Date: Mon, 18 Sep 2006 02:08:46 EDT
From: EddyRiha@aol.com
Subject: games with stefan 15

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.

WARNING: This chapter has a gross out factor not usually present in my
writing.  If you are disgusted by certain kinds of behavior, such as
drinking piss, then skip this chapter.  The idea was suggested rather
strongly by a reader, and I felt that I would try working it into the
story.  But it is not an essential plot point, and the next chapter will
pick up right after the episode. . . .

No sitcom writers 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 #15-Weekend at My House (Part 7)

I awoke in the morning and felt something plastic beside me.  Then I woke
up further and remembered that Stefan was still lying in his plastic wrap
cocoon from yesterday.  When I had gone to cut it and release him last
night, he had begged me not to.

"I'd like to sleep this way tonight," he said.

I'm not sure whether he was saying that because he knew I was less likely
to fuck his sore asshole in my sleep at night if he were encased in the
wrap, or whether he were really interested in staying wrapped for the
novelty of the experience.  Regardless, I was willing to extend this
particular game.  But when I had carried him up to my parents' bedroom, I
realized there was one drawback to this plan: in the middle of the night,
if he needed to pee or crap, he'd end up doing it in the bed, since the
wrap was too tight to permit him to climb out of bed and make his way into
the adjacent bathroom.

When I pointed that problem out to him, he said, "Well, then, wrap up my
dick and ass, so if I have to go, it will stay inside."

Not a bad solution.  "But won't you mind spending all night with pee
against your skin?"

"No, I think that it will be OK."

I shrugged.  This boy was willing to accept almost any humiliation and
pain, and I have to admit I was willing to let him.

So I took the bathtub drain plug I'd used in previous games as his
buttplug, lubed it with some of that healing ointment stuff, and slipped it
into his hole.  Then I wrapped his midsection in plastic, making sure to
cover his dick and balls, and his ass, tightly and thoroughly.  To make
sure there would be no leaks, I applied some duct tape at the top and
bottom of the new wrapping.  When I was done, he could have had a full
purge of his system, and it still wouldn't have leaked onto the sheets.

So that's why I awoke with a plastic-coated Stefan in bed beside me.  He
was still asleep, his nostrils flaring and retracting with each intake and
outtake of breath.  I had sealed his mouth closed with some of the duct
tape, after he'd requested that, too.

I peeled the tape off his mouth, then sucked on his lips, removing a few
remaining traces of adhesive as I did so.  He slowly opened his eyes and
his lips responded to the pressure of mine.  In a moment, my tongue was
wrestling with his in the cavern created by our two mouths.  Then, as I
broke the contact, he whispered, "Last night was amazing."

I looked down at him.  Sure enough, he had peed during the night, quite a
bit of it, in fact.  I touched the plastic, and the yellow liquid squished
between the layers of plastic and between the plastic and his skin.

"It feels so warm against my skin," he said.  "I wonder what it tastes
like."

"It tastes like piss," I said.  "What the fuck do you think it tastes
like?"

"Yeah, but what does piss really taste like?" he asked.

"I'm not sure I want to find out."  Now I know some people like to drink
pee and eat shit and stuff like that, but it is definitely not my kind of
thing.  As far as I'm concerned there's only one place for pee and shit,
and it's not my mouth.

When I expressed my feeling to Stefan, he said, "But that's your mouth.
I'd like to taste it."

At that moment, I had a full overnight bladder, and all this talk about pee
made me wanna do it right then.  I wasn't sure I'd make it to the bathroom,
so I started to climb off the bed and head in that direction.

"Wait," Stefan said.  "Don't pee yet.  I want to taste it."

I paused for a moment, the pressure on my bladder increasing with the
delay.  "Are you sure?" I asked.  "If I start pissing, I won't be able to
stop."

"I want to taste it."

"OK."  Despite the urgency of my bladder and the extreme erection it was
causing-which in itself would make it hard for me to release when I tried
to piss-I dragged Stefan from the bed, across the carpet, and into the
bathroom.  Once there, I lifted the toilet bowl lid and seat, then placed
Stefan so his head faced up, centered over the open bowl.

"Last chance," I said.  A couple drops dripped from the end of my dick onto
Stefan's lips.  His tongue licked them into his mouth.  He paused a brief
moment, then opened his mouth wide.

