My roommate was a junior transfer from Walla Walla, Washington. His name was Stephen Hale--a big guy, 6'2" and 210 lbs. He'd played soccer in high school, but here at State he had joined the Lacrosse team. Jesus, but he was beautiful. He had dark brown hair and a tight end's body. He was virtually hairless, except for the tufts under his armpits and the patch which began a his navel and traveled around his balls and down deep into the crack of his ass. You could say that Steve was thick. His hands were thick, his chest and torso were thick, so were his legs and feet. Even his fingers were wide and stubby. He seemed to be bursting with strength and his 8" dick was a logical extension of that image...thick and ready to burst with cum.
Steve lived in that frat for convenience more than because he was a typical brother. He did what he was told, played Lacrosse and just passed his classes. He was no genius, but he made good. We met during the pledge and became friends. I covered his ass when he decided to ditch the house to meet some girl, and he treated me like I was his kid brother. I liked that, and still remember the way he ruffled my hair and pinched my cheek after making some stupid joke that he wanted me to like. He was so all-American, and after a while I couldn't get him out of my thoughts.
He always woke me up after coming home from a date to let me know whether he was lucky or pissed off. As he undressed he'd sometimes show me his boner with a filled rubber on it, or massage his crotch through his tight Levi's to express frustration in a date that wouldn't put out. I'd watch, mesmerized, as he relived the details and used his big paw to play with himself. On nights when he didn't score, after the lights were out and I was supposed to be sleeping, he'd come out of the shower and climb into bed naked, using a sock he stuffed under his bed as a pussy for the night to jerk his meat. I could see his silhouette in the window light, using a fist to slide the sock up and down his erection, jamming his feet into the bed and raising his ass off the sheets as he screwed his fist-gripped sock. At the end he would thrust his pelvis up and shoot an endless wad of cream into the sock, nursing and torturing his aching dick knob with the rough wool sock until his groans almost got too loud. Then he'd stuff the sock under his mattress and roll over in a dead sleep. On more than one occasion I'd slipped out of bed after he was snoring to pull the sock out from under his mattress, scoop out the cum, and use it to jerk myself off. Jesus, he shot like a horse. Once I got bold enough to bend down and smell the musky sweat and soap odor of his ass, and the tart tangy starch smell from his balls as he slept. But I never touched him; he was too straight.
Towards the end of the year, Steve started coming home drunk after dates where he got no screw. He had only one or two girls he'd date, and neither was serious about him. As the spring semester wore on, and Lacrosse took more of his time, the dates were few. He drank with the guys...then came home. Or, if he went out and the night ended with just a kiss, he'd come back blasted, and sometimes ready to play.
I warned him after he jumped on my bed at night that if he didn't stop fucking around at 2:00 in the morning, I'd make him pay. I dunno where he got the balls to be so tough, but he just laughed and said he'd like to see me take him. The result of all this talk was some horsing around and wrestling. The fewer dates, the more we wrestled. At times, our bodies were pressed tightly together, crotch to crotch, boner to boner, Once, although he didn't know it, when we were on the bed and he kept thrusting his hips into mine, I shot off in my jeans. Shit, I ruined a pair of briefs, and damn near exposed a wet crotch. I managed to get into the bathroom and lock the door before he saw anything. Damn, that was a close call.
Since Steve was so much bigger and stronger than me, I needed to find a way to equal our battles. Brute strength never seemed to work because he had all the advantage. Often I would end up in a headlock, with him grabbing my balls and making me beg to have him let go. One day, though, he found out that he could not only handle me, but fuck around with my body. He was straight, but the power of commanding another guy gave him a thrill...and fuck, when he had me on the ropes, I was like a whore in his hands. He could have screwed my ass all over the room and I wouldn't have said a word. As it was, I wasn't into being screwed, and fortunately Steve was just playing with my body like it was a toy.
That night in March, he came home from being with his buddies. He was in one
of his playful moods, but the liquor gave him an excuse to go a little crazy.
He jumped me, and like always I put up a good but losing fight. Only this
time, he suddenly pulls my t-shirt from my jeans, shoves it up under my arms,
while he gets me in an arm-lock.
