From: an92392@anon.penet.fi
Reply-To: an92392@anon.penet.fi
Date: Thu, 28 Jul 1994 23:48:35 UTC
Subject: Torture Games part 1 - mm-yng teen-bdsm

                              Torture Games
                            mm-yng teen-bdsm

Events in this story are described pretty much as I remember them, though
I'm certain that my memories have been colored by the intervening years
and experiences. Also, this is my first story post.

        Copyright (c) 1994 by Skyrider. All rights reserved

======================================================================
                                WARNING
This story involves bondage and  S&M "games", eventually leading up to
sex,  between willing 13 and 14 year old boys - no adults involved.  If
this isn't your thing, press N now. 
======================================================================


Introductory Note
=================
This chapter doesn't contain any sex. In fact, there isn't any sex in the
first two chapters, but hopefully you'll enjoy them anyhow. 


"There, that should hold you" Mark said, more to himself than to me. He
spend a few more seconds looking at the ropes binding my wrists to the
overhead beam of my unfinished attic bedroom, then turned to look at me.
My body was stretched tight standing flatfooted on the plywood floor. I
experimented with rising up to my toes, but quickly settled back, hoping
that Mark hadn't noticed that it would be possible to stretch me tighter.
He spent a long minute looking at me. Even though the room was cool and I
was wearing only short cutoffs, beads of sweat were starting to form on
my skin. 

He dangled the whip in front of my face. It wasn't a real, store-bought
whip; We had made it out of four long strips of leather lacing, braided
together using the only braiding style that we knew. We had learned it
the previous summer at Camp, and practiced it mostly on necklaces and key
holders. That morning, we had decided to try our braiding skill out on a
whip. Now, after winning several hands of poker in which chips
represented lashes instead of nickles, Mark was about to try the "whip"
out on me!

Mark was 13, almost 14, and my best friend. He was tall for his age and
had the kind of slender, sinewy build found on boys who were growing fast
and hadn't yet filled out. With light brown hair sparkling with sun-gold
and light blue eyes, Mark had the appearance that I had always wanted. In
fact, though a year older, I was a good six inches shorter with a
broad, muscular build. My red-brown hair was (intentionally) worn in the
same style as Mark's; just covering the tops of my ears, swept across my
forehead, and long and square-cut in the back. 

This wasn't the first time that Mark and I had played "torture games". I
have been fascinated by the concepts of restraint and torture almost as
long as I can remember, and when I discovered the pleasures of jerking
off, I quickly found that it was enhanced by thinking of myself tightly
bound at the mercy of a cruel torturer, or practicing the arts of agony
on a helpless victim. I had also figured out by that time that I was
probably at least "partly queer". I was interested in (and turned on by)
girls, but usually when I jerked off, my tormentor or victim was a
slender, fair-haired male. I don't remember now how I first raised the
subject with Mark, but it was obvious that he found the concept of
torture exciting. In our conversations, it had never been associated with
sex in any way but was usually spoken of in macho terms of proving
toughness.

Talk had first turned to action about a year before, when Mark became my
prisoner in a "war game". After capturing him, I had marched him to my
basement, made him lay on the floor, and bound him tightly between two
posts (my parents were out. They were usually comfortable leaving us
alone together, since we never got into any trouble :). The sight of him
in that position was extremely exciting, though I was careful not to
think through exactly why. When I began "questioning" him, he had said
"I'll never talk, even if you roast my feet!". I knew he was referring to
a book that he'd read in which the hero had his feet held over a fire to
make him talk.

He seemed to be ASKING me to do just that. He probably felt safe since I
couldn't very well build a fire in the basement! He had not considered
the InfraRed lamp that my Dad used for drying paint.  When I brought out
the lamp, his eyes went wide, but he didn't say a thing. I set the lamp
a few inches from the bottoms of his bare feet, and turned it on. I
watched as his smirk changed to a tight-lipped expression then to a
grimace as the temperature of his feet rose. He pulled against the ropes,
and I enjoyed watching the play of muscles in his long legs and arms as
he struggled. This was FUN! When he started to make whimpering sounds,
like he was fighting back tears, I pulled the lamp away.  When I asked
him if he was ready to talk, his stubbornness returned. Back to the
roasting... a few comments about his skin smoking (it wasn't) took the
smile off of his face. I don't remember how many times I took the lamp
away and brought it back, but finally I placed the lamp very close and
made like I was going to leave him for a while. He yelled that he'd talk
as I started to walk away. I took my time, and made him beg before I
removed the lamp and untied him. Of course, he had to get even with me,
then I had to get even with him , and in this way a year passed. We did
many other things during the year, but none of them stick in my memory
today like our "torture games".

