[This is the third submission by a Canadian reader published in Bound & Gagged. It appeared in Issue 71 (July/August 1999), and is the immediate sequel to Skinhead Abuses Student While Deaf Mother Sleeps, which had been published three years earlier, in Issue 50 (January/February 1996). The first story by this reader, about his introduction to sex and bondage sex by a fellow student who had been a colonial policeman, Goody Goody Cuffed and Corrected by Colonial Copper, originally appeared in Issue 35 (July/August 1993). With luck he'll see these stories on this website, and will write me follow-ups, about what happened with Chris, and later, when he left England for Canada.]
TORONTO, CANADA. Chris was waiting for me at Charing Cross railway station in London when my train pulled in around noon on that warm April Saturday in 1973. He and I had had hot bondage sex together the previous weekend during the course of which he had pressed virtually every erotic button in my twisted psyche! It felt like I’d been dreaming about him and looking forward to meeting him again every waking moment for the past week.
Now there he was, standing in front of me—a tall, twenty-three-year-old with a great body and a skinhead haircut. He was wearing the same outfit as the week before when he and I had met—black laced up boots, tight levis and a sport shirt with the sleeves cut off. The skinhead punk look seemed to have been designed with him in mind. I was in love. When we had parted six days before, he’d mentioned that he was going to introduce me to an old friend of his. Now, as we walked out of the station together, he said,
“Martin, you an’ me’s going over to Graham’s later and we’ll stay for the night. You’ll learn a few things. But that’s all I’m telling you. You can worry about it for the rest of the day.”
He was right only about one thing—however much I wheedled he wouldn’t tell me what was going to happen later that night or give me any details about Graham. On the other hand, I was far from worried—if Chris was going to be involved I just knew that I was in for a great time.
A great time of another sort was what we proceeded to have all afternoon. We made our way to Chelsea and went up and down the “King’s Road,” dropping in on a few pubs, going window shopping, watching boys and regularly being greeted by Chris’s friends (he seemed to either know or to have “had” every cute young man in “Swinging London”).
It was soon six o’clock in the evening and he led me into a dingy old pub on a side street, where we were the only customers. We gulped down a pint of beer and ate a meat pie each (this was after he had told me that I’d need to keep my strength up for the night!)
“You’ll be fine to meet Graham, but there’s just one change we have to make,” he said as he pushed me ahead of him into the “Gents.” I soon realised why he’d chosen this quiet old pub. Since we were the only customers in the place he was able without fear of interruption to propel me into one of the toilet stalls and then to quietly order me to take off my boots and jeans. I wasn’t sure about this at all, but then, that day I would have done anything he had told me to do.
Once I was stripped down to just my socks, T shirt and briefs he came forward, tugged the underwear down to my knees and tied a length of cord around my cock and balls. My cock sprang to full attention immediately. It was at full length and hard as a rock almost before he’d finished tying the knot. The underwear got jerked all the way down to my ankles. He told me to step out of them and then stalked out of the room clutching them, saying over his shoulder,
“Don’t you dare take off that string. I’ll be waiting outside.”
I was left standing in the toilet stall wearing a T shirt, socks and a hard-on. I pulled on my jeans and boots as quickly as I could, hoping in vain that my erection would subside, though of course the cord around my balls and cock was pushing them all forward in a large enough lump as it was. I stayed as long as I could waiting for it to grow smaller but eventually just had to go outside where Chris took one look and said,
“That looks absolutely obscene, Graham will love it.”
I was convinced that everyone we met would stare at me and was therefore dreading going back out onto the King’s Road. Instead, and to my relief, I found myself following Chris through a series of side streets and back alleyways as he threaded his way across that part of Chelsea. We only met a few people as we hurried along in the gathering dusk. Even so, some of them must have wondered why one of the two young men that they encountered seemed to be carrying a spare pair of underwear in his hand and was grinning like the Cheshire Cat, while the other embarrassed-looking one was holding his hands together in front of his groin.
To add to my confusion I had become completely lost as soon as we had left the pub by the route we took through the back streets. So I had no idea where we were when eventually we turned off a little alley into the overgrown back garden of an old three-storey house.
Chris knocked loudly and after a short wait the door was opened by an extremely tall, thin man in his early forties wearing an old cardigan, carpet slippers and baggy woolen trousers. He looked as if he should have been puffing on a pipe. Both Chris and I were six foot tall but Graham, as he was introduced to me, was about six-seven. He had that stoop that very tall people sometimes cultivate when they are conscious of the fact that they are towering over everyone around them. All in all he didn’t fit my fantasy picture of what a hot friend of Chris’s should look like.
I tried not to look disappointed and must have succeeded (or maybe it was the sight of the lump in my jeans) since he took one long appraising look at me and said to Chris,
“Very nice, yes, very nice, he’ll do very well. Go on up both of you and I’ll be along in a while.”
