Date: Sat, 4 Feb 2006 17:50:22 EST
From: EddyRiha@aol.com
Subject: games with stefan 2

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.

No politicians were harmed in the writing or reading of this story.

My thanks to those readers who said kind words about the first chapter and
gave me ideas and inspiration for the continuation.

If anyone is offended by the premise of the story, or by explicit sexual
acts, please do not read any further.


Games With Stefan

by

eddyriha

Chapter #2-At Stefan's House

Most of the time, we played our games in my house, mainly because Stefan's
dad worked out of his office in the downstairs of their raised ranch
house-in the room that we used as a family room in my house.  Sure, I did
go there sometimes to visit, and I had been invited over for dinner a few
times.  We rarely had the place all to ourselves.  But when we did. . . .

Stefan's parents were Greeks from the old country.  Upstairs in his raised
ranch house everything smelled of Old World foods that his mother cooked.
Out behind the house, near the above-ground pool, stood a grape arbor that
his father had carefully cultivated over several years.  Even on the
hottest summer afternoons, it was cool when we would sit at the picnic
table under the canopy of grape vines.  The only thing I didn't like about
Stefan's house, other than the frequent presence of his parents, was the
heavy odor of smoke emanating from his father's office.  Since the office
was next to the laundry room, all of Stefan's clothes ended up smelling of
smoke, even though he himself never inhaled.

The morning after our last adventure, I was thoroughly delighted when,
after I'd finished breakfast, I opened my bedroom curtains to see a T-shirt
hanging in Stefan's bedroom window.  I gave a high, quiet whistle to
confirm the signal; from across the street I heard his answering whistle.
(I had taught him how to whistle last summer, but that's another story!)

I walked across the street as deliberately as possible, trying hard to
contain my excitement.  I was wearing my usual summer attire: shorts,
T-shirt, white socks, sneakers.  Actually, when I was home, I usually went
barefoot, but nowhere else, except at Stefan's house.  I entered the side
door of his garage, crossed the empty garage, and entered the house.  I saw
a note on the carpeted stairs.  It read, "Strip.  Leave your clothes in the
laundry room.  Come upstairs."  I followed the directions, making sure to
dispose of the note.  (We knew better than to leave any evidence of our
games lying around.)  Then I climbed the stairs and stopped at the top
step.  I was in his house, so our usual roles were reversed.  I was the
slave, he the master.  It was only fair.

That didn't mean that I wouldn't try to reverse the roles back.  As much as
I enjoyed it when Stefan dominated me, I had more pleasure when I could
control the boy's every movement.  He seemed to enjoy it more, too.
Whenever I was the master, he never really tried to take control.

"Come in here," Stefan ordered.  I followed the sound of his voice into the
living room, which had the curtains drawn.  There I found him sitting on
the couch along the back wall; he was wearing a long-sleeved jersey, jeans,
and white socks.  Beside him on the couch sat his boombox.  He pressed play
and said, "Dance."  It was some Euro-techno music, his favorite at the
time.  I've never been a good dancer, but I did my best to comply with his
command.  And he did his best not to laugh, as I moved about making a
feeble attempt to dance to several of the songs on the album.  The whole
time, his eyes rested on my dick, which began erect but gradually softened
somewhat due to my attention being more on the music than on the situation.
Several times he instructed me to rub it gently until it stiffened.

When he grew tired of making me dance, he had me get down on all fours, and
he thus rode me down the carpeted hall into his bedroom.  There he told me
to lie on my back on his bed, which was narrower than mine.  It was
actually part of a bunkbed, but he almost never used the top bunk.  I don't
know why his parents had bought him a bunkbed years ago.  He had a brother
and sister who were each fifteen to twenty years older, and a sister two
years younger.  Anyway, he stretched out my arms and legs, tying each one
to its respective corner of the bed.  He didn't have any ropes; instead, he
used old bathrobe ties, belts, and even castoff shoelaces from his father's
shoes (the laces being twisted together to form a more durable cord).

Then he leaned over me, gave me a quick kiss, and began to poke at me.
That was Stefan's way: he spent most of his time examining and exploring my
body, which was older and more fully developed than his own.  He never
seemed to grow bored with this part of the games.  He especially enjoyed
exploring every detail of my dick, balls, crotch, and ass-and every time he
touched me there, when I was bound, I became more excited than before.
There is something thoroughly stimulating about having a beautiful friend
who is your lover tying you down and then taking the time to explore the
parts of your body you take for granted.  In the past, once or twice I had
been unable to hold back and had shot all over my chest merely because he
was stroking my stomach or running his fingers along my inner thigh.