"Go ahead," he said through his wide open mouth.

I placed my dick even with his lips and let loose.  A steady stream of hot
piss flooded his mouth, then drizzled onto his cheeks and his chin.  Stefan
tried swallowing, but he couldn't do that effectively without closing his
mouth, so he gulped as much as he could before the rest ran over his face.
He closed his eyes to avoid the spatter that went that direction.  And
still I pissed, a whole night's worth.

When I finished, Stefan managed to swallow the last that remained in his
mouth.  But his face, which had had my dried cum on it all night, now had
wet streaks of my piss across the cheeks, the chin, the neck.  Even the
hair around his ears was soaked.

"So, how was it?" I asked.

"Salty.  Warm.  Not too bad."

"I'm not about to try it myself."

"You don't have to.  You are not the slave."

That was for sure.  But now to clean him up.

I started to dry some of the piss with toilet paper.  "You don't have to do
that," Stefan protested.

"Yes, I do.  I don't want you dripping piss all over the house."

He thought about that a moment, then nodded.  I finished drying his face,
then lifted him so that he was standing on the lid of the toilet.  He
looked at me with a puzzled expression, but then understood when I took a
pair of scissors and cut a drain in his wrapping.  The piss which had
collected inside the plastic all night now dripped slowly into the toilet.

Once that piss was drained, I began cutting away the plastic wrap.  Stefan
seemed disappointed that this particular game was ending, but I had other
plans for the next couple of days, now that our weekend had been extended
because of his parents' decision to remain in Florida a couple of extra
days.

His skin, once freed of the plastic, was damp and sticky, mostly from
sweat.  It wasn't a particularly pleasant smell, but it was Stefan's, so I
breathed it in anyway.  But he needed a serious washing, and I knew he
needed more than a good soaking in the bathtub.

I found the dog collar and placed it around his neck, then snapped on the
leash and led him out of the bathroom, downstairs, and into the garage.  He
followed obediently, but when he saw me heading straight for the back
garage door, he stopped short.

"Not outside," he said.  "The neighbors will see."

I looked at the clock on my father's workbench.  It read 9:04.  "They are
all at work," I said.  "And the ones who are not are probably watching 'The
Price Is Right' right about now."

"But-"

"No 'buts,'" I said as I slapped his.  "You are going outside, even if I
have to drag you."

He complied with my instructions, though not especially willingly.  I
opened the door and pulled my reluctant slave outside into the fresh summer
morning air.  The sun was bright, filtering through the maples in the
backyard.  Where we were standing was partly hidden by the full-sized Chevy
van my father kept behind the house when he didn't have it registered and
on the road.  I dragged Stefan along the back of the house to the outdoor
faucet, to which my father had connected the long hose he used to water the
garden in the lot behind the back lawn.

I said, "Lie down on the grass, boy.  On your back."  As Stefan obeyed, I
turned on the faucet and a steady stream came from the open end of the
hose.  My father was so afraid of people stealing things, such as the fancy
spray head he'd bought for the hose, that he always put it away in the
toolshed when he was done watering the garden.  No matter.  I placed a
finger into the opening and created my own forced spray, which stung
Stefan's freshly unwrapped skin.  But it also washed away all traces of cum
and piss from his face.  I hosed him down, paying particular attention to
his dick and balls, as well as his face.  I made him open his mouth and I
thoroughly hosed it out, leaving him with a tingling sensation like he'd
never had before.

Then I turned him over and proceeded to hose off his back.  When I came to
his ass, I brought the hose end closer and sprayed all around his hole.
Then I placed the end against the opening and, with a slight twist, pushed
it in a little.  Stefan suddenly jerked and twisted at that, with the
sudden cold of the water entering a place unfamiliar with such a sensation.
Then he relaxed and enjoyed the new feeling of fresh water spraying into
his ass.

When I'd had enough of water spraying in and around Stefan, I turned off
the faucet.  Then I pulled on the leash, and the boy rose slowly to his
feet.  Without saying a word, I led him back inside the house, ignoring the
dripping water which fell from his hair and skin.  The water would dry soon
enough.  Besides, where I was taking Stefan, he would only get wetter: it
was time for him to have a bubble bath. . . .