Gay Erotic Stories

I agree to play a game involving “a little bit of bondage” at the home of a guy I had met over the Internet, and since my host phrased his invitation by saying, “Let’s tie each other up,” it never even occurred to me to think that I should worry about anything. When I arrived he said that since he has done this before and is more familiar with bondage, I should go first - and I agree, thinking he means I will tie him up. But then he surprises me by suggesting that I get undressed. I respond that I would never let someone tie me up naked and I will let him tie me up only if I can wear clothing. I had mentioned earlier that I was going for a workout after we’ve done, so he suggests that I put on my workout clothes. I respond that I am actually going for a swim, and all I have in my bag is a swimsuit. He says “that will be fine,” and since I don’t want to offer too much resistance I agree to go first - in my swimsuit - and he leads me into a room in which I can change.

I change into a Speedo that, while my favorite workout suit, is made of sheer nylon and almost obscenely tight, which makes me suddenly very self-conscious. I leave my clothes in the other room, and then I follow him into what he calls his “play area.” I’m now feeling slightly funny about allowing some strange man tie me up while I am wearing nothing but a Speedo, but after we have tried several poses and he’s tied me up in several different ways I cease worrying. After a while I suggest that we switch roles, and he says, “Okay, just after one more quick position that I want you to try.”

He tells me to sit down in the middle of the room, which is empty of furniture (although it has some hooks on the walls and on the ceiling). Sitting upright on the floor, he tells me to pull my feet in towards my body, spread my legs and place my arms in between the parted knees. Then he tells me to reach my arms underneath my calves from the inside of my parted legs, and bending forward, to twist my hands around and grab the front of my ankles. At this point he binds my wrists to my ankles.

It isn’t clear how vulnerable I’ve suddenly become since I’m sitting on my butt, hunched over, and the only part of me that is exposed is my back. However, my captor grabs the backsides of my feet and slowly lifts my legs, gently rolling me onto my back. All of a sudden, the extent of my vulnerability becomes extremely apparent. In this position I cannot close my legs, because my shoulders are wedged in between my thighs, and there is only a thin strip of nylon in between my legs and the bulge is now front-row center and prominently situated.

I nervously laugh and say, “Well, you fooled me with this position – now why don’t we switch and let me tie you up?”

But my captor ignores my question, smiles, and with the tips of his fingers, begins to caress and tickle the exposed backsides of my legs. His fingers draw faint, invisible lines, and he obviously enjoys the feel of my smooth skin and the underside of my muscular legs, especially in such a strained position. The back of my legs are relatively hairless and powerfully sculpted, so their white smoothness presents a tempting target for mischief.

In a concerned voice I say “what are you doing?” but he doesn’t answer. I attempt to make light of the situation and try to sound teasing when I say, “Just remember, the tables are going to be turned in just a little bit…”

He continues to caress his way towards that increasingly obvious and dreaded target in the middle of my legs by sliding his fingers back and forth. When I again demand to know what he’s doing, he stops - and with the very tip of one of his fingernails, he suddenly and briefly grazes a zig zag on the bottom side of the bulge, right through the Speedo, right above its seam. His fingernails are long, which heightens their sharpness, and he says “oops, I’m so sorry.” But then he chuckles and says, “I guess you don’t really mind, seeing that you’re wearing the Speedo for protection. That’s why you insisted on wearing it, right?” The touch of his nails through the Speedo reacts like electricity on my balls, and the utter insignificance of my protection makes it clear that I am more vulnerable than I could have ever imagined.

Then he says “I don’t think there will be any switching places, if you know what I mean.”

I start tugging at the bindings, but of course my efforts are futile. Even as I protest, my captor very slowly broadens the assault with his fingernails, alternatively teasing the skin around the edges of the bulge and then tickling me through the Speedo. His fingers graze back and forth, following the crease of my butt and caressing the outline of my dick in the front, and it almost feels as if the Speedo is heightening the sensitivity of my body, pulled taught against the most tactile nerve endings that a human possesses.

Suddenly he stops, and while he moves away to grab something, I focus upon the hooks on the ceiling above. I am immediately overcome by a sickening sense of dread when I see that he has grabbed more rope and, reaching up, begins running two lengths through those hooks, which are placed about four feet apart on the ceiling above. Raising my voice, I begin to demand that he “release me, immediately!” Instead, he grabs one of my ankles and ties one of the ropes that he threaded through a hook around my already well-bound left ankle and wrist, and then he ties the other length of rope around my other limbs.

PART II

I began to violently thrash about in an attempt to free myself, but it is such an obvious waste of time that I start to yell, “Would you PLEASE let me go IMMEDIATELY?” No sooner are the words uttered than the captor shoves a piece of cloth into my mouth and then quickly grabs another cloth, which he wraps around my face and head, securing the cloth ball in my mouth and effectively muffling my yells. Of course HE can hear me, but it is extremely doubtful that anyone else can, (not that it keeps me from trying to cry for help). But now that I am muffled and effectively incapable of resisting my captor in any way, he stands up and begins to pull on the opposite ends of the ropes that are looped through the hooks.