On this particular morning, he was taking his time looking me over, but
then suddenly he began tickling me.  I'm not particularly ticklish-but the
part of the lower stomach toward the groin is especially ticklish.  He knew
that, and he made me strain at the bonds in my futile efforts to push him
away.

After a few minutes of making me squirm, he stopped tickling and left the
room.  I strained to hear what he was doing, but he was quiet, as he
usually was when he was in control.  A few minutes, maybe half an hour
later, he returned, wearing his blue swim trunks, made of a polyester-nylon
blend and shaped like briefs.  This was the pair he'd worn the past two
summers; his mom had bought him a looser-fitting dark green pair for this
season.  He'd grown some in the interval, so the blue material was
stretched in the front.  His cock and balls bulged out, clearly revealed in
the material which barely covered them.  He climbed onto the bed, placed
one knee beside each side of my chest, and knelt over my face.

"Lick it," he commanded, thrusting his groin closer to my mouth.

I obediently tried to stretch my tongue to touch him, but I could not
reach.  As much as I could, I leaned forward, but he remained elusively
beyond the tip of my tongue.

He slapped my face.  "Lick it!" he repeated.  Again, I tried, without
success.

Another slap.  "Lick it!" he said again.

"I'm trying," I replied, "but you need to come closer.  I can't reach-"

SLAP!  "I didn't say you could talk," he said.  "Lick it!"

I stretched forward.  No luck.  Another slap, another command.

Just as I was getting tired of this, he slid down the bed, until he rested
on the space between my spread legs.  My dick twitched as his face neared
it.  He exhaled, and I could feel his warm breath on my sensitive, erect
skin.  Then he bent closer, and I stretched as far upwards as I could.  I
was expecting him to suck me into his mouth, but he pulled his head back,
just keeping out of my reach.

He did that several times, each time increasing my torment.  I wanted to be
sucked, in the worst way.  But he was not complying with my desire.  I
tried to free myself from my bonds, as I usually could break free if I
tried hard enough.  Stefan had never been a Boy Scout, so he knew squat
about tying knots.  But I realized, to my surprise, that today he'd
double-tied me, using two separate sets of belts and bathrobe ties for each
limb.  I had been so busy anticipating our games and counting on my usual
ability to free myself that I hadn't noticed that this time he'd figured
out a way to stay in charge.

"Does slave want to be sucked?" he asked.

I nodded.  I wasn't sure if it was OK to speak.

"I didn't hear anything," he said.  His head was still facing my cock, so
of course he didn't see me nod.  "Does slave want to be sucked?"

"Yes, my King, yes," I gasped out.

"Well, slave doesn't deserve to be sucked," he replied.  Then he slapped my
dick.  The pain and the pleasure seared through me.  "Slave has a bad, bad,
bad dick.  It wants to please itself.  But it doesn't deserve to be
sucked."  He slapped my dick again.

"Please, my King, don't-"

He slapped my dick a third time.  The precum was oozing out the tip, and I
knew if he slapped it again, I'd probably blow my load.  Stefan probably
realized the same thing, and at once he slipped off the bed and left the
room.

He was gone so long, at least from my perspective, that I finally called
out, "My King, are you still there?"

The next thing I knew, he was back.  "Open your mouth," he said.  I did,
and he stuffed one of his white undershirts into my mouth.  I gagged for a
moment, then was able to relax, though the shirt dried my mouth more than
was comfortable.

"Slave needs to be quiet."  Then he was gone again.

I lost track of time until he came back in the bedroom.  He was still
dressed only in the tight blue swimsuit.  When I saw him, my gradually
softening dick went hard again.  For a moment, it seemed that he would
relent and suck me.  He climbed onto the bed between my spread legs, and
once again faced my dick.  He leaned forward, put his lips to the head,
then licked down the left side, the right side, down the center of the
shaft.  The sensitive skin stretched as I become even more erect.  Precum
dripped from the head, and I was about to erupt.

But then he lifted his head, winked at me, and slipped back off the bed and
left the room.

A few minutes later, he was back.  Once again, he climbed onto the bed
between my spread legs, and he leaned forward, put his lips to the head,
then licked down the left side, the right side, down the center of the
shaft.  The sensitive skin stretched as I become even more erect.  Precum
dripped from the head, and I was about to erupt.

Again, he left without allowing me the pleasure of cumming.

Stefan teased me that way another three times.  I was squirming more and
more each time. but my bonds were too tight to allow me enough movement.  I
couldn't do anything about it.

The next time he came into the room, though, after he climbed onto the bed,
Stefan untied my right ankle.  For a moment, I though he would free the
rest of me, but instead he pulled my leg upward until my foot touched the
slats which held the mattress of the top bunk in place.  From that angle, I
couldn't gain enough leverage to wrest my foot from his hands-and he knew
it.  He tied that ankle to a slat, right where it joined the side of the
bed frame.  So my leg was held securely in position, and I didn't even have
the ability to slide it closer to the center and relieve the strain on it.

