Story – ‘A Farmboy’s Memoirs’ from

I turned him over and shoved his elbows together behind his back. A few quick turns of the soft leather strap and they were tied. I then pulled his wrists together, palms together, and tied them with the nylon cord. I turned him over and looked down on him. A sheen of sweat was forming on his broad brown chest from our little wrestling match, even though I knew he had let me win, him being larger and stronger than I was. Del was beginning to glisten in the dim light of the curtained room. I ran a finger down the trough between his budding pectorals, feeling the slickness and coolness of the perspiration. I put my hand flat on his abdomen and felt the hard warmth of his muscles tensing and flexing under me. I could tell that he liked the feel of my hands on him, liked the weight of me there on his thighs, liked the feel of his tied elbows and wrists and the heft of both of us pressing down on them there on the creaky old bed.
“Whatta you want to play?” I asked him.

“I dunno. Dungeon? Yeah, Dungeon!”
“OK,” I said.
“I’ll be this good guy you captured–you’re the bad guy, OK?– and you’re trying to get me to tell you… to tell you where my gold is.
“Naw, we already did that one yesterday. I know! You’re like Robin Hood and I want to make you tell where your camp is hidden in the forest. How about that?”
“Super! Only don’t do that candle thing again, OK? That really hurt.”
“No, I got some other ideas. Some real good ones.”
We had the house to ourselves until after ten that night, and he began to squirm under me in anticipation of the game to come. I got off the bed. “You wanta start over?” I asked.
“Nah. Let’s start from where your guards bring me in and I’m already tied up, OK?” He worked himself over to the edge of the bed and stood up. I went over to the chair and sat down.
“OK,” I said, “You stand there and play like the guards are standing on both sides of you and they say, like, ‘Here is the prisoner, my lord.'”
The game begins. I clear my throat to indicate that we are now in the game-state.
“So, Robin, we have you at last! And I see that my thoughtful guards have al ready stripped you to the waist to save me time. Make the dog kneel before me!” And he pretends to struggle against the imaginary guards but sinks slowly to his knees there in front of the chair. I get up and walk behind him, running a length of rope I held around his neck and up and down his bare back and chest while we talk. He squares his shoulders and throws them back so his chest sticks out better. Del was real proud of his chest, and almost never missed an opportunity to take his shirt off and show it off. He was always disappointed in gym when he got chosen for the “shirts” side.
“You are my prisoner now, Robin, and you must do what I tell you. Tell me where your camp is.”
“I’ll never tell you anything, you swine. Never!” He puffs up his chest some more and I twist the rope around his neck, as if I’m angry with him for the name he called me.
“Oh, you’ll talk all right! I have ways to make you talk here in my dungeon, famous ways!”
“I’m not afraid of your dungeon. I’ll never tell.”
“Prepare the prisoner for torture!” I order the guards. And then we have to slip out of character a little while we decide what that preparation will be. It’s not that he has to agree 100% with what I’m going to do, only that the whole fiction of the game depends on a certain amount of consensus between us. I was going to just tie him down shirtless, but Del had other ideas.
“C’mon,” he said, “get everything off me!” And as soon as he said that I knew that it was going to be one of those times. I had thought I felt a pretty good start of a boner on him while I was sitting on top of him, but now I could see it pushing at the front of his jeans and I knew that this game of Dungeon was going to get to what we called “the torture of tortures” a lot quicker than usual.
That’s what we called it: “the torture of tortures.” What it was, really, was beating a guy off. Well, there’s a little more than that to it. First, the “victim” is tied up, so he doesn’t have much to say about how he gets whacked off, or, a lot more important, how quickly he gets whacked. That’s the torture part. We learned that if you do a guy real careful and real slow you can make it last a really long time. And when you do that, make it last for a long time, it gets to be a little like real torture since the guy wants to shoot so bad he’ll start to beg and all. We did some experiments, too, and it’s actually possible to make a guy tell you things he doesn’t want to tell when you do him like that. We both tried it. We’d bet our whole week’s allowance that we could hold out, but both of us lost and that proved to us that this really was “the torture of tortures.” We were really into that stuff and would try all sorts of experiments. We even kept a notebook in secret code where we wrote down our experiments.
But I didn’t argue with him. I undid his belt, unzipped his jeans and tugged them down to his knees and then made him sit on the side of the bed while I took off his shoes and socks and pulled his jeans down his legs and off.. Then he stood up and I could see Mr. Muscle– I know it sounds dumb, but that’s what he called it– standing straight up against his flat belly inside his under pants.
