[This long story, which took up the bulk of Issue 3 (March/April 1988), was sent to me immediately after the publication of Issue 1. It was the beginning of a correspondence which lasted several years, and gave me the opportunity to publish several more letters from this excellent writer(see Issue 9 for more of his reminiscences). He later described his brig experiences in detail in our special issue, BONDAGE RECRUITS. BW]
MASSACHUSETTS. As a kid, I had fooled around with rope, tying myself up as best I could, and jerking off, sometimes in my pants or my briefs. Finally, when I was in high school, my folks let me have a buddy spend the night while they were out of town. I had just picked up a pair of handcuffs at an Army/Navy store, and of course was anxious to try them out. My buddy didn't mind, and we put them on each other several times.
It was getting toward bed time, and we both had taken our shirts off, when I picked up the cuffs again. I put them on his wrists behind his back, and then grinned at him and started to undress him, pulling off his sneakers and socks, then his jeans, but I left on his shorts. Then I pushed him to the back door, opened it and pushed him outside. Of course he was afraid someone would see him, and he tried to hide while whispering to me to let him in, which I finally did. It was only fair to let him have another chance with me, so he cuffed me behind my back, as I had done to him. He pulled off my sneakers, socks and jeans as I had done, but then he pulled off my briefs, too, leaving me naked, with my cock sticking out straight ahead. My protests did no good as he shoved me out the back door, hoping that none of the neighbors would see what was going on. I stayed out there for about ten minutes before he relented, let me back inside, and removed the cuffs.
I guess we were both a bit nervous, so we went to bed, I in my own room and he in the room of my brother who was away in the service. I know I jerked off, just thinking about what we had done and what we could have done. I was still excited when I woke up pretty early the next morning. I stole into the room where my buddy was sleeping with just a sheet over him, as he lay on his back.
I could see he had his briefs on, as well as a stiff cock, so he must have enjoyed what we did the night before. I went back to get the handcuffs, and tied a rope onto the chain. Very quietly, I passed the rope down behind the head of the bed, and then I quickly cuffed his wrists.
Of course he woke up, but too late to do anything about it. I grabbed the rope under the bed and pulled it out under the foot of the bed and tied it, forcing his wrists up tight to the head of the bed. Then I pulled off the sheet and his cock was stiff as ever. Next, I pulled down his shorts, and he even lifted up his ass a little, so I knew he didn't mind too much. His cock was stiff and straining, so I jerked it a little with my hand. I asked him how it felt, and he grinned a little, and said it felt pretty good.
Finally, I figured it was his turn, so I released him from the cuffs and took his place. He told me to lie face down and then cuffed my wrists, then pulled down my briefs, which was hard to do as he had to pull them over my stiff cock, and finally he tied my ankles to the two posts at the foot of the bed. He whacked my ass a few times and then left the room, returning with some hair cream. He rubbed this into my ass, and then climbed on top, saying "You got me so hot, now you can let me finish it off." It hurt a lot at first, but gradually I grew used to having his cock in me, and when he shot his load up my ass, I came on the sheet below me at the same time. From then on, I realized that I would rather be on the bottom, and when we played together, he would cuff or tie me, and I never again had a chance to do it to him.
After high school, I was anxious to get away, and jobs were hard to find, so I joined the Navy, partly because I knew sailors worked with ropes and knots.
One of the first things I learned was that the Navy has a different name for everything, and rope was always called line. After boot camp, I was assigned to a cruiser stationed in Newport, R.l., which was pretty good duty. I met a couple of other guys who liked to tie each other up, although of course we couldn't do much on the ship.
One weekend, they planned to get a room at the Navy "Y" and asked me to stop in if I could. After I left the ship on liberty, I went to the Y and asked at the desk for their room. I went up and knocked at the door. There was a pause and a little rustling and one of them asked "Who is it?" I told them, of course, and they opened the door. One was at the door and the other sitting on the bed, both wearing their blue Navy thirteen button pants and white T shirts.
I still had on my full uniform. I thought I noticed that they both had hard-ons under the tight blues, but didn't have time to think much about it.
Several lengths of light line were lying on the dresser, and they wasted no time in quickly tying my wrists very firmly behind my back. Next, they bound my arms to my sides so I could hardly move. Next, my ankles were bound, and finally my legs just above the knees. Obviously there was nothing I could do at that point but submit to whatever they wanted to do to me. My pants were bulging a bit at the front by now, and one of them stroked my cock a little and said to his buddy "He doesn't seem to mind, does he?" "No, and I bet he'll like this even more," said the other, pulling open his thirteen buttons, one by one.