Now where was I..? Oh, yes... hanging from my bedroom ceiling. After the
agreed-on number of hands of poker, I was down 12 lashes...


                        Torture Games Chapter 2
                          mm-yng teen-bdsm

Events in this story are described pretty much as I remember them, though
I'm certain that my memories have been colored by the intervening years
and experiences. Also, this is my first story post.

        Copyright (c) 1994 by Skyrider. All rights reserved

Now where was I..? Oh, yes... hanging from my bedroom ceiling. After the
agreed-on number of hands of poker, I was down 12 lashes. Mark had been
almost gleeful as I removed my shirt and stood while he secured my
wrists. He spent about ten minutes just practicing swinging the whip
through the air. Finally, he stripped off his own tee shirt and did a few
stretches, as if getting ready for some hard exercise. By that time I was
totally terrified. After watching Mark's lithe body as he swung the whip
and stretched, my 14-year old cock was also as hard as a steel pipe,
though I tried not to think about that aspect of it.  Mark had never
admitted to being anything but 100% straight, and I didn't want to take
the risk of "coming out" to him (though he had figured prominantly in my
jerk-off fantasies for quite some time).

Finally, after taking a full swing and just missing me, he laughed at the
way that my muscles tensed and said ""How about a bet?". I just looked at
him, and he grinned. "If you beg me to stop before I'm done with the 12
lashes, you're my prisoner for the rest of the day. If not, I'm your
prisoner for the rest of the day". I was almost ready to beg right then
out of sheer terror! I thought about some of previous sessions as Mark's
prisoner, and wasn't sure that I was looking forward to spending a
painful afternoon, but then I started thinking about some of the things
that I'd thought up since the last time he'd been in my power, and those
thoughts overrode caution: "OK, give me 12 of your best!" I replied, with
more bravado than I felt. 

He just gave me that damned smirk, and stepped back, raised the whip,
then lowered it again. He turned me until I was facing the door, with its
full-length mirror. "Now I can watch your face", he explained, then
before I could react, swung the whip overhand, wrapping across my left
shoulder and upper back. I didn't have time to stifle my scream. Nothing
that anyone had ever done before had hurt like that! It felt like a line
drawn with a hot iron. I was breathing hard, and in the mirror I could
see the muscles of my chest heaving. I could also see the white welt
starting to rise on my shoulder. Before I could recover, Mark drew
another line of fire across my right shoulder. This time I made less
noise. Mark inspected his work, and ran a fingernail down each line of
pain. I shuddered, and Mark reached over my shoulder and tweaked one of
my nipples, which were standing out straight. "What's this?" he asked.  "
I don't know... must be from the pain" I panted. "OK, lets see if more
pain makes them stand up more" - Swish/crack - across my lower back, and
crack again, back the other way. As I sagged from the ropes, he delivered
a full sidearm swing, this time curling around my side and across my
board-tense stomach. Tears were running down my face. I saw his face in
the mirror, blue eyes outlines by a curls of gold-brown hair. "Ready to
beg yet, Prisoner?" he demanded. In fact, I was close, but the thought of
what I would with his tender body for the rest of the day forced me to
gasp "Never!". "I think you need to be cleaned up, you're a mess!, Don't
go away now..." he added over his shoulder as he headed downstairs. 

I don't know how long he was gone, but he came back holding a cloth an a
bottle of rubbing alcohol. He looked at the cloth, then dropped it and
poured a large slug of alcohol down my back. For the second time that
morning, I let out a full-throated scream.  My back felt like fire and
ice. It was incredible! I strained and thrashed against the ropes. My
body was covered with goose-bumps. Mark ran his hand over my
alcohol-soaked back, then ran his hand over my chest and stomach. I was
shaking from the chill and the pain. Before I could recover, he delivered
two more strokes to my back. None of his strokes had drawn blood, but I
could feel the welts. Mark asked me again if I was ready to beg. Somehow
I managed a "No". He ran his fingers over his latest handiwork, and then
stood for several minutes. Finally he seemed to reach a decision.
"Y'know", he started, then paused. "I can't really see these nice welts
too well with your tan", "I wonder how the next four would look without
the tan?" 