“C’mon, hurry up!” he said, and I could see that at this rate the game wasn’t going to last very long this afternoon. And that’s when I got the idea. I had read about it in one of the old Playboy magazines my uncle had out in the barn in the little room behind the milking parlor where he kept an old coffee maker and a raggedy old sofa and a radio. They were kinda back behind the sofa and I was always careful to put them back just the way I found them. But anyway in one of these old magazines I came across the little piece of information that stuck with me and that I was now going to put to use. Just as an experiment of course.
It was in a letter to the editor in one of those commentary and advice columns in the magazine. A guy wrote in and said that he knew a guy who had been tortured a special way by the Viet Cong. He said they tied him up spread out to a wooden frame and let pretty girls play with his dick `til it got real hard. That doesn’t sound so bad I guess, but then he said they tied a string around his dick and balls and then kept on playing with him for hours. He said the string kept him from coming and that the constant teasing the girls gave him became really painful after a while. And I remembered this.
So I thought that now would be the perfect time to try another experiment, and that it would be even better if Del didn’t know what was going to happen to him until it started to happen. So I played along with the game. I went over to him and real slow pulled down his shorts, real slow, and sure enough there was Mr. Muscle about as big and eager as I had ever seen him before. I took Del’s shorts and slapped him across the face with them a couple of times and he stood there and took it with his legs spread apart a little and Mr. Muscle pointed at the ceiling.
“Put the prisoner on the rack!” I ordered the guards, and Del started dancing around and yelling “No, no, not the rack!” and then he flipped himself over backwards onto the bed as if he had been thrown there by my guards. I made him spread out his legs and tied them to the bedposts and then helped him to sit up so I could untie his hands and elbows. Then I pushed him down on his back and stretched his arms to the other bedposts and tied them there real tight with some more clothesline.
Then I reached over and took Mr. Muscle in my fist and squeezed it real hard and said, “Are you ready to talk, prisoner?” He lifted his butt way up off the bed when he felt my fist on his dick and said “Never!” and started to pump his hips in that way he has when he’s getting close to shooting.
“Oh, no!” I said, and took my hand away real quick.
“Please!” he said, and kept pumping up and down there on the bed with his hips. I could see his stomach muscles tight as a bag of rocks as he lifted his butt up and down on the bed. “Please!” He said it with that little catch in his voice that told me he really wanted to squirt and that he wanted to do it right then.
“Oh, no, prisoner,” I said, “Your torture is going to last much, much longer than that. You’re going to suffer magnificently!” We both liked that highfalutin sounding playacting language like we had seen in those sword fighting and Robin Hood-type movies. Then I went over to my closet and rummaged around until I found a broken shoelace that I had remembered saving, just in case. Meanwhile, Del was pleading with me to finish him off, and I could tell he was pretty far along and really wanted to come. I thought that this was going to be a good test for what I had read about in that Playboy.
I went back over to bed and climbed up between Del’s legs and for a second he relaxed in relief because he thought I was getting ready to finish him off like he had begged me to. But I surprised him. I tied that shoelace around his sack and the base of his cock. I tied it pretty tight, but not so tight that it might be dangerous. I had learned about the dangers of tourniquets in scouts.
“What’s that?” he asked while I was making the knots, raising his head up so he could look down his body at what I was doing there between his legs.
“An experiment,” I said.
“What kind of experiment?”
“A new torture,” I answered. I looked down at Mr. Muscle, and sure enough he had grown a little. I wouldn’t have thought that was possible in his condition, but he was definitely a little bigger and tighter and redder. And the head of Del’s cock was a good big bigger, too. Del was already pretty well hung, I guess, for thirteen, but now with the shoelace around his nuts and dick they stuck up real prominent between his wide-spread legs.
Del noticed something right away and said “What’s that for? Jeez, my prick feels real tight. What are you going to do to me?”
And I answered, “Just like I said, Del, torture you.” And then I went back into my dungeon game voice. “Let the tortures begin!”
First I just squeezed his dick some more in my fist, while I was squatting there on the bed between his legs. I could feel it pumping and pulsing in my hand when I did that. It reminded me a little of holding onto a frog caught down in the marsh, except Del’s cock wasn’t cold or damp. It was real hot and kinda quivered in my fist like it was alive. I jerked back and forth a little, just enough to slide his skin up and down a little on his dick, but not too much. But it was enough to get Del thrashing around and pulling real hard on the four ropes that held him to the bedposts. I had always liked knot-tying in scouts and was real good at it. Del knew that, too, from all the dungeon-type games we had played in the past. He pulled at the ropes anyway, but he knew that he wasn’t going to get out of them. Not at all. I always used half-hitches and double girth hitches. Girth hitches on the wrists and ankles and then a series of three or four neat half-hitches on the bedposts. He was there until I decided to let him go and he knew it.
