dirt and gravel drive. It was odd seeing
the farm at night. Even when I was a "night runner." The old Ford pickup had
a death-like quality to it.
I bound my hands and used my cock-cup like before, but tonight a small
voice urged me to make it tighter. "Make yourself helpless; you should not
be able to escape." I followed the voice. I added the extra turns. I
turned back the hand loop so that trying to draw the hands out tightened it
about them. Already the sweat about my wrists was making it difficult to move
them. My hands were beginning to tingle being so contorted.
I made my way to the highway. Just ahead was the sign for 20. My
breathing was heavy, my stomach had butterflies. the voice in my head told
me, "Just expose yourself to three cars. That's all." In the past, I often
set goals of how many cars/trucks I would expose myself to. I stepped
out onto the asphalt pavement. The highway was dark and dead at three in the
morning. My hands were cold, and my arms were beginning to ache. I squeezed
my hands into fists. The bonds tightened to confirm their presence. Twisting
my hands raked the skin on my wrists as the elastic waistbands now sweat
drenched gave little slack. My body convulsed unexpectedly. A wave of
goosebumps ran up my legs. This is stupid, I told myself as I thought of my
warm bed. "You have to flash three cars, that's all" the little voice said.
I drew a deep breath. I knew that if I began running, I would warm up. So I
started to jog down the road.
<illustration--Me, Bound for Action>
But the rubbing of the cup and the coiled brief up the crack of my ass
made it quickly uncomfortable. I looked down the road and saw a pair of
headlights and load lights. It was a semi. I waited until it was closer and
began to jog towards it. It gave a honk as it drove past. The wind brushed
past me. Somehow the night was not as cold. That's one, I thought. I
stopped and watched as it disappeared into the distance. I moved to the
otherside of the road and started walking. My hands ached. I managed to
work my right hand out then the left. The blood began to flow back into them.
"That was too easy! Make it tighter this time!" No, I protested. "Wimp!"
I gave the brief an extra turn and had to fight to get my hands to fit back
through the loops. They did but now my wrists were raw. In the midst of
this I hadn't noticed a car coming down the road. I saw it and jumped into
some nearby bushes. The car slowed, then drove on. "Why the fuck did you do
that? That negated your first car, now you need three more!" Get off it. By
now, the ring had tightened about my balls and dick. I had to get back to my
house. Now I was scratched and dirty. I tried to take my hands out, but
they were still fairly secure. "No, fuckhead. If you're going home, you
have to do it bound." I was a slave to my little voice; she was cruel and
demanding. I rose to my feet and began walking back. Up ahead I saw
headlights. I started a paced jog. The pickup slowed as it went past then
stopped. What was I going to do? I couldn't outrun him, there were no bushes
to jump into at this juncture. I turned to face the truck. It flashed its
high beams. Without thinking, I walked over to the pickup. I cautiously
approached the driver. The window lowered.
"Do you need help?"
"Yes, please".
"I can't hear you with that jockstrap over your mouth; take it off."
"I ... my hands ..."
"Come here, let me see you." I stepped over to the driver's door. He
shined a flashlight in my face. I couldn't see him. "Okay, come here. Can't
be too careful." I walked over. "Let me take that thing off your face.
Obligingly I leaned forward. Smoothly, he drew my head inside and raised the
window. It cut tightly below my chin and secured my head.
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! I screamed at myself. Was I going to die? He
flicked on the overhead light. The jockstrap partly obscured my view. He
pointed to the stick shift where I saw a .30 caliber automatic.
"I'm a police officer. Don't try anything stupid. Put your hands where
I can see them."
"I can't; they're tied behind me." I could make out his sandy brown hair.
His steel blue eyes seared me. My mouth was dry.
<illustration -- me with my head caught in window>
"Is this part of some frat initiation?"
"No, dammit. Please just let me go." I was struggling to free my hands
but they were raw, sweat drenched, and numb. He stared then huffed. He locked
the door then picked up the gun, sliding it into the waistband of his jeans.
He left through the passenger door, leaving it open. I watched as he crossed
in front of the headlights.
He stepped behind me. His hands ran along my wrists feeling for slack.
He knelt down and his hand ran along the length of the brief brushing against
my thighs. I found it kind of exciting. He tugged gently on the cord which
rode slightly up the crack of my ass and tugged on my emprisoned cock and
balls.
"How'd the hell you get into this?" He unlocked his door and openned it
slowly then unrolled the window. I stretched my neck back . I had to think;
what would I say that would seem convincing.