"Steve, what the fuck are you doing?"
"Now you just stay still, runt, and if you're a good boy I'll let ya up."
I stopped resisting, hoping that he would give in. I was in no mood to get too worked up. I hadn't jerked off for a couple of nights, and the last thing I wanted was cream again. But Steve had other plans.
Steve was lying on my back, with my arm locked behind me. My face was turned sideways on the bed, and my raging dick was chafing against my jeans and the bed...I had slipped free of my briefs while we were wrestling around. Now the rough denim was playing havoc on my tender and unprotected prick head. I could feel the precum drooling from my piss slit. Steve suddenly slipped his free hand under me, and using a blunt index finger, gently but firmly insinuated it into the hole of my navel.
I saw stars! "Steve, you shit, stop it, get your finger outta there, Jesus; noooo stoooooppp...please, hahahahaha Steve, stop, haaaaaaaaaaa.... STOP IT YOU PRICK....aaaaahhhhh NNOOOOOOOOO! I laughed uncontrollably as his persistent finger drilled deeper into my vulnerable belly button, fucking me like I was some girl. Shit, I may as well have been some cunt with a guy's finger up my hole, because I was his. He had me by a nerve ending straight to my cock.
"Now, you just cooperate, little buddy, and I'm gonna let you go.
But you do like I say...or I may just tickle you to death." With that he stopped for a moment to let me catch my breath and speak.
"Okay, okay, just don't tickle me again...please, just don't tickle me again."
He rolled onto his back and took me with him. I yelped once because my arm hurt, but he gave me some slack and let me rest on his chest and stomach. My head was on his firm pecs, and my straining crotch now bulged obscenely. He hooked his my legs with his and then went to work. The right hand which had been irritating my navel now slid down to my crotch.
I struggled in embarrassment and panic. "Steve, you jerk-off, get your hands offa me....NOW, YOU PRICK!" Then, in desperation, I begged. "Please, Steve, let me go, I don't feel like playing around anymore...let me up, c'mon.."
His response was swift and sure. He sent that worming finger right back to my navel, and sent me into another series of hysterical laughing shrieks. As I yelled, I could hear him laughing in deep guffaws; he liked having me as his prisoner, to play with as he pleased.
"Now, are you gonna shut up and cooperate, or am I gonna have to use my finger on you again? Maybe next time I'll see how ticklish you are somewhere's else...maybe your ribs, huh?...so ya better calm down."
I surrendered, knowing full and well that I could plan my revenge the moment I was free. At times when we had played around, I had tickled Steve, once on his foot and another time under his arms, but he had escaped despite laughing uncontrollably for a moment or two. My time would come, I could wait.
That night, Steve opened my jeans, and like some teenage kids horsing around, he jerked a load out of my balls. He laughed hysterically when my cum bolted out of a bulging prick knob as his relentless fist slip up and down my aching fuck pole. I was excited and scared. On the one hand, his fist was a dream come true, but on the other hand I feared embarrassment and being labeled a fag. After I shot, he held me close for awhile, and rubbed the cum into my stomach. Then he let me go, and jumped up to protect himself. I screamed and cursed at him, and told him never to touch me again. But he knew I was just pissed off, and after a couple of days I would forgive and forget. To him, it was just a joke. For me, it was the opening salva in a war which I intended to win.
Two weeks later, he came home from a date without any relief. He was drunk and obnoxious. But he had had so much that he was not in any condition to jump me. Instead, he came bursting out of the bathroom dressed like a queer's dream come true. He was standing in his leather high-tops, size eleven, with his white crew socks hanging. He had a jock strap on, a football practice t-shirt, his Lacrosse helmet and gloves, and his stick. The hair on his legs ended just short of his bulging strap, and his navel appeared obscenely below the short t-shirt. His nipples pushed out the t-shirt at his pecs, and sweat dripped from under his arms and at his forehead. This goof was ready to play Lacrosse!
He suddenly threw down the stick, then took a dive towards me.
