Date: Sun, 4 Feb 2007 16:11:29 EST
From: EddyRiha@aol.com
Subject: games with stefan 18

The usual disclaimers apply.  This is a work of fiction, and those folks
who are prevented from reading such fictional works either by age, by moral
preference, or by law should not read any further.

All of the characters presented here are fictional representations,
including the narrator.  Some of the events and characters are inspired by
actual events and people I encountered in my younger days, but the
presentation here of events and characters in no way is meant to portray
actual, historical persons and events.  It's just a story.

All stunts were performed by professionals.  Do not attempt these at home.

This chapter returns to the storyline which had been running in chapters
8-13, 15-16.  Thank you again for the encouragement and the constructive
criticism you have provided as I continue to develop this story.

No players involved in Super Bowl XLI were harmed in the writing or reading
of this story.

If anyone is offended by the premise of the story, or by explicit sexual
acts, please do not read any further.  Why, indeed, have you read this far?


Games With Stefan

by eddyriha

Chapter #18-Weekend at My House (Part 9)

After the episode with the three brothers, Stefan gave me no further
trouble about the task I'd assigned him.  He grunted and sweated as he
hauled log after log down the dusty path to the edge of the woods behind my
house, where I unhooked the logs from his harness and started him back to
pick up another one.  Of course, I dragged a few of them myself: I wasn't
going to make him do all the work.  Every so often, I gave each of us a
drink from the water bottle I was carrying, but it gave only mild relief on
what was becoming a particularly oppressive summer afternoon.

The whole time, I got to watch Stefan's perfect ass move as he strained
forward hauling each log, as he climbed the hill on the south side of the
stream, as he bent over when I harnessed each new log to him.  It was a
sight that made this "chore" one of the most pleasant I ever had to do.

After Stefan pulled the last log to join the others, he bent over, panting
heavily while I unharnessed the log, then began removing the harness from
him.  I left on the collar with its leash, and I carried the leather strap
(the one with the metal tabs embossed at both ends) with which I had
periodically flicked him whenever I felt he was slacking off a little.  (He
may have made it look like he was slacking so I'd strike him with the
strap: he seemed to enjoy its feel against his hot, damp skin.)

I walked Stefan back to the stream, which was a reddish-brown trickle this
time of the year.  It entered the woods from a storm sewer on a nearby
street, but it had merely passed through the storm sewer because the
subdivision developers had filled in the original streambed there to put
the street and some houses.  In any case, we knew better than to drink from
"Rainbow Creek," as we called it, because the water was discolored by all
sorts of things, including iron from the pipes.  But on a unbearably hot
summer afternoon, if one is a boy who has just hauled a bunch of logs
through the woods, even the skanky waters of Rainbow Creek would be
enjoyable.

To the east of the main trail, the stream dropped into a deep, narrow
ravine, and as it did so, it became deeper, though much of the new depth
came in the form of squishy orange-brown mud.  I led Stefan down into the
ravine at a spot where I knew the mud was particularly deep.  "Get in," I
said, flicking his shoulder blades with the strap.

Stefan turned his head to look at me, as if to ask, "Are you sure?"  Seeing
my determined gaze, he stepped into the water.  Almost immediately, he sank
down to his knees in the muck.  Another step, and his ass was just above
the water.  Another, and his ass sank out of sight.  Another, and the water
was halfway up his back.  That was about as deep as it got, but that gave
Stefan the chance to bend his knees and sink down to his neck in the water.

"Oh, shit," Stefan suddenly said.

"What's wrong?"

"I just peed," he said, giggling.

"I don't think it makes that much difference.  Not in this stream."

"I haven't done that since I was a kid."

I remembered one time when he first moved into our neighborhood that he
hadn't wanted to get out of the pool in his backyard and had stayed so long
he'd accidentally peed in the water, which of course made his father
particularly angry with him.

"It's OK, boy."  I said.  To be honest, I was starting to get the urge to
piss.  I dropped my shorts and grabbed my dick.  "Now I gotta pee."