Before I could comment, he reached around and unsnapped the front of my
cutoffs, and watched them fall to the ground. For a second, I was
stunned. The area covered by our shorts had always been out of bounds as
during our games. From his reaction, I think he expected me to be wearing
underwear (I seldom did as a boy, I really liked the feel of the denim on
my balls)! My freed cock, which was still as hard as ever despite (or
more likely because of) the agony in my back, stood out straight from the
few wisps of red-brown hair at its base. My face (and probably then the
rest of my now-naked body) turned bright, flaming, red. I looked up and
saw that Mark was even redder than I. I could see him trying to look at
my cock without me noticing. He started to say several different things,
and finally decided that his best response could be delivered with the
whip in his hand. He stepped back and dealt two savage blows across my
bare, white butt. "BEG!" he commanded. "Shove it", I yelled back. He
stood behind me for several minutes watching me in the mirror. Finally,
he walked around in front of me and pointed to my rigid cock and said
softly "Do you always get like that when I torture you?". I noticed at
that point that his shorts had a bit of a bulge in the front, and I just
stared at it and said "usually, and do you usually get like that when you
torture me?". He didn't answer me, but picked up the whip in his left
hand and held his right underneath my erection. "Last chance to beg,
Prisoner!" he warned me softly. "If you don't beg now, you get the next
two across your prick". I couldn't imagine what that would feel like, but
I'd come too far to quit now. I was cringing a bit as I said "do it,
then". 

Still supporting my cock with one hand, he raised the whip and swung it
hard. As I closed my eyes and tensed my muscles in expectation of the
agony, he changed direction in mid swing so that the whip wrapped around
my thighs. It hurt a lot, but nothing like what I had expected. As I
opened my eyes, he grabbed the head of my cock and pulled hard, then
shifted the whip in his hand so that he had a short length to swing, and
snapped it so that it landed hard across my stiff shaft and wrapped
around it. 

When the tears and fog cleared from my eyes and my breathing had returned
to normal, I looked in the mirror. I looked like hell! As Mark untied my
wrists, all I could think of was that it was going to be a long, sweet,
afternoon. 
        

                        Torture Games Chapter 3
                          mm-yng teen-bdsm-jo

Events in this story are described pretty much as I remember them, though
I'm certain that my memories have been colored by the intervening years
and experiences. Also, this is my first story post.

        Copyright (c) 1994 by Skyrider. All rights reserved

A long cool shower to soothed the welts on my back, stomach, and butt,
but I was still sore all over, and my cock was still too tender to jerk
off in the shower, even though I really wanted to! Especially because I
was planning a very uncomfortable afternoon for my "prisoner", and I
wasn't sure I could get through the day without comeing.  My folks were
gone until 8:00 PM, and he had said "the rest of the day" when we made
our bet, so he was to be MINE for over eight hours!  Thinking about
things to do to his 13 year old body was turning me on something fierce!
Somehow, when Mark had dropped my shorts that morning and lashed my naked
butt, the whole nature of our "torture games" had changed for me. When he
had grabbed my hardon, it was the first time in my 14 years that anyone
other than me had handled it, and I liked it.

I dried myself off, and stood looking at myself in the mirror. Even
though I really wished I looked like Mark; tall,  slender and
fair-haired, I had to admit that I didn't look that bad. My shoulders
were broad, and three years of Judo had done good things for my chest and
arms. My red-brown hair was sun-streaked with a deeper red, and since I
never wore shirts in the summer, I was reasonably well tanned. Looking at
the lash-marks on my shoulders and back, I guessed that I'd be wearing a
shirt for the next couple of days, at least when someone was around. Oh
well, something else for my "prisoner" to pay for!

I pulled on a pair of extra-short extra-tight cutoffs (again, without
underwear - I really liked the feel of the denim against my balls), and
headed back upstairs. 