But I moved and in his stupor, he tripped and fell. That's when I took my opportunity. I jumped on his back and bend his arm behind his back. He grunted, but he was still too groggy to fight back. I grabbed a tie that was strewn on the floor with the rest of our clothes, and in a minute I had both his arms tied in front of him. By now, he was alert, but he just stared at me with a sappy drunken smile.
"So you got me this time, huh runt? Well, better enjoy it, `cause if I get loose I'm gonna break your balls." He laughed, but he didn't struggle to get free. I think he assumed that since I had never beaten him before I didn't have the guts to do anything too weird. Anyway, straight guys always see themselves as either immortal or are so naive that the range of possibilities couldn't be threatening. Boy, was Steve in for a surprise.
I steered him back to the bed and secured his arms, bound at the wrists, over his head to the bed frame. Next, I secured the first and then the other leg to the posts at the foot of the bed. Lying spread-eagled and secured on his bed, he made my dick throb. His firm, sloping pecs were tipped by two succulent and rubbery teats now slightly poking up his t-shirt. Under his arms, the dark brown tufts of hair were wet with perspiration, smelling slightly of Old Spice deodorant. His jock strap bulged with an erection, the head of his cock jutting above the band towards his navel.
I loosened his high-tops and pulled each one off his feet. When I pulled the socks off, I looked at those powerful feet. They were strong and athletic, broad, pale, veined, and muscular. Those feet had pounded up and down fields, gripped rugs and floors, gotten hot and sweaty in umpteen pairs of sneakers. Now they were under my supervision. The toes curved neatly from the big toe to the little one. Only the index toe broke the pattern, jutting above the big and middle toe like an erection. His instep was meaty and high-arched. Each foot was slightly pigeon-toed, reflecting years of athletic play.
"Runt, what're ya gonna do...?" His voice seemed almost quiet and subdued.
I didn't answer immediately. First I took one of his crew socks, and pinching his nose shut, got him to open his mouth so I could stuff it in. His eyes opened wide, and for the first time I saw a look of fear on his handsome face. Then, after I used some athletic tape to secure his gag, I spoke to him. "Ya know Steve, I haven't forgotten the other night when you got me down and tickled me, and jerked me off. I figure turnabout is fair play. But I've got a lot of losing nights to avenge. And since you haven't been getting any recently, maybe I can help you out by draining your balls...what do you say?" I sounded so straight, but my heart was pounding. I had a dream come true. I was gonna get to jerk Steve's meat into my submission and anything else I wanted to do with his body. He had to accept the excuse because he had crossed the line himself two weeks earlier. Nothing queer, just some good old-fashioned man stuff--one dude over another.
He shook his head as if to say no, but the terror he felt hadn't reduced the size of his fat boner. Instead, a clear line of lube dripped from the pool in his wide piss slit down to the reservoir of his navel. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I let my index finger trace a light, feather trail from one ankle, up his calf along the inside of his leg to his thigh, then up to the edge of his jock pouch. Along the way I pulled at hairs, scratched at sensitive places, and finally got to his crotch, letting one finger dip up under the strap towards the crack of his ass. Steve grunted, shifting his weight to try and avoid my probing fingers, but he had no way to escape. Instead, his thick dick just got harder and drooled more.
I looked up at his navel. Yeah, that's where I'd start. I shifted my glance to his face, then gave a wicked smile. My hand went up into the air, imitating a little kid's airplane. With one finger extended, I pretended that it was a jet bomber on a run and let my hand fly over his body in a threatening but gradual descent. He knew what was gonna happen, and began thrashing against his bonds and yelling into the gag. But I couldn't understand him, so I just made him squirm.
"Remember what you said to me, Stevie; JUST COOPERATE and you'll be okay. So that's what I'm telling you. Be a good boy, and maybe I'll let you up by tomorrow morning." His eyes rolled, and he groaned loudly into the gag, but his dick stayed at attention. Funny how some guys are studly, but when you have them in the right situation they will let you do anything you want with their bodies. Steve was a prisoner to his own prick. He knew earlier that if I won I'd get some of my own back. He sort of expected it. But also, he sort of craved it. He wanted me to force him to enjoy my control of his body.