"I was hitchhiking back from Waverly. A guy in a van stopped and offered
me a ride. I hopped in. He pulled a gun and handcuffed me inside the rear of
the van. Said he liked naked boys." The officer was carefully looking at the
cup and decided not to touch it.
"I think I'm going to need to cut it off, it's too tight." My hands were
numb, I had to agree. He closed the driver door, and we walked around the
front. The headlights were warm against my naked thighs." I looked inside
his pickup. I heard him open a drawer on his pickup and glanced back to see
him looking about inside the toolbox. "I need you to lay across the seat good
and steady. These tin snips may be a bit cold at first." I layed down. I had
to stand on my tiptoes. As I layed with my chest pressed into the seat, I
could feel the sweat dripping from my armpits. I heard the gravel shift as he
walked back.
"Let's take that stupid jockstrap off first." He worked it off my head.
"What's your name, son?"
"Uh, ... Eric Seibull, sir." I felt the barrel of the gun pressed under
my jaw. I was going to die. No one knew I was gone. No one would no where
I went. I would just disappear, forever.
"Try chewing on your jockstrap, Eric." He stuffed it in my mouth and
taped it shut with silver tape. "If you don't try anything stupid, you'll
live." He tied a rope around my feet. With another length of rope, he
looped it around the twisted briefs then pulled it up taut, securing it around
my neck. An movement of my hands pulled on my neck and drew sharply against
the crack of my ass. My fingers were bloodless and my arms were starting to
cramp. My heart pounded. The smell of the vinyl seat struck me as my face
pressed into the seat.
<illustration -- Me being bound more securely>
He grabbed the cock-cord in one hand and the rope about my feet with the
other. He easily hoisted and twisted me around into the passenger side.
"Stay down," he commanded. I could only obey as he locked the passenger
door and slammed it shut. I tried to free myself but couldn't. The driver
door openned and he hopped inside. The engine started. The heavy vibrations
travelled along the cords stimulating my balls and dick. The gearshift ground
beside me and we drove off down the road. We continued down 20 before turning
off. The air was cooler and moist. I could hear the echo off the corn close
to the road. The truck slowed as he turned off 20. It pitched about ase we
drove along a gravel road. Finally he stopped. "So did you give the other
guy a good suck?" What the fuck! I tried to get up. He watched with
amusement then pushed me back down.
"It's real stupid to hitchhike, especially this late at night. You
kids are such dumbfucks!" he said as he stripped off his hunting vest. "You
don't know who's going to pick you up." He openned his door and stepped out
to pull off his pants. "There are lots of perverts out there just waiting
for an opportunity like this." He pulled off his briefs. He was packed. He
tossed his clothes on the floor and climbed back in. The overhead light went
off. He slid across and straddled my head. I could smell his ass. I tried
to pull back, but he grabbed my head by the hair. "I want you to suck me off
real good." Twisting my head to the side, he yanked off the silver tape.
"Try anything stupid and you're dead meat ... but not before you suffer."
"Lick it!" I did nothing. He gave a small snort. "When I say something,
boy, you do it!" He grabbed the rope behind my head and began pulling it.
"A-a-a-h!" It was crushing my balls and dick. His hands thrust my face
into his crotch.
"Lick it!" My tongue hesitantly licked his cock. "Hold it in your mouth
and run your tongue over it." I closed my eyes and took it in. I felt it
growing. It was massive--seven inches of uncut dick and nearly 1 1/2 inches
thick. I was no longer a participant but an observer. Several times I
nearly gagged as he shoved the hunk of meat down my throat. I listened to his
grunts. Then I felt his warm jism come shooting out against the back of my
throat in pulses. Instinctively, I drew back but he clamped his legs about me
head. "Eat it! I don't want no cum on the seat!" I felt his cock soften and
go flaccid. "Lick it clean!" Obediently I did as he said. He released his
grip on me. He wiped off his dick on the jockstrap and shoved it back in my
mouth which he covered with more tape.
<illustration -- Me being forced to give head>
"You're a good slave. I think I'll keep you around before I kill you."
He laughed and put his foot to my head and pushed me into the passenger door.
Scooting back over to the driver seat, he started up the engine and drove on.
Perhaps it reflected the stress, but my thoughts at the moment were what
my parents would think when they found I was gone? What sort of beating I'd
expect from my father. Then my thoughts turned to my predicament. I found
that despite the humiliation, I kind of enjoyed it. It was all quite surreal.
I searched his features but he had total disregard for me. Occasionally he'd
look over and sneer. I thought about the stories and wondered what might lie
ahead.
c1994, "Michael"
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