With that he turned on his heel and disappeared into what I found out later was his sitting room.
Upstairs Chris led me into a room furnished with just a large leather wing chair, a plain wooden table and a chest of drawers. There were bare wooden floors, no windows and a small thick rug in front of an empty fireplace. These spartan furnishings seemed to imply that this room was used only for serious business.
Since only the two of us had come upstairs I began to think, Maybe Graham just lets Chris use this room and doesn’t get involved himself, which was fine by me as I thought Graham looked boring and unsexy compared to Chris, on whom I’d developed a major crush.
Things certainly seemed to be shaping up that way as Chris began to prepare me for the rest of the evening. While I stood in the centre of the room he went straight to the chest of drawers and pulled out a whole pile of stuff which he dumped on the table next to me. He got me to take off my shirt, boots and socks but stopped me when my hands went to the zipper of my trousers. Instead, he used two strips of leather from the table pile to bind my wrists to the opposite elbows behind my back. One of my own damp and smelly socks was shoved into my mouth and tied in place by another strip. Then he wound a fourth strip around my head to blindfold me. I heard him go back to the drawers and then return to where I stood. Now he unzipped my jeans, pulled them down and got me to step out of them. But to my surprise, after making me sit on the edge of the table, he started putting another pair on me. Except for his more muscular upper body and his longer cock, Chris and I physically were almost like identical twins, so I figured that these must have been a pair of his. Of course I was blindfolded and gagged so couldn't see or ask about what was going on. But I hadn’t heard him take off the ones he was wearing, so I was mystified as to the reason for having a spare pair on hand and for replacing mine anyway. He hadn’t taken the opportunity of untying the cord around my genitals when I was naked so my cock was still hard and pushing against the fabric when he zipped me up again. The only change I noticed was that the replacement jeans felt a little baggy in the seat. I would soon discover why.
Various rustlings and thumpings made me realize that he was now taking off his clothes and replacing just his boots. In contrast to my half clothed state he was completely naked, a fact made obvious to my blindfolded self when he came and embraced me. His naked chest rubbed up against mine and his hard cock pushed through between my legs. His left hand started to tweak my nipples while his right hand rubbed against my cock and balls imprisoned behind the denim of the jeans. God, how I wished he would pull them down and really work on my dick! Instead, he guided me over a little until I pumped up against the edge of the table again, this time facing it. He nudged my legs apart and roped my ankles to the legs at each corner.
After he clipped a pair of tit clamps to my nipples I heard him exit the room, closing the door behind him, leaving me in a confused state of mind. I couldn’t figure out what was happening or more to the point, what was going to happen. It felt great to be bound and gagged again, of course, but this was also the first time anyone had blindfolded me. I found I was enjoying the sense of depersonalised irresponsibility that I got from not being able to see anything; the sense that because you can’t see therefore you yourself are somehow anonymous.
But why was I still wearing my jeans?
Why was I tied like this to the table?
Where the hell had he gone?
I got a sinking feeling that somehow I was being left out of something. I began thinking, If Chris comes back and I’m still tied to the table all I’ll be able to do is suck him off and even then he’ll have to climb onto the table and risk knocking his head on the ceiling. I knew that my ankles were tied so far apart and my legs were stretched so wide that it was going to be impossible to pull the jeans down far enough over my hips to get at my asshole. Of course if this had been a porn story I would have been waiting for Chris to return with a knife to cut the jeans off me. But this was the real world, I was a college student and Chris was an apprentice plumber. Neither of us could afford to be wasting a pair of jeans for the sake of an ecstatic moment.
While I was stewing about all this, I heard the door open and realised that two people were coming in.
Graham’s voice said to Chris, “Take off the blindfold,” and a moment later I was completely taken by surprise.
In place of the amiable duffer in cardigan and baggy trousers that I’d seen downstairs was a stern looking man wearing tight leather pants—which emphasized the size of the cock snaking down his thigh—and a leather vest which showed off his hairy chest. Instead of the awkward stoop of the too-tall man subconsciously apologizing for his height, Graham was standing straight backed and seemed to tower over both of us even from five feet away.
Only a few seconds elapsed before Chris was on his knees pulling out Graham’s long dick and going down on it. I watched in helpless frustration as Chris’s own dick jutted out from between his legs as his mouth worked feverishly. Then in yet another surprising development, Graham snatched a pair of handcuffs from the pile of equipment on the table and fastened Chris’s wrists together behind his back while he still sucked away, seemingly oblivious to his bondage.
This tableau in front of me was driving me wild with lust. I so wanted to get involved but could only stare longingly as Chris, handcuffed on his knees, was being viciously mouth-fucked. My eyebrows must have shot up to my hairline in surprise because Graham looked over at one point and said,
“Well, just because he likes to tie you up doesn’t mean he isn’t fond of the same thing himself. Besides, I taught him everything he knows, didn’t I?”