Without warning, my finger dove into his navel. His hole was wide and deep with curly brown hair framing it and filling it. His stomach was so taught that my finger must have tickled him something ferocious. As I let my nail scratch the interior, probing and searching for nooks to irritate, his ass bounced on the bed and he yelled into the gag like a stuck pig. Jesus, this was a rush! To see his toes curl and squeeze, the see his chest heave and his head loll back and forth helplessly as he laughed without relief was sensational. I gave him the torture in waves, not wanting him to choke or stop enjoying the excruciating sensation.
While I applied my finger to his navel, his practice t-shirt got shoved up and under his armpits. The firm, sloping ridges of his chest were prominently displayed as his chest heaved. The firm, juicy little berries at the tip of each slope had gone stiff. Like little erections, they were begging for attention. With my finger still worming relentlessly into his navel, I used the other hand to pinch and scratch at his nipples. The moment I grasped his titty between my index finger and thumb and began a gentle tugging, then used a fingernail to scratch the rubbery teat, Steve's eyes closed and his laughing was relieved only by groans. What a whore. He wanted to be played with. I knew it.
Later, Steve told me that when he was in high school, some buddies went with him to a drive-in where, after some booze and a joint, they got to horsing around. One thing let to another and suddenly he was caught in between his two friends on the floor of the van they were in. He said one guy began pinching his tits as part of the game and when he caved in, they decided to really have some fun. By the time the night was ended, they had his jeans around his ankles, his briefs down, and jerked him off for the fun of it. Apparently, on several more occasions they played the same game, sometimes with Steve in the middle, or with one of his buddies. All I know is that when I want him to surrender, I start toying with his tits, a little pinch, a pull, a scratch, and like the pussy he is he just lets me do what I want.
But all that would come later. At the time, I was exhilarated just to have him squirm as my fingers pinched and tickled. The way Steve hunched his hips and curled his toes, I could tell my torture had him horny as hell. He needed relief and I was the guy to give it to him.
The time had come to make my tethered roommate lose control. That big bound body was mine to play with and I wanted him helpless. I pushed him over the edge. I removed my index finger from his navel, and tracing it slowly up his stomach, it traveled past his ribs into the hollow of his armpit. The muscular cavity was stretched open to me since his arms were tightly secured over his head. The dark tufts of hair still smelled slightly of deodorant, but the nervous perspiration was beginning to make him smell like a rutting and passionate pig, yeah! As my stiff finger gently probed the wet hollow, Steve's eyes opened wide. Oh yeah, the big stud boy was as ticklish here as elsewhere. His muffled pleas made their way through the dirty sock jammed in his mouth..."aaaaaaiiiiieeeeee----mmmpppphhhh.....aaaaaauggggh--!"
With an almost cruel sense of power, I stiffened my finger and used the thick digit to tickle the sensitive armpit mercilessly. Steve's toes curled tight, his ass bucked desperately, and his head lolled back and forth--eyes opening and closing in conjunction with his garbled please and shrieks. "Yeah, you fucker," I said in a cold tone, "when I asked you stop, did you? No--so now I'm gonna give you a real good workout, big guy. You've gotta learn your lesson."
I went from one armpit to the other, paused briefly and tickled both at the same time--varying the speed and firmness of my fingers to keep Steve off balance and writhing. For about a couple of minutes I allowed him a chance to regain his breath, all the while whispering to him about the helplessness of his situation and what I was going to do with him. Then I returned to the sweet torture. I crawled in between his spread legs and reached up to his chest with both hands. My right hand went back to work in his left armpit, tugging at the hair, scratching and tickling with wild abandon. My left hand went up to his right pec to pinch and pull and scratch the jutting spike of his nipple. Steve bucked, his cries through the gag once again alternating between uncontrolled squeals from the tickling and moans of pleasure as his sensitive nipples were worked over. As he bucked his hips, his fat boner burped more pre-cum, covering the entire surface of his fat glans and filling the well of his navel again.