He pulls the ropes taught, and then with more effort he continues pulling on the ropes, which start to lift my bound limbs upwards. He strains to pull harder, and suddenly the ropes lift me off the ground just enough so that I begin to rock back and forth. Of course I am still struggling, which merely means that I keep rocking back and forth. He keeps pulling on the ends of the rope, and as I am lifted higher and closer to the hooks up above, the ropes slowly spread my legs further apart as well. When I am three or four feet off the ground my captor pulls the loose ends wrap each rope securely around a pole on the side of the room, stabilizing me in mid-air.

While my captor catches his breath I try to keep my senses about me, but it is of no use. I am bound and helpless, and I have been bound and disabled in a particularly diabolical manner. I am now hanging upside down from the ceiling, with ropes tied to my ankles that are keeping my legs spread apart. All I am wearing is a tight little Speedo, which I suddenly realize is almost worse than wearing nothing. The nylon is practically translucent and it seems to draw attention to the bulge that is barely contained underneath the tight sheerness of the Speedo. All I can do is emit muffled cries and wiggle helplessly, suspended in the air.

My captor walks back around in front of me, and once again he proceeds to assault my underside with his fingernails. “My, how wonderful it is to see a handsome man helpless and defenseless like this. I think I’m glad you insisted upon wearing this little Speedo – it gives me something to focus upon, if you get my drift.” It’s obvious he is enjoying the look of terror in my eyes and my smothered protestations. He laughs and says “I’m not sure it was such a good idea for you to come over to a complete stranger’s house and let him tie you up, was it? Just think about it, you voluntarily let me tie you up, you voluntarily let me tie you up while wearing nothing but this Speedo, and what’s most amusing of all, you willingly let me tie you up in this absolutely delicious position. What COULD you have been thinking, letting someone who you don’t even know tie you up like this?”

Everything he said was true. And the real perversity of the position was that it insured my bulge remained in the limelight, inescapably and continually in the line of fire.

When my captor reached into a closet, grabbed a bag and pulled out a flogging whip I began to frantically scream through the gag and thrash around wildly. But my cries for help were smothered, and I could do nothing more than tug my entwined limbs, which merely caused my torso to rock back and forth, which in turn kept swinging the vulnerable bulge into the spotlight.

The captor now takes his index finger and begins to draw concentric circles, each next one larger than the last, right on the underside of my balls – in the most sensitive area that he could possibly find – in the obvious form of a target. He didn’t even need to tell me what was being implied.

Finally, he stood back and took a swing at that imagined target with his whip, which stung me through the strip of nylon between the legs. Then my captor continued to tickle me and started to describe, in graphic detail, all of the painful, sadistic things he was capable of doing to me. He talked about the whip – about using it and aiming for the imaginary target he had just drawn, but how he’d “probably miss a lot and cover those beautifully smooth, muscular white legs with welts.” He talked about how his father used to whip him with a belt, and how he would love to use a belt on a helpless, handsome, athletic man in a Speedo.

Then he suddenly smiled a malicious grin and said, “My goodness, a Speedo doesn’t look quite right when it’s dry – it needs to be wet to look just right. I’ve got water right over there, in that kettle. I was heating it to make some tea! But maybe it hasn’t gotten too hot yet.” As I shook my head and pleadingly uttered muffled “no, no…” He went over and picked up a kettle, and walked back over, leaned the kettle forward and slowly dribbled some stinging hot water onto that bulge, through the Speedo, just above that seam. Although the water wasn’t scalding it was still stinging-hot and stung my balls, dampening the Speedo. I writhed violently, more out of fear than actual pain, although the Speedo was actually steaming after the water was poured.

He set the kettle down and resumed his dialog, talking about how seeing me tied up reminded him of going to a rodeo and that he thought that he should “brand me” like a bull. Then he feigned disappointment and said that he couldn’t brand me because he didn’t own a branding iron, but my sense of vulnerability was utterly complete. The wet Speedo was now clinging to my balls, which were even more sensitive after being stung by the hot water.

Suddenly both sets of his fingernails were tickling me wildly, all around my balls as if they were galloping, scrambling around the front of the Speedo and between my legs and tickling my dick and my crack, but always back to the focal point, the sensitive underside of that bulge. And in spite of my terror and fear, my sense helplessness was also very arousing, and my extreme vulnerability and powerlessness were probably as sexually electrifying to me as to my captor. The slicing of his fingernails was sending shock waves to my brain, and I suddenly felt an explosion of semen shoot from me and seep through the front of the Speedo. He laughed and said, “I guess you’re enjoying this more than you might have imagined? Maybe I should invite over a few of my more disciplinary friends…”

And the evening seemed destined to continue.