Stefan turned to face me.  "Go ahead," he said, closing his eyes.  Just as
he did, my piss caught him in the face, and he giggled as it splattered on
his cheeks.  When I finished, he dipped his face in the water and splashed
around.  When he resurfaced, his face, like the rest of his skin, was
stained an orange-red from the water.  We both started laughing at the
sight of Stefan looking that strange color.

"Feeling better?" I asked.

"Sure," he said as he stepped, dripping with water and mud, from the
stream.  "What now?"

"We'll get you back to the house, where we can clean you up proper."

Still dripping water, Stefan walked ahead of me, and I followed, still
holding onto the leash.  By the time we reached the edge of the woods, I
had an idea.  The boy was too mud-covered and wet for it to make any sense
for me to give him back his shorts, just so he could wear them on the short
dash under the power lines and across the backyard to reach the back garage
door of the house.

"Lie down," I instructed him.  He looked at me, saw the serious expression
on my face, then dropped onto his back in the middle of the trail.  "Now
roll over."  He did once, and some of the sand stuck to his skin.  "More,"
I commanded.  "Cover yourself with sand."

He seemed to understand what I intended, and so he began rolling over and
over, until he was lightly coated with sand.  Then I scooped up some in my
hands and poured it over the places he missed.  Basically, when we were
done, every inch of skin below his chin was sand-coated, and from a few
feet away, it wasn't possible to see that Stefan was naked.

"Now crawl on all fours," I said.  "Pretend like you are my dog, and I'm
returning home with you after a walk in the woods."

He dropped to his hands and knees and started to woof and bark, but once I
snapped the strap against the back of his head he stopped.  "Be quiet," I
said.  "No need to attract any unnecessary attention."  I knew my immediate
neighbors would be safely inside their air conditioned homes during the
heat of the day, and so all that might happen, if they looked out their
windows at all, would be that they would think I was walking a big dog
across the back lots.

Of course, I had yet another chance to look at Stefan's ass as he scrambled
across the waist-high grass, his ass raised almost to the height of the
grass from the position he was in while he crawled.

When we reached the back of the house, I turned on the hose and blasted the
sand and mud and reddish water stains off Stefan's skin with the full force
of the hose.  In particular, I hosed off his face and his ass, but I was
gentle in rinsing off his cock, as I knew it would hurt if I turned the
hose on him too much there.

Once he was dripping clean again, I led him inside, guiding him by the
collar and the leash.  Inside, the downstairs was cool, with the
dehumidifier working overtime.  I knew without checking that the upstairs
would be too hot to stay in.  So I led him to the center of the downstairs
family room and said, "Kneel."

He obediently knelt on the cool tiled floor, and I went upstairs to fetch
us tall glasses of lemonade.  After we drank them down, I then walked over
to the couch, which was one of the kind that can be opened up into a
king-sized bed.  I lifted off the cushions, pulled out the folded bed, and
opened it.  The mattress still had a sheet on it from when some relatives
had visited earlier in the summer, so I didn't have to look for another
one.  Normally, I wouldn't have bothered sleeping here-or even lying down
on it-because the mattress was only an inch or two thick, and one could
feel the metal bar supports through it.  But it was cooler downstairs, and
I wasn't planning on actually sleeping.

Once I had set up the bed, I pointed to the mattress and said to Stefan,
"Lie down."  He obeyed, lying face up in anticipation of further
adventures.  But I lay beside him, kissed him on the lips, and said, "Let's
rest awhile."

The next thing I knew, it was a couple hours later.  My back was a little
stiff from having slept in one position, the metal bars making their
presence felt.  I felt a little rustling beside me, and I opened my eyes.
Stefan had his fingers wrapped around his cock, and he was pumping it
vigorously, his breath coming in quiet little gasps clearly designed not to
wake me up.  He was so intent in his jerking that he didn't notice my eyes
were open until I grabbed his hand.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I demanded.

He looked at me, fear on his face.  "I thought-"

"That's the trouble, boy, you were thinking.  Thinking that it would be OK
to have some fun without me.  Is that it?"

"I'm sorry-"

"Damn straight, you're sorry.  Or you will be when I'm done with you."

He was clearly afraid now.  I was acting being angry in a very convincing
manner.