I stared as his cock appeared, pretty hard but still enclosed in the tight briefs he wore. Then he pulled down the top of the briefs and pulled his cock and balls out over the elastic waistband. I was still staring, and didn't move as the cock was pushed against my lips. "Open up, asshole," he said. I did nothing so he pulled back and slapped me hard across the face a few times. With tears starting in my eyes, I opened my mouth and he shoved his cock in. They took turns making me suck their cocks and balls, until I had swallowed cum from them both. We were all tired, and I was glad when I was untied, but didn't waste any time getting back together with them both in the months to come.
I always worried a bit about getting caught in Newport, with so many Navy guys around, so I started hitch-hiking to Boston when I could get a weekend liberty. You will get an idea of how long ago all this was when I tell you I hitched in my Navy uniform. I got in the habit of carrying a few lengths of light line, about clothesline thickness with just a tiny bit of stretch to it, so it could be good and snug, but would give just a little — not enough to get loose but enough to let the blood circulate.
I had some of my best times hitching back Sunday night, when whoever picked me up knew I had to get back to the ship or get in bad trouble, so l would be willing to do almost anything for a ride when it got late and there were few cars on the road.
One nice looking guy in a pickup truck picked me up, and asked if I would like a few beers. That was great, so I swigged down two and more slowly drank a third. He started talking about the line I had with me, and after a while pulled over at a rest area. I had hinted at liking to get tied up, so wasn't surprised when he pulled my arms around behind my back and quickly tied my wrists. He knew what he was doing, and I knew from the way he cross-tied me with the wrists locked at right angles to each other, and then tightening it all up with a couple of turns between my wrists, that I wasn't about to get loose on my own.
He took a few swigs at his own beer, and rather casually reached over and rubbed my cock, which as usual was getting stiff, under the tight whites I was wearing that summer night. Then he leaned over and kissed me, gently at first, and then more and more deeply as we both were really turned on by the whole situation. After some more of this, he asked if I needed to take a piss, and I suddenly realized that I really did need to, and soon. He got out of the cab, and then came around to let me out on my side, with the line still tight around my bound wrists. He told me to kneel down when we had walked back into the woods a bit. I hesitated, not wanting to dirty the knees of my white sailor pants. He hit me in the gut without warning, not really hard, but hard enough so I knew he meant business. I dropped to my knees, gasping a bit from the blow. Then he asked "I have to piss, too, kid. Do you want it down your throat or all over your shirt?"
I had never swallowed it before, although I had pissed in my pants before, and guessed I might again tonight. I finally decided, and opened my mouth to take his cock. The flood of piss took me by surprise, and some splashed out of my mouth, but I swallowed most of it, realizing it didn't taste too bad, probably because he had drunk a good deal of beer and pissed several times before. I still had to go very badly, and figured that what I had drunk would soon find its way through me, too, so l just relaxed and let the hot piss gush out of my cock into my white sailor pants. They would be a real mess when I got back to the ship, but now I felt relief and some pleasure from the warm wetness surrounding my groin.
We stopped again before reaching Newport, and once again I pissed in my white pants, renewing the warm wetness that felt so good. He drove me to the gate, but then turned back a few blocks, where he kissed me deeply again, untied me, and gave me an old plastic garment bag to carry in front of me so my wet and dirty pants would not be so noticeable. As I got out, he said "I hope I see you hitching on that road again some time," and I could only agree.
Fall came on, and I was in Boston on a Saturday evening. I had arranged to meet an older man who I had fooled around with in various ways, but who I didn't really feel very close to. He took me to his little house in a quiet suburb, and it was the first time I had visited there. I was wearing my tight thirteen button Navy blues, and as usual was carrying my line.
At my request, he tied me up, but not too tightly, and I was rather disappointed as he didn't seem really interested. He just finished roping my wrists and ankles when the doorbell rang, and he told me to keep quiet as he went to answer. I could just hear a murmur of conversation, and then he came back to the bedroom where I lay bound, and he picked up a light jacket and whispered that he was going out and didn't know when he would be back.
The situation tickled me for a while, but then I began to get annoyed at wasting some of my precious liberty this way. I worked at the line, and finally loosened my hands, and then was free. I looked around the house and drank a beer I found in the fridge, and finally became pretty bored. I decided to see if I could find my way back to some more lively place, and headed down the street toward what looked like a busier street.
After walking for some time and seeing little of interest, I suddenly saw a sign saying "Marine Corps League." Now of course the Marines and sailors always like a good fight, but they are sometimes good friends, too, and I had known a few good ones before, so I decided to take a chance and drop in. Conversation stopped in the small bar when they saw a sailor's uniform, and somebody said "You're in the wrong place, sailor." Fortunately, someone else asked me over and I told a carefully tailored version of the story of how I happened to be there, and asked if they could tell me how to get back to Boston. I was given several beers and talked with some of the former Marines who liked nothing better than to rehash their days in the Corps.
