Date: Tue, 22 Aug 2000 17:39:54 -0400
From: Reiter Mann <reitermann@MailAndNews.com>
Subject: "A GAME OF PERSUASION" Part 4 (T/b bond cons)

"A GAME OF PERSUASION" PART 4
A Memory of Boyhood

by

Reiter Mann


"Oh, Rittie, please! Please! You gotta let me? Please, Rittie, I need to shoot
so bad!"

"Then talk. Tell me where it is and I'll let you come!"

"No! I'm not gonna tell you! No!"

"Even for some of this?"

"Ahhhhhhh! Oh, jeez, please don't stop! Oh, please, Rittie! You just gotta let
me! I think I'm gonna die or something if you don't! Please?"

"Like I said. You gotta talk, then I'll take the string of and make you come
real good. It'll be so, so good. I promise you. Just talk, and then I'll do it
all the way. Will you talk?"

It had been almost an hour that I had my 15-year-old Senior Patrol Leader tied
in a chair in his room while I slowly and carefully teased and played with his
very, very hard and slightly purple dick.

I could tell that it was just about over. I recognized the symptoms from the
times I had experienced the very same feelings when Jimmy worked me over
during our interrogation games. Charles threw his head back, rolling it from
side to side in silent frustration and long-tormented lust. His eyes were
closed and his mouth slightly open as he took deep gulps of breath. His hair
was matted down on his forehead from sweat and seemed darker than it really
was. His whole body was slick with sweat and little drops ran down his chest,
particularly in the trough between his pecs. The rounded knobs of his
shoulders shone like polished metal under the sweat and in the tension of the
position in which I had tied him in order to torture the information out of
him.

His hands were tied together behind his back, palm to palm. His arms had been
pulled up over the back of the chair and his elbows strapped together with his
own Scout belt. His legs were spread widely apart, the feet pulled back on
either side and tied up high to the back of the chair so that his ankles were
at the same level as his knees. This position made him totally vulnerable and
available to me. The base of his prick and nuts had been wrapped with three or
four turns of a piece of kite string and then tied off in a cute little bow.
His circumsized penis was as rigid and hard as a penis could get. The glans,
glistening wetly with melted vaseline, was a lovely shade of light purple. His
balls were tightly tucked but thrust forward, out away from his crotch, from
the tension of the string that both put them on obscene display and made it
almost impossible for him to ejaculate. He was a very pretty picture I
thought.

I had been torturing Charles for almost an hour, using all the skills I had
learned as Jimmy's prisoner during our "dungeon sessions." Only a couple of
times had I had the chance to exchange roles with Jimmy and get to be the
interrogator. As much as I liked the role of "victim," I was having a great
time with Charles. It was a thrill to have the chance to explore his body as
much as I wanted to and to do anything I wanted to his dick--and take my time
about it, too. Getting him hard, while not at all difficult considering the
circumstances, had been so exciting for me that I had popped a nice chunk of
wood myself in the process.

The greatest thrill of all for me was to be in complete and total control of
Charles' pleasure. Being able to touch him in ways that made him squirm, moan,
beg for more, was such a turn-on for me that I almost came in my underpants
(which was all that I was wearing) several times. The sweat, too, was
exciting: the look of it in the dimly lit, curtained, room and the feel of it
as I ran my hands over his chest and stomach and thighs. And the feel of his
twitching cock when I rubbed the first dollop of vaseline onto it and then,
after it melted, began to stroke him slowly and carefully.

Jimmy and I had given each other handjobs, aside from our "game," on several
occasions, but Charles' dick seemed so big and beautiful to me, compared to my
own comparitively puny instrument. While I was teasing and tormenting him I
took a ruler from his desk and measured him. It was one of those rulers where
the measurements start a fraction of an inch from the end so I had to
compensate. Five and three-quarter inches is what I finally came up with. It
would vary a little. I could hold the ruler against his shaft and get just
five and a half inches and then run my thumbnail across his slit and it would
flex up to that extra quarter inch. I decided to give him the benefit of the
doubt at five and three-quarter inches. As an adult I have read many stories
in which the characters have grotesquely large penises, almost as if having
ten inches or more was a prerequisite to sexual adequacy. What silly rubbish!
Whenever I read something like that now I laugh at it and usually stop reading
at that point. I wouldn't have wished Charles' penis to be anything different
from what it was: I thought it was absolutely perfect, breathtakingly
beautiful, and for the time that Charles was tied in that chair it was all
mine!