I pulled him up off the mattress, yanking him by the leash.  "Kneel," I
commanded, and immediately he dropped to the floor.  Then I stripped the
mattress off the bed, revealing the metal frame.  I grabbed the boy and
pushed him onto the frame, spread-eagled.  "Stay," I said, as I went
upstairs to get some ropes.

When I returned a minute later, he was still in the same position, not
having budged at all.  Sure, he could have run off at any moment, but the
battle between fear and desire that had waged inside him while I was out of
the room had clearly ended with desire the victor.  All the better for me.
And him, too.

I tied each wrist as far apart as I could stretch him, then each ankle the
same way.  Stefan could not move in any direction, and I knew the metal
bars would soon cause him more than a little discomfort.  I stood beside
the bed, leaning over him.  "Now do you feel like jerking yourself off?" I
asked.

"No, master."

"Will you ever jerk off again without my permission?"

"No master."

I think he expected I'd release him from his bonds with a couple of
submissive answers.  If so, he would be seriously disappointed.

"That's not good enough."  I grabbed his cock, which had softened, and
immediately began pumping it.  "Don't you want to jerk off some more?"

"No, master," he gasped, but his body betrayed him, as his ass lifted
toward me as much as it could, his cock stiffening quickly and clearly
desiring to be satisfied.

"You are saying 'No,' but your dick is saying 'Yes.'  Which is it?"

"Oh, master, please!"

I jerked him a few more times before I suddenly removed my hand and slapped
his face.  "You stupid fuck," I said.  "All you think about is how to
please yourself.  But, at the same time, you tell me you will obey me.
That's a lot of bullshit, isn't it?"  I slapped him again, this time
harder.  I guess I was still pissed about how he'd refused to obey me
earlier.  It was time to make the brat learn for once and for all who was
Master.

"No, master, it isn't.  I do obey you."

"Then why the fuck didn't you do what I said when I told you to haul those
logs?"

He didn't answer.  He knew that he was in real trouble now.  I bet he was
thinking to himself, "I wish I hadn't jerked off.  Not so soon after my
other disobedience."

I took a spare rope and tied it around his cock and balls, tight, but not
tight enough to cut off circulation.  This kept his cock hard, but did not
allow it any satisfaction.  I also knew that, if it weren't bothering him
already, all the lemonade he drank after we returned from the woods would
start putting pressure on him.  And he wouldn't have any chance to empty
his bladder.  Not now.

I went back upstairs.  I was staring to become hungry, and so I made myself
a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, poured myself another lemonade, and
then went back downstairs.

Stefan's eyes lit up when he saw me return with the sandwich and drink, but
his hopes were not going to be satisfied.  When he saw me start eating and
not offer him any, he begged, "Please-"

I looked over at him, pretending indifference.  "Please what?"

"Please, may I have some?"

"Do you think you have earned any?"

"No, master."

"Then what's the point of asking?"

"I'm hungry, master."

"Hungry for cock?"

Stefan nodded, thinking that all he had to do was suck me off and I'd feed
him.  But no such luck.

I set down the sandwich, picked up his shorts, and said, "Open wide."  He
opened his mouth and I crammed the shorts in, enough that he was not able
to fully close his lips around the material, some of which hung out.

"Chew on that awhile," I said.  "You have been a very bad slave, and you
have to be punished before you get any treats."

It wasn't as much fun to eat my sandwich while Stefan pleaded with his
open, longing eyes.  But I wasn't going to let him know that.  So I kept
eating and drank down the lemonade, finishing with a carefully manufactured
sigh of contentment.  Then I went back upstairs, put the plate and glass in
the kitchen sink.

I debated what to do next.  Stefan needed to be punished, but I also wanted
to have fun with him.  What to do. . . .

Then a thought came to me.  Something we hadn't tried before.  Something
bound to gross him out and serve as a punishment, too.

I went into the bathroom, dropped my shorts, and with a washcloth, washed
my balls, dick, and ass.  Especially the hole.  (You can guess what's
coming.)  Then I went back downstairs to confront my slave boy, who was, of
course, exactly as I had left him.