I was beginning to wonder how many nights he had lain here on this bottom
bunk and imagined doing this.  Damn, but this kid is good! I thought to
myself.  I'm going to have to think up some incredible stuff to match this,
the next time I'm the King.

Stefan did the same with my left leg, and so there I lay, my ass upturned
and exposed to Stefan-a position I'd rarely been in before.  To this point,
he had much preferred to be fucked than to do the fucking, and I wasn't
about to argue with that.

He put something on his hand and then rubbed a couple of fingers of it
around my hole.  It was cold at first, then warmed up as he rubbed it
around the hole and then poked his forefinger in.  The stuff had a familiar
smell-then I saw the bottle.  It was baby oil, something each of our
mothers kept in the cabinet under the bathroom sink.  It's the kind of
thing mothers hang onto even after their kids have grown out of baby stuff
simply because they figure they can always find a use for it.  Of course, I
was well aware of the use Stefan planned for the baby oil this afternoon.

Once he had lubed me, I was expecting him to pull off his trunks and go for
it.  Instead, he picked up something white and long, put some oil on it,
and then slowly slid it into me as far as it would go.  As it went in, I
realized what it was-one of those metal tubes that a fancy cigar comes in.
Stefan had saved one of those after his father had smoked the cigar, and
he'd figured out a use for it.  My sphincter closed on it and held it in
place.  Stefan turned it gently, which caused me to open up a little and
allow him to slide it a little further in.  It felt good, though not quite
as good as if it had been his cock inside me.  Then I would have also felt
the warmth of his body against mine, the thought of which made me squirm
all the more and moan as he continued turning the cylinder gently.

Then the phone rang, and he was out the door to answer it.

While he was gone, I kept thinking to myself how amusing this game was.
Here I was, the older by two years, bound and helpless, at the mercy of a
thirteen-year-old who had gagged me, exposed my ass, and then inserted a
homemade dildo inside me.  If my friends could see me. . . .  Well, I was
glad they wouldn't be able to see me.  Since neither of our parents had
Polaroid cameras, there was little chance of any visible record being made
of this humiliating moment.

I could hear the phone being hung up, and then Stefan was back beside me.

"I had thought we could play this game much longer, slave," he said.  "But
that was my sister Tina telling me that she was bringing Liz back in half
an hour to go swimming.  So we need to finish the game."

I mumbled a "Yes, my King," into my gag.

After he locked his bedroom door, Stefan slipped off his trunks and crawled
onto the bed between my feet.  Without hesitation, he slipped the cigar
tube out of my ass and then rubbed some oil on his dick.  It was only three
inches, fully erect, and it wasn't nearly as thick as mine.  But he could
really hump with the thing, flexing his pelvis and tightening his ass as he
fucked in a way that amazed me, it was so graceful and natural.

So with a pop! he thrust himself into my ass.  His hands grasped each side
of my waist, then he stretched himself forward, pulling his body over mine.
He began thrusting, pushing in and out like a madman, faster and faster.
My own dick was leaking precum again and twitching, hoping for any contact
with his stomach or chest.  Just one touch and I'd blow the load.  But no
such luck.  Stefan kept pushing into me, faster, faster, harder, harder,
till I felt like I would explode, and then he had his orgasm, dry as ever,
and I could feel his cock twitching and bucking inside me.

Then he pulled out and looked me in the eyes, a smile on his face.  "What,
did slave not cum?  What is slave waiting for?"

I tried to tell him, but all that came from my gag were unintelligible
noises.

"Does slave need some help?" he asked, mocking my helplessness.  I knew at
that moment that I'd be getting my revenge, sooner if not later.

Stefan leaned over my dick and exhaled over it, his breath causing me to
twitch and strain even more than before.  Then, before I was aware of what
he was doing, he opened his mouth and sucked most of me inside.  The sudden
warm and moist environment was enough: I began cumming and thrusting my
dick as far into his mouth as possible, my ass bouncing off the bed.  As I
did, the bonds which tied my wrists came loose.  Without hesitation, I
brought my hands forward and held his head in place as he sucked in my
entire load.

When I was done cumming, I pulled his naked body over mine and licked the
residue of my cum from his lips.  "That was fucking awesome," I whispered
to him, after I'd removed my gag.  "You are the best."

He smiled as he rested in my arms.  Then I brought his lips to mine and we
kissed, our tongues in each other mouths, tasting cum, tasting each other.

Then we heard a car door slam outside.  "They're home," Stefan said.  He
slipped out of my arms and began to untie my ankles.  "You want to go
swimming?"