I had started by blindfolding him, like Jimmy often did to me. Being tied up,
naked, and blindfolded was exciting to me. Knowing that my captor was planning
to "do stuff" to me and me not being able to see what he was about to do was
thrilling. I could tell that it worked on Charles, too. At first I tried the
same thing he had done to me that first time and I tentatively and shyly
licked at his left nipple. He took in his breath with surprise and then made a
little strangled moan when I bit down on it carefully, just as he had done to
me. His wiring worked just like mine, apparently, because his prick became
very hard almost immediately. He had been about half hard as I had tied him in
the chair, but then it went back down. Now he was hard again and I was going
to see that he stayed that way for a long time. I worked on both nipples for a
little while longer and then got the string and tied it around the base of his
dick and nuts and admired the way his penis swelled and throbbed, just like
mine did when Jimmy did this to me.

I knew from experience that the string would make it very hard to come but
that it wasn't infallible. Several times as Jimmy and I had played our game he
had gone a little bit too far and I had come without him wanting me to. This
always ruined--or at least delayed-- a "torture" session and disappointed both
of us. Jimmy starting threatening that he would hit me real hard in the balls
if I started to come while he was working on me. I was supposed to warn him if
I were getting too close so he could stop in time. If I didn't, he said I
would regret it. After something like happened we would both be very careful
for a while. I could tell that it wouldn't take much for Charles to shoot, so
I was especially careful and slow with him. This was so much fun that I wanted
him to last and I was hoping that he wouldn't break down and talk too soon.

Just after I put the string on him I had dry-fisted him a few times. Jimmy
called it dry-fisting. Dry-fisting is when you hold your hand like you would
if you were going to jerk a guy off but you hold it real loose so it just
skims over the shaft and head, very lightly and delicately, almost like
tickling. It only works right if both the hand and the prick are real dry,
with no sweat or moisture at all. But when it's done right it is really
special. I had Charles groaning and squirming in no time at all. That's when I
had stopped teasing him and put the string on him.

The first thing I had done to him was just some simple, straightforward
stroking. Handwork was what Jimmy called it.

So how did all this come about any way? That night of our first sleepover,
while we were lying in Charles' big bed talking, I told him more about the
games that Jimmy and I liked to play. I could tell that he was interested, but
a little shy despite what we had already done together. We didn't do anything
that night--at least nothing along those lines, even though we kept pretty
busy until very late! But we agreed that the next time we got together for an
over-nighter we would try it.

I told Charles about the game variation that Jimmy and I called "hide the
paper." It worked like this: The "victim" had to write down on a piece of
paper two categories of items. One was "Things I would like a slave to do for
me" and the other was "Things I would like to try on a prisoner." He had to
write at least three items in each category. The victim then got a few minutes
to hide his paper. Once the paper was hidden the game started. The object was
for the "prisoner" not to tell his captor where he had hidden the paper. If he
did tell, the interrogator went and collected it and then got to take his
choice from the two categories. He could either continue the prisoner's ordeal
by selecting one of the items from the "Things I would like to try on a
prisoner" column, or he got to select something from the "Things I would like
a slave to do for me" category, which the prisoner then had to perform. The
better the things you wrote on the list, the more danger if you were made to
talk. But of course, if you held out and didn't talk then those good items
would work in your favor because you got to do them to your former torturer
and it would be such sweet revenge. The suspense and the danger was a big part
of the game. Charles thought the "hide the paper" game was very clever. But
since he had never played games like this before and really didn't know what
to do, he asked if he could be the first "prisoner."

This disappointed me a little, since I was positively aching to be Charles'
captive and have him working on me. But I swallowed my disappointment and took
solace in the fact that I was going to have all sorts of fun with Charles as
my prisoner. I also figured that since he had never played the game before I
would have a chance to teach him all sorts of stuff that he probably didn't
know about and would then have a chance to use on me when it was my turn to be
the prisoner.

On our next sleepover, a couple of weeks later, we had the house all to
ourselves as Charles' parents had gone away for the weekend. He was a serious
and responsible boy in their eyes and it wasn't the first time they had let
him stay in the house by himself for a whole weekend. He told me that once,
when he was fourteen, they had gone to one of his dad's business meetings for
five whole days and let him stay by himself in the house. Just the thought
that I was going to get to stay with Charles over much of a whole weekend was
enough to keep me excited the whole week leading up to it. And to make it even
more exciting, I knew that were probably going to play the "game," too. And
then to make things even more exciting I didn't play with myself for two days
before the weekend. That was really hard to do, but I knew it would be worth
it if I could manage it, which I just barely was able to do.

We were both apparently pretty anxious to get started. Within less than an
hour of arriving at Charles' house he had filled out his "secret paper" and
hidden it. Soon after that he had stripped and I was tying him the chair. I
really got a charge, more than I even thought I would, from tying Charles into
the chair. I took my time and made sure that the knots were good and strong. I
wanted Charles to feel that he was helpless and that I was in complete control
of what was going to happen to him. He was certainly a very sexy sight once I
had tied and strapped him into the chair. The belt holding his elbows
together, and the fact that his arms were over the back of the chair, caused
his chest to seem to expand and it thrust forward most sexily, and the widely
spread legs showed off his thighs and crotch very nicely, too.