Mark was waiting in his "cell" (the walk-in closet), and I escorted him
to the "interrogation room", where I told him to "lose the shorts". He
seemed undecided for a minute, then shrugged and slipped out of his
cutoffs, revealing a pair of white jockeys. "Those too", I commanded. I
couldn't help noticing as he pulled them off that the front of his jockeys
had a couple of small stains, but I quickly lost interest in that as I
noticed his soft cock. It was slightly larger than mine, and his pubic
area was hairless. I grinned at this, since *mine* at least had some
hair (though not much, despite the fact that my legs and arms already
had a covering of fine reddish hair). I tied Mark's wrists to an overhead
beam a couple of feet apart (Mark smiled because I had to stand on a
chair to reach - he'd pay for that!). For what I had planned, it was
important that his legs be separated, so I tied a board across the
backs of his ankles, spreading his legs as wide as I could without
having him lose his balance. 

Mark always preferred causing fast, intense pain like the lash. I prefer
torture that starts mild and builds up slowly. I went downstairs and
returned with a heat lamp on an adjustable stand. "Remember our first
torture game when I roasted your feet?",  I asked him. When he nodded, I
told him "I think I've found something a lot more fun to roast!". He
followed my gaze to his groin, and looked nervous. I positioned the lamp
about a foot below his balls and turned it on. His cock twitched from the
sudden warmth. "Here's what we're gonna do", I explained. "I'm going to
turn the lamp on for a minute, then off for a minute, then on for two
minutes and off for a minute, and so on. Once I turn it on, it stays on
for that many minutes, so if you decide to talk, you need to do it before
I turn it on!". Agreeing "to talk" was our equivilent of a safe-word,
though neither of us would have known the term then. By that time, a
minute had passed and he was starting to squirm. I turned the lamp off,
and cupped his balls in my hand. They were hot, and felt very soft and
smooth. As I held his balls, I saw his cock stiffen. This was the first
time I'd ever touched another boy's balls, and I kept looking at Mark
expecting him to say something, but he seemed to be enjoying the coolness
of my hand. 

After a minute of cooling, I turned the lamp on again. At the end of two
silent minutes, he was breathing fast but his cock was stiff.  During
that cooling minute, I made a quick run downstairs. "Ready to talk?", I
asked him. "Fuck off" was his reply. Now neither of us swore very often,
particularly Mark who's father was a Deacon. I picked up the lash that he
had used on me that morning, and gave his bare butt a sharp whack, then
turned on the lamp. "It isn't real bright to talk that way to someone who
might get mad and forget to turn the lamp off, you know" . At the end of
three minutes, he was writhing and whimpering, but his cock was, if
anything, harder. Mine was pressing against the front of my tight cutoffs
as I watched the play of muscles under his fair skin, and I couldn't help
noticing that he kept glancing in that direction.  As soon as I turned
the lamp off, I took a handfull of the crushed ice that I had brought up
from the kitchen and pressed it against his balls. His entire body
shuddered, and the expression on his face was great. I repeated this for
four, five, and six minutes, with ice in between. By this time, I was
getting braver. Each time I'd take my hand from his balls to turn the
lamp on, I'd wrap my fingers around his cock and stroke it once. " I want
to keep it nice and stiff so it will roast better" was my explanation.
Finally, about midway through the seven minute roast, he said between
clenched teeth "OK, I'll talk, please... turn it off". I waited until the
seven minutes had expired (and maybe just a bit more) before turning off
the lamp. 
        
I was out of ice by this time, and looking for something else to cool off
his literally steaming cock and balls, when I remembered that the alcohol
was still on my workbench. I applied a liberal amount to his balls, then
rubbed it over his cock. Having (at that point) never felt alcohol on my
balls, I really didn't understand when his relaxed expression tensed and
he began to pull at the ropes and yell.

Once I figured out what the problem was, I untied Mark and let him
shower to get the alcohol off of his cock and balls, since I really
didn't know whether it would do something horrible to him if I left it
on. 

I told him to stay naked after he showered, and I re-tied him, this time
spread-eagled on my bed face up. I still had almost seven hours to go,
and I wasn't wasting any of it! 