This last question was aimed at Chris who was only able to grunt in reply as Graham chose the same moment to shove his dick halfway down the kneeling man’s throat, turning the grunt into a choke.
“He loves cock sucking, but I’ve never been able to get him to enjoy taking it up the ass. It must be the vestiges of inherited Cockney machismo or something. Anyway, that’s where you come in handy, dear boy. Christopher tells me that your rectum sucks up cock like a vacuum cleaner.”
All this was said while he continued to pump his dick in and out of Chris’s mouth, rocking on his heels as his body went back and forth as he held Chris’s head steady with his fists. The two of them stayed in their separate but connected worlds for minutes on end, silent except for the occasional gagging sound as Chris choked when the dick stayed too long or went too far down his throat. Suddenly, though, and without warning, Chris’s own dick began to erupt with a massive orgasm. With his hands cuffed behind him he could only watch along with us as big gobs of semen came out in a long series and ended up either puddled on the floor or as long white strings slowly winding their way down the front of his thighs.
I could tell by the way that his dick bobbed around at a 90 degree angle to his body that Graham hadn’t come and to be sure he had pulled out of the other man’s mouth the moment Chris had begun to shoot. Chris looked exhausted and breathless and didn’t offer any resistance as Graham used two of the remaining leather straps on the table to tie his ankles together and to bind them to the handcuff chain. The tall leather-clad man rolled the naked cum-streaked one on to his side so that he could see over to where I was waiting for my turn and then left him hog-tied on the floor to recover.
“It’s so useful that the two of you wear the same size,” Graham began by saying as he came around behind me. “Your genitals must be feeling very constricted, Martin, even a little painful, perhaps, as your erection pushes out against the denim? I’ll bet you’d love to have me pull those jeans down so that your hard cock can stick out freely in front of you. Is that so?”
Gagged as I was I could only reply by nodding vigorously, as he added to his teasing by caressing the front of my jeans.
“Well, bad luck, my boy, because it’s a particular fetish of mine to enjoy looking at young men in jeans and your mild discomfort is only adding to my enjoyment.”
His hands stopped kneading my front and he grabbed a jar of vaseline from the now almost used up pile of equipment left on the table.
“Yes, these adapted jeans were a wonderful idea of Christopher’s, as you and your bum are about to find out.”
With a big glob on his fingers his left hand went around behind me and I suddenly realised why the seat of these jeans felt loose. There was a hole in the back—in fact the seam had been split—at roughly the place where my asshole was situated. While his left hand was busy loosening and lubricating, his right arm was hooked around my chest as he leaned into me and pushed me down onto the table top. The height of my hips relative to the table meant that as I leant over the tied up lump of cock and balls was trapped between my body and the unforgiving hardness of the wood. Soon his fingers were replaced by his erection as he gradually but firmly pushed into me.
With his cock pumping in and out of me his hands were free to snap the clamps off my tits and play with the extra sensitive little nubs himself. The top half of his body lay heavy across my back. That was the only active part I could play in the sex that followed apart from trying to squeeze my sphincter muscle in time to the rhythmical fucking that he gave me.
After a while he pulled himself up and rested the weight of his upper body on his hands that were grabbing my hips. His own hips began to speed up the pace of the fucking. I tossed my head from side to side as I lay on the table, becoming more and more ecstatic at the feeling in my ass. Just as Graham breathed out a triumphant “Yes!” My eye was caught by Chris lying hog-tied on the floor across from us. He and I locked eyes while Graham’s orgasm pumped into me and simultaneous gobs of semen spurted out of my restricted cock, soaking the entire front of the “custom-made” jeans.
After that, both Chris and I were freed so that we could work out the kinks from confined muscles, but it certainly was not the end of the evening’s entertainments. Graham lit a fire and sat in the wing chair; Chris and I sat on the rug and we talked for a while. I discovered that Graham was a fairly senior Whitehall civil servant, which accounted for his vaguely pompous way of speaking, even during sex. Between the three of us we polished off two bottles of red wine as we sat in front of the fire—Graham still wearing his leathers and the two of us now completely naked. Chris had taken his boots off and the cum-encrusted jeans were already spinning around in Graham’s washing machine downstairs.
As the evening wore on I had the privilege of sucking on Graham’s cock as the two of them amused themselves by tying me up in various contortions. Then at the end of the evening Chris and I found ourselves tied on our sides into a 69 on the rug in front of the fire. While both of us lay there with our wrists roped to the other’s ankles and cocks in the other’s mouth, Graham gave us what he called “extra anal treatment” by shoving a dildo in and out of my ass while methodically slapping Chris’s ass cheeks in time to the dildo thrusts.
First Chris and then I shuddered with our final orgasms of the night, followed closely by Graham as he stood up and jerked off all over our bodies beneath him—a perfect end to a wonderful evening.
Read the two stories that precede this one:
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