Charles must have been almost half a foot taller than I was. At twelve I was 5
feet even and about 85 to 90 pounds. I would estimate Charles' weight at about
110 or so. He had very light brown hair, cut pretty short, greenish eyes if I
remember right, and skin that hadn't yet shown the ravages of youthful hormone
shifts. His body was firm, trim, and smooth. I guess you could say he was
muscular, but without anything like a jocky look to him. While I was smaller
and younger, between the two of us I had the more muscular overall look. He
had some light fuzz on his lower legs, a little hair just above his nicely
shaped dick, and some fine blondish hairs in his ampits that you could hardly
see unless they were wet from the shower or from sweat. He had a nice but not
spectacular tan--not nearly as dark as mine--and his crotch was much paler,
showing the limits of his swim suit. He was a very nice package there in that
chair: a handsome prisoner waiting for his fate!

Sometimes I would wonder about myself: How the heck did I get like this
anyway? Why did I find these tying-up games so much fun? Was I terminally
weird or something? It was some solace to me when I discovered that a lot of
boys enjoyed this sort of thing. I could think offhand of at least six other
guys from the Scout troop that seemed to really like this sort of fooling
around, not counting Jimmy. And now Charles. I wasn't really sure about how
Charles would react to what I planned to do to him, but he had seemed at least
a little enthusiastic, if a bit shy, when I had explained the game to him. I
was also sure that it had been exciting to him to tie me up the couple of
times he had done it. And of course the first time, for the sketches, had been
entirely his idea.

And now I had my Senior Patrol Leader, the guy who gave the orders at Scouts,
tied naked in a chair and waiting for me to start the interrogation. The only
thing that could have been better would have been if it had been me in that
chair!

After I had the string on him I let him wait a while and then I started slow
again and consciously tried to restrain my impatience. I stood behind him and
ran my hands real gently over his shoulders and upper arms where they strained
against the top of the chair and the belt that held his elbows together.

"Are you gona tell me where that paper is?" I asked, very calm and sweet.

"No," he said. "I'm not!" I stood up closer to him and ran my hands over his
chest and circled a finger very lightly over each of his nipples. I felt him
tense even more against my touch.

"Oh, you'll tell me all right!" I said, in my best Jimmy-like villain voice.
"I have ways that will make you BEG me to let you tell me everything!" I took
both his nipples between the thumb and forefingers of my hands and squeezed
gently and rolled them around a little. He groaned and sat up even straighter
in the chair. I felt his biceps go rigid and I continued to roll the little
buds around on my fingers, squeezing just a little harder.

"Ahhhh!" he moaned.

"Talk!" I demanded, still squeezing.

"No-o-o!" he stammered. I released his nipples and came around to face him,
pleased to see that things were going well: he had a nice tight erection once
again sticking straight up against his belly. It looked great standing up like
that between his so-widely spread legs. I dropped to my knees in front of the
chair and took it very gently in my right hand, as if I had found a wounded
baby animal in the grass.

"That's nice!" I said. "I'm glad you like the game so far. You do, don't you?"
I closed my hand over his shaft, adjusting my grip for just the right loose
size, and dry-fisted him three or four slow times. The feel of his flaring
coronal ridge against my palm and fingers was exciting. His prick pulsed up
even harder and he rewarded me with another low groan.

"Ohhhhhhh!"

"Oh, yes, that's nice isn't it? You're really gonna like this! And you ARE
gonna tell me where that paper is!" I said, and got up to get some lube.

I worried a little that I found Charles' cock so interesting. Was I gay? I
knew what the other guys said about how awful it was to be gay and that scared
me a bit. But not enough to keep me from enjoying touching and playing with
it. I've already said that it was five and half to five and three-quarters of
an inch long. The shaft was very tight and smooth when erect and took
lubrication very well, just as mine did. In proportion to the shaft the head
of his was not quite big as mine was in proportion to my shaft, but it was
very nicely shaped and the smooth, flowing lines of the ridges of the head
were very sexy I thought. A beautiful little Spanish helmet! His pee-slit
seemed large and when I would squeeze the base of his glans it would seem to
open a little. I teased him by squeezing his glans so that the slit opened and
closed as if it were talking and then saying in a high pitched, stupid cartoon
voice "Stroke me, Rittie! Stroke me nice!" We both giggled at the silliness of
it, but the humor didn't cause his dick to slacken off one bit.