The scum drooled from the taught prick knob as I titillated the nipples and his prick throbbed from my incessant tickling. I knew how desperate he was to have something grasp his overwrought dick head and give it a thorough massage so he could shoot his load. But that would have been too easy. What made the game good for both of us was that the tickling kept him on the edge of cumming without any possibility of relief unless I gave it to him. The big guy wasn't about to get any quick relief...
During a rest pause, I yanked Steve's sweaty jock strap down under his balls. His balls had drawn up full and tight beneath his cock root. They emitted the strong starchy scent of sperm and perspiration. I tickled the fat nuggets briefly, using my fingernail to search out every spot that caused them to tighten even more. Dipping an index finger into the pool of precum in Steve's navel, I then slipped it under he balls, lubricating a passage to the tight pucker of his asshole. Steve continued to wriggle, and his eyes betrayed a combination of fear and lust. But his dick stayed at attention and the groans from behind his gag were not expressing fear so much as fuck-lust.
Using more pre-cum, I gently probed at the nether lips of Steve's tight pucker. I was on the verge of shooting myself. I knew no other guy's finger has probably ever been where mine was about to go. I figured he was tight, so I was gentle, making sure that my fingers were sopping in pre-cum and slowly insinuating my finger so that he could adjust to the sensation I know how an enema feels, and that stuffed feeling was probably driving Steve crazy as I drilled deeper and deeper into his hole. To keep him distracted from any discomfort, I used my other hand to pinch his nips, tickle under his arm, or squeeze his fat balls.
As I approached his prostrate, Steve tried to dislodge my finger.
The sensation was too great...his dick was quivering. But his attempts to evade my finger were futile and only served to drive it deeper into this hot, gripping cavity. Just before reaching the hard little prostrate, I eased up. I didn't want him to shoot yet. So I began a gentle frigging up his butt-chute, making him squirm with another horny kind of fuck-lust. I knew he wanted to shit my finger from his bung, but my worm just kept up its patient but maddening probe.
I realized that Steve was getting closer to ejaculation, in spite of my efforts. In order to distract him even more from my finger fucking, I reached back with my free hand towards his bound feet. Once when he was asleep, I had crawled over to his bed to examine his feet which were protruding from under the sheets. Those big fuckers seemed so strong and powerful to me. Once in the library when he was horsing around, he slipped them from his flip-flops and used his strong toes to massage my crotch under the table across from him. He laughed as I squirmed, but I didn't move. I wanted those big joints to jerk me off. I almost came, but I never forgot the sensation. When I crawled over to stare at them, I put my nose under the curve of his toes. I noted that even after a shower they still had a slight scent of the sweat socks, not acrid or pungent, just manly. The long toes, the hairy tops, the muscled flesh. Christ, I had almost wanted to lick and suck them that night. Now I had those big feet restrained so I could work them over. My jagged fingernails scratched like they were relieving an itch on his meaty instep. Steve yelled through his gag, curling the toes futiley, but at the same time releasing control of his ass muscles. His concentration alternated between the one sensation of my finger up his hole, and the other sensation as I tickled his feet. God, I enjoyed finger fucking that butch butt hole and torturing those studly feet.
Finally, I stopped tickling his feet and decided to give old Steve what he wanted and needed...a huge cum. I leaned forward and lay next to him. In a surprise movement, I laid my head on his chest and placed my lips onto the jutting spike of his teat. As I licked and chewed, sucked and bit, Steve's chest rose to ram the horny little digit into my mouth.
Fuck, he needed to be worked. Then I used my left index finger under my body to scratch at his exposed and rested armpit. My right finger began a thorough fuck of his butt and found the hard, nutty little prostrate and gave it a good once over. Steve was out of control. His body jerked and writhed, trying to escape and still enjoy every sensation. His nerve endings were being frigged, fucked, bitten, pinched, chewed, tickled, and scratched. He yelled his fuck-lust into the gag in unintelligible sounds... "AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH--AAAAGGGGGHHHH.....UUUUUGGGGGHHH; EEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIYYYYYYY!!!!"