After awhile, a pretty tough looking man of about 25, wearing well polished combat boots, tight Levis, a black T shirt and a camouflage fatigue jacket told me that he would drive me back to Newport. I gladly accepted, and we left in his beat-up looking old car. He told me he had been a Marine MP, and some of his service was running a brig for fuck-ups like I seemed to be. I didn't argue, but just said 'Yes, Sir." He stopped for a minute and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, asking if I had worn them before. I said that I had and that I had been in the brig a couple of times. I wasn't at all surprised when he quickly cuffed my hands behind my back, and the familiar swelling started in my tight sailor pants. I was just glad they were the blues rather than the whites, so they wouldn't show if something happened to them.
By now, I knew pretty much what to expect, and felt the familiar sensations of fear, excitement and a swelling, throbbing, cock. We reached his place and he pulled in beside the house, hustling me quickly out of the car and down a set of outside cellar stairs. Unlocking a door let us into a small, dimly lit, room with chains, line, whips and so forth hanging on a wall. My heart sank as I looked at that, and I figured I was in for a lot of pain. Actually, it wasn't too bad, as he was more interested in making me think I was going to get hurt than in actually hurting me. He took off the cuffs, ordering me to strip.
"Sir, yes Sir," I replied, and did as he told me. He tied me up in a variety of ways, using chains, ropes and straps, and he whipped me just a little to make his point that he could do anything he wanted. Finally, he picked up a short chain and locked it around my neck, with the handcuffs also hooked into the same lock. Then he placed my wrists in the cuffs, solidly fastening them to the back of my neck. Finally, he put a pair of leg irons on my ankles, and said it was time for bed.
I slept in my chains against his warm body, and really enjoyed the use he made of my body before we slept, and again the next morning. We spent the day together on Sunday, when I tried most of his restraints, one way or another.
Finally, after supper, I cleaned up and dressed in my still neat blue uniform.
A gesture from him and a nod from me was enough for him to again cuff my wrists behind my back and clamp the leg irons tight on my ankles. I rode to Newport that way, and he only took them off when we got near the base and I left, promising to call him as soon as I could get another weekend liberty.
"IF YOU CAN TIE ME SO I DON'T GET LOOSE, YOU GET A FREE PUNCH"
You asked a number of questions about my Navy career which I will try to answer as best I can recall, but please remember it was a simpler and in many ways a kinder age, so I hope your readers are not impelled to try some of the things I did then.
I joined the Navy right out of High School, and after Boot Camp was assigned to a cruiser in Newport, where I arrived in late spring. I was assigned to the Deck Force and we were generally considered dumber than the guys in more technical specialties like electronics, gunnery or engineering. This resulted in stricter discipline, and many of us "deckies" got brig time for something that a scope dope would only get restriction or extra duty for. On the other hand, we thought that we were the real sailors, since we handled lines, operated the small boats, stood topside watches and were generally tougher than scope dopes, and we certainly would hate to be stuck down in the engine room with the snipes.
I was assigned to a berthing compartment with 18 bunks, three high on each side of an aisle. After awhile, I realized that the guys in this section were all pretty proud of themselves and their jobs, and had a good attitude. There were some sloppy deckies in other sections, but ours were all well squared away.
Most of the sailors in my section were 18 or 19, with a few older, and just about all of them had "tailor made" uniforms to wear on liberty and sometimes aboard. The Navy issue uniform pants dropped straight from the hips to the floor, but the tailor-mades were cut tight over the upper legs and then spread out into the old traditional bell bottoms. I noticed that most of the sailors in my section would wear issue uniforms for regular work, and issue dungarees for dirty work like chipping and painting, but would shift into nice tight bell bottoms for the evening, and especially for liberty. Naturally, I went along with this, as soon as I was able to go ashore and buy a set of the tightest whites with the widest bells I could find. After awhile, I bought some similar bell bottom dungarees for work not too dirty, and later on some blues when the season changed. Needless to say, I never wore issue uniforms ashore after that. A few of the guys had really wild uniforms made in Hong Kong, one set of whites with the 13 buttons normally only on blues, and another set of blues made out of something that looked and felt like silk, but I suppose was synthetic of some kind. We weren't allowed to wear these off the ship, but sometimes a sailor would take them ashore and change later to impress whoever he was looking for.
Bill was a few inches over six feet, very slender, dark haired and strong, although not obviously muscled. He was a little older than the rest of us, and although he seldom spoke up at the bull sessions we had, everyone would listen when he did. I quietly enjoyed watching as he stripped for bed or a shower, and I am not entirely sure he didn't expect someone to watch, from the careful way he pulled off his clothes. I particularly liked the slender legs dropping from hips hardly wider than his waist, but his nice rounded ass provided plenty to hold up his tight