I suddenly got the strongest urge to suck on Charles' cock. Cocksucker. I knew
that word, and I knew that it was a bad one. A bad word to describe an even
worse act. To be a cocksucker was to be the lowest of the low, a monster of
such depravity that they didn't deserve to live. But I was confused: if it was
so bad to do, how come it felt so good when someone did it you? And Charles
had done it to me. Charles was certainly no cocksucker-- at least not like the
word seemed to be used by the other guys. I could never think of Charles as a
bad person, or a pervert, even though he had put my thing in his mouth and
done all sorts of things to it. So how could it be all that bad? I wondered
what it would taste like, what it would feel like. I wanted to take it into my
mouth and run my tongue up and down it like Charles had done to mine and most
of all I wanted to hear Charles moan and groan aloud from the pleasure I could
give him that way. Later, I thought, I'll try that later. I returned to the
main goal of the moment: torturing information out of my prisoner.

I'm not going to try to describe the whole process of "torturing" Charles.
After all, how many ways can you stroke and play with a guy's tool? Well, lots
and lots but I'm just going to let the reader use his own kinky imagination.
Jimmy was a creative kid and I had a good memory, not to mention a few tricks
of my own that I had been wanting to try out. Anyway, in just a little less
than an hour of pleaurable work I had my captive where he was when I started
this little essay: begging. At first he begged to be allowed to shoot, but
wouldn't tell me where the secret paper was hidden. But after a while--and a
few more careful strokes-- his resolve got weaker and weaker and finally he
said the words I wanted to hear.

"OK, OK! I'll talk! I'll tell you where it is! Just do me, Rittie! Please do
me!"

The rules were that I didn't have to make him come until I had the paper
actually in my hands. I went to the hiding place he told me about (inside his
Scout Manual!) and got it. Then I went back and waved it in front of his
sweaty face. I know it was mean, but I couldn't resist.

"I got the paper, but I'm having so much fun I think I'll just torture you for
another hour or so!"

"Oh, god, Rittie, please don't! You said! Please! You gotta make me come, man!
You gotta!"

"OK, I was only kidding! Don't have a heart attack!" I bent down and undid the
bow-knot. I got some extra vaseline in my palm, knelt down, and went to work.
It didn't take long! For the first few strokes I put my left hand up under his
nuts and tickle-rubbed a greasy finger along that special place between his
balls and his butt-hole while I slow-stroked him with my super-slippery right
hand. I just did it, without stopping. When he started to really tense up he
kind of rose up on the chair, his thighs as hard as iron, and pulled really
hard on the ropes that held him. I knew from my own experience what was best
for me and tried it on him: I pulled his cock so it was pointing straight out
from his body, bent a little downward from where it wanted to be. With my
other hand I reached behind his nuts and holding them in the wide vee of my
opened hand pulled them gently forward. I stroked slow and hard and steady
until I felt his prick swell and pulse in my hand and then the first shot came
zinging out and hit me with a wet plopping sound right on my bare chest. I
stopped full-stroking him and took him right behind the glans between my
tightly looped thumb and first finger and pulled in little short bumpy
strokes. For me that caused the tingle to go on and on and it apparently
worked for Charles, too. His next shots were less and less until finally he
just sort of dribbled over my hand onto the chair. During his orgasm he had
flexed himself up on the chair, his spasming thigh muscles wrenching him up as
high as the ropes would allow him to go. I heard the chair creak and pop from
the strength of his struggle. His head was thrown back, eyes squinted tight
shut, mouth open. He moaned. A deep, wrenching sound came out of his clenched
and corded neck.

"Unh-unh-UNHHHHHH-UNHH-unh-unh-unhhhhhhh!" he sang out in his extremity.

And then he sagged onto the seat and it was over. The whole orgasm had taken
ten or fifteen seconds at least and I knew it had been a really good for him.
I was proud of myself for having dragged it out for him as long as I had and
given him so much pleasure.

I untied him quickly because I knew how cramped and sore a guy could get after
a come in that position. He was breathing heavily, and began to rub his wrists
and up onto his arms where the Scout belt had made woven-looking grooves in
his biceps. He winced when I released his legs from the the ropes that held
them up high to the back of the chair. I let him relax for a minute.

"Oh, jeez, Rittie, that was really something! Wow! I never...I mean, I didn't
think.... oh, wow!"

"Pretty good, huh?"

"Oh, god, it was... you were.. great! Just great!" he was starting to get his
breath back now. I wiped his juice off my chest and belly with some tissues
and then waved the paper in front of him.

"It's pay-up time!" I exulted, and slapped the folded paper into my other
palm.

"Aw, c'mon, Rittie. Don't! Don't read it, please!" he begged. I knew from the
times with Jimmy that somehow you felt different about the stuff you wrote on
the "secret paper" before you came that afterwards. It's one thing when you're
horny and full of anticipation and another just after a really good squirt.
But business is business. And after what we had just done I was raging horny
myself.

"Oh, no! We gotta. It's the rules!" and I unfolded the paper to see what I had
won with my torture skills.