I increased my efforts. Then as I watched, the wet knob of Steve's big prick just expanded without anything touching it. His ass raised as far off the bed as his bonds would allow, and the piss lips opened to eject a long stream of milky white cream towards his face. SPLAT! It landed right on his face, and so did the next two shots, then his hose just burped and spat until his chest was covered in clots of the cheesy starch. I waited until his dick wouldn't even drool any more cum before I stopped my incessant fingers and lips. Then I sat back and looked at his body. He was covered with perspiration. His chest heaved in deep breaths, and his ass still squirmed, squeezing his thighs as best he could to release the tension in his balls and the unsatisfied feeling in his prick. After all, he hadn't had a hand or pussy or ass to grip his rod. The cock had shot without any massage. He was still horny and knew it. His dick never went soft. Instead, it just lay there, fat and stiff, in need of some rough workout. This was going to be fun.
After about a minute, I crawled over Steve's chest and rested both of my knees on either side of his head. I reached back and scooped some of his copious and viscous cum from his belly and used it as lube for my own sopped and slick boner. Once I released it from the prison of my jeans, my callused fist slid up and down, grinding and rubbing the sensitive rod, torquing briefly around the nerve-studded flange and cock head before descending for another turn. Scratching my own nipples briefly, I brought myself to a gasping explosion, and aimed my prick towards Steve's lips. The cum poured out from my raging balls and soaked the sock in his still gagged mouth.
"Aaaaaaaaggggghhhh, fuck, here it cums......aaaaaaaahhhhhhh;
Jesus, that feels soooooo gooooood...oooooooohhhhhh shiiiiiiiiittttttt!" After my ejaculation was through, I looked down to see Steve's eyes fixed on my boner, watching as the last dregs of cum dripped onto his gag. "See, Stevie boy, now you can rest a bit. I think I'll get a couple of toys from around the house, then I'll be back."
I got up and left him to contemplate my next moves. When I returned, his eyes widened again, and a groan escaped through the gag. I had a couple of clothespins from the laundry downstairs. I also had a hairbrush with some short pig bristles and an electric toothbrush. Finally, I had a strange-looking device. It was a vibrator that Carnes had purchased as a gag from an adult book store for a party three months ago. The vibrator had a handle where the batteries went, and then a long but narrow neck at the end of which was a wicked-looking ball with bumps and prongs of soft plastic which could make any pussy or butt hole drool in anticipation.
Steve's cock, which had grown limp, suddenly came back to life.
His dick started to fill with blood and by the time I was seated next to him and the door locked, he was sporting a raging hard-on again. "You know, Steve, now we can have a real party. Your dick tells me that you're all bloated and jammed up with cum...you need to clear the tubes. That first load just didn't get your nut the way you need it...huh, buddy?
Well, I'll take good care of you, ol' buddy; I'm gonna work your meat `til it's ready to rest. Know what I mean?" Steve's eyes rolled and he spoke unintelligibly into the gag, no doubt pleading with me.
"Sorry, Steve, I just can't hear what you're trying to say." Then I laughed.
Once the vibrator was gently inserted up his ass and humming a tune on his prostrate, I attached the clothespins to his nipples and then used the pig bristles on his soles, ribs, and underarms. He screamed and yelled through the gag, but his dick never went soft. Instead, it grew thick and stiff, red and insolent, drooling pre-cum once again like the stuff was going out of style. That's when I lay down between his legs, lifted his boner from off his stomach, and held it in one hand. After examining it thoroughly, I picked up the battery-operated toothbrush with my other hand, and flicked it on. Steve started to buck but he had nowhere to go. I gently and carefully brought the whirling bristles down on Steve's bloated balls. As he drooled pre-cum down his stalk in anticipation, I started a slow scrub which began at his balls and worked inexorably towards his dick head. I couldn't wait to used those bristles on his flange, dick knob, and piss lips. Yeah!
That was four years ago in college. Steve was one of the most cooperative roommates a guy could ever have. After that night, he also improved in school, was a success on the Lacrosse team, and date more seriously. He's married now to a real nice gal we both knew. Every summer we go camping for two weeks and in the winter we plan a ski trip. Just the boys...if you know what I mean. And I get a chance to give Steve what he doesn't get at home.