I noticed that his cock was soft, and I asked him if he had jerked off in
the shower. He turned a bit red, and shook his head "no". "You DO know
what 'jerking off' means, don't you?" I asked him, in that superior tone
that a fourteen year old uses when speaking to a clearly inferior being
(such as a thirteen year old). "Of course", he replied in a matching
tone. "I'm glad to hear that, because you're going to tell me all about
how you jerk off!". 

He didn't seem real comfortable with that, and remained silent for
several minutes. Finally I said "Oh well, I guess I'm just gonna have to
torture it out of you". 

I went over to my workbench where all my Ham radio junk was, and
returned with a pile of stuff that I'd prepared while Mark was in the
shower. I have always been interested in electricity as a torturer's
tool, and had tried quite a few ideas on myself, so I had a pretty good
plan in mind. Without a word, I took a pair of socks our of my drawer and
soaked them in the salt water that I'd mixed up while Mark was in the
shower, and pulled them on Mark's feet. I connected a wire to each foot.
Mark was watching me very carefully, and I could see his muscles tensing.
We had talked a lot about electrical torture, but I'd never really used
it on him before. I connected the wires to a "Variac", which is a
transformer that can be adjusted from zero to 140 volts by turning a
dial.

I placed my alarm clock where Mark could see it, and explained the
rules: "I'm going to turn this dial up one volt every minute. Every
question that you answer buys you another minute without a turn-up. If
you're really being cooperative, I might even turn it down - a bit. If
you do anything to annoy me, I'll turn it up faster. I'm going to start
at about 20 so we don't have to wait all day. Meanwhile, I want you to
think about jerking off, and I'll want to know ALL about it." 

As I turned the knob to 20, Mark's legs jumped a little, telling me that
he was starting to feel the current. Every minute, I turned the dial up
one volt, and repeated my first question, a simple one to get things
started: "Where do you jerk off?". Over the next twenty minutes, I could
see his leg muscles starting to tense from the current, and I figured he
must be thinking about jerking off because his cock got real hard. I
really wanted to touch it, but I couldn't think of an excuse, so I just
kept watching him. By the time I got to 40 volts, it was clear from his
expression that the feeling in his legs had crossed the line from
tingling to pain. His blue eyes had a scared look, and his gold-brown
hair clung to his forehead in sweat-soaked rings. I could clearly see the
lines of muscle in his arms and chest. I ran my hand down his chest and
stomach, and could feel every rigid muscle. Finally he said "on my bed". 

"Good!", I encouraged him. I mean, I'd sort of guessed that, but it was a
start "Now, when?". 

"Usually after school before my mom gets home from work" Answers were
flowing now, so I turned the dial down a couple of volts and he relaxed
some. "Do you take all of your clothes off?"

"Sometimes, but sometimes I'm in too much of a hurry".  I smiled at
that."When you're not in a hurry, how do you do it?" 

He hesitated, and as I reached for the dial, quickly started speaking:
"I put suntan lotion on my hand, then I stroke it".  "Which hand?"

"Left" Figures, he's left handed. "And you just keep stroking it till
you spurt?  That's all? do you ever do anything special?  

He hesitated again "no, that's it". "Like hell!" I told him, and turned
the voltage back to 40. "Now, I think you lied to me. That means I'm
going to let you think about it for 5 minutes and then I'm going to ask
again.

By the end of five more minutes, Mark was panting and his entire body was
covered with a sheen of sweat. Of course, the more he sweat, the more he
felt the current. "Now - you must do SOMETHING more interesting..."

" OK, OK, sometimes I tie myself up"
"Tell me all about it" (reaching for the dial).

"Usually I strip off all my clothes and put suntan oil on my prick
before I lay down Then I tie both ankles to the bed posts, about like
this." I turned the current down till he could talk without panting.

"Sometimes I tie my wrists together, then stroke my prick with both
hands". I waited, picturing the scene. I felt like I was going to cream
my shorts!  "Sometimes I tie my right hand to the bedpost and keep it
there till I shoot". 

Obviously, thinking about it had Mark as turned on as me. I could see
drops of liquid on the tip of his cock. "So what do you think about when
you're doing this?" Silence. I quickly turned the dial up five volts past
the previous high, then back down again. The shock raised his legs off
the bed and he yelped. 

"No more - please" I waited.

"usually I think about torturing people". This confused me a bit. "You
think about torturing people while you have yourself tied up? Not about
being tortured?"