Then I got off the bed and started experimenting for real. I got some shampoo from the bathroom down the hall and squirted some on his dick and balls and sort of massaged it in. I used real light finger strokes, barely touching his cock, and didn’t grab it or give it a full pull for a good long while. After a minute or so of this Del was about going crazy. I could see that he had started to sweat for real, too. A shiny coat of perspiration was forming across his chest and belly, and later would work its way down all the way to his feet before I was through with him. Del was a real good sweater, I re member from haying and from gym at school, as well as our games.
I used the shampoo for about half an hour. I would tweak and tease and stroke with it until it dried up to the point where it was more sticky like glue than slippery, and then I would get up over him so I could bomb a big gob of spit or two down on it and spread it around with my finger tips and start all over. After a while I would start to give him a few real strong hard pulls, but I was real careful never to give him more than one or two at a time. I didn’t really trust that shoelace yet, even though it seemed to be working so far. The shampoo and the spit bombs were really driving poor Del up the wall. He was about as hot as I had ever seen him up to that time and was moaning and begging me to let him finish. The Robin Hood thing was gone by now. He had said, after just about the first ten minutes of the shampoo, “I’ll talk! I’ll talk! I’ll tell you everything! Just let me come, please!”
“Sorry, Del,” I said, “We’re trying something new here and so I’m going to have to go on.”
After a while I washed him off with a wash rag and dried him and let him lie there for a little. Then I worked with some Vaseline for a while. Del really liked Vaseline and used to carry a little screw-top film can of it when we would go camping down by the creek like we sometimes did. Sometimes he’d also carry a little chip of dried soap, too. I used the Vaseline for about an hour. By this time Del looked like he had just gotten out of the shower. His hair was so wet it looked black and his whole body was shiny with a heavy coat of perspiration. It pooled in his navel and dripped off him onto my bed. It was getting late and the over cast late afternoon sun shining through the curtains in my window on the other side of the bed made Dels’ body glisten and shine like a piece of wet glass almost. Del was a well-built kid for his age, no Incredible Hulk, but he had real good muscles and a good shape. I guess that was the first time I had really noticed how good a body he really had, while he was lying there stretched out and tied on my bed and covered with sweat that looked just like that oily stuff those body builders put on when they have those contests. And with Mr. Muscle sticking up like a flagpole and covered with Vaseline, too. I was having a lot of fun. And, in a slightly different way, so was Del.
The shoelace worked. The experiment was a success. That first time went on for almost two hours before I took pity on the poor guy. We were well into the warm mineral oil by then, and I untied the thong and only got to give him about three of those strong slow pulls that go up just under the head and then stop and pull upward a little before starting the downward stroke. I could feel it about to happen and Del’s stomach and thigh muscles tensed all up and then all of a sudden I felt his dick swell up in my hand like a balloon and then he shot his wad! Never before had he squirted with such force. The first spurt hit the sloping ceiling over my bed! I’m not kidding: it hit the ceiling and hung there for a minute before it dripped back down onto his chest. We had a time with that damp mark later, too. I was afraid my mother would see it and wonder if the roof was leaking again. I laughed out loud. Del could always shoot like anything, but this was almost too much. He spurted out about four good shots, each one less than the one before, and then he was through juicing, but I could tell he was still coming down inside and so I just held his cock real tight, just below the head, and kinda pulled it up and jiggled a little, like we both liked when we had finished squirting but were still feeling the tingles. It made the feeling last longer that way. After a bit he sorta just sagged down on the bed and I could see those great stomach muscles relax. He stopped pulling against the ropes and just lay there with his eyes closed and his mouth open, breathing real hard like he had just finished a race or something. After a bit I untied him and he limped down the hall and took a shower to get all that sweat and cum off him.
And that was the first time we used the shoelace. We had a kind of code joke after that. The other kids would sometimes say stuff like “Twenty lashes with a wet noodle!” But I started saying to Del, when we were around the other kids, just to tease him, “You’re gonna get it with a wet shoelace!” And the other kids thought that was pretty funny. But they didn’t know what it really meant. Del would giggle and maybe turn a little red, and sometimes he might have to hold a book down in front of him if Mr. Muscle wanted out to play. And that would mean that Del would probably be over to my place after school for a little homework.

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