When he saw me, he mumbled something into the gag.

"What's that, slave?  I can't quite hear you."

He mumbled whatever it was louder, but it was still indistinct.

"Couldn't quite catch that, slave."

He tried again, practically shouting through the shorts wedged in his
mouth.  But I still couldn't make out what he was trying to say, though I
had a couple guesses.

"Oh, maybe it's the gag," I said, playing along.  I bent over him and
removed the shorts, which still were hanging half in and half out of his
mouth.

"Master, I really have to pee!" he exclaimed.  That was item number one on
my shortlist of things he would be trying to say through the gag.

"So, what am I supposed to do about it?"

"Please release me and let me pee!"  He quickly added a "Master" at the end
when he saw the expression on my face.

"Let me think about it."  I pretended to think a moment, and then said, "I
know what we'll do."  I went back upstairs, filled my glass full of
lemonade, and returned.  "Here, drink this."  I held the glass to his lips
and, when he didn't open up right away, I pinched his nose so he had to.
"Drink all of it," I commanded, and he hastily gulped it all down.

I knew I had only a few minutes before the added pressure of the extra
lemonade would start getting to him, and then I would have to allow him
some relief.  In the meantime. . . .

I climbed onto the bed frame and squatted over his chest, bending over his
face.  "Before you get what you need, slave," I said, "you need to clean
something for me."

"Anything, master.  I'll do anything you want."

"Just what I hoped you would say."  I turned around, so I was facing his
feet, and squatted lower so my ass was right above his face.  "Lick it,
slave."

He clearly was hesitating.  "Lick your ass?" he asked.

"I said, 'Lick it,' you fucker, and I mean 'Lick it.'"

There was a moment of silence, and then I felt the rough wetness of his
tongue on my left cheek, hesitant and cautious.  "That's it, slave," I
said.  "Lick my ass."

He slowly swirled his tongue around on the skin, shifting the spot to which
he was giving his attention when I moved in one direction or another.
After he licked most of my left cheek, I then gave him my right one, and he
did the same, his tongue gently, carefully touching my skin here and there,
dabbing it with his saliva.

When he finished the right cheek, I centered my ass over his lips and
squatted even lower, so I was almost sitting on him.  "Now lick the crack,"
I commanded.  He didn't have much choice, as my asshole was poised directly
over his nose and mouth.

Even more slowly his tongue reached up and touched the inside of the crack,
near the hole but not quite in it.  Now, I had washed off my asshole, but
probably enough of the usual taste or smell remained that he drew back his
tongue and protested, "Please, master, don't make me do it."

"Lick my asshole, slave, or else!"

"Or else what?" came the hesitant question beneath me.

"Or else-" I began as I reached forward and grabbed his dick, still erect
and engorged from the rope tied around it.  I pumped it a couple of times,
which I knew would put extra pressure on his already full bladder.

In response, Stefan stuck his tongue into my crack, found the hole, and
began stroking his tongue across it.  The sensation that flooded through me
at that moment almost caused my legs to give out, so I almost fell down
atop his face.  Unaware of the reaction he had caused, he ran his tongue
across my hole again, and my cock jerked erect.  Another lick and there was
precum on the slit.  Then he stuck his tongue into the hole, and my whole
body shook with pleasure.

He withdrew his tongue at that and asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," I gasped.  "Keep going."

And he did.  I remained squatting over him, my cock quivering with delight,
as he licked around my hole and inside it.  I don't know how long he kept
licking, but finally I realized that if I didn't stop him that I'd cum
right then and there, and I wanted to save my cum for later.

So I rose slowly to my knees and climbed off the bed frame.  I untied his
ankles, then his wrists.  He reached down, about to untie his cock, but I
shook my head.  Once he was able to stand, I guided him to the bathroom,
where I then untied his cock, allowing him to empty his overflowing bladder
into the toilet.

When he was finished, I brought him back to the bed frame and tied him in
the same spread-eagle position again, with a rope around his cock and
balls..  This time, however, I went back upstairs and made him a peanut
butter sandwich for being such a good slave who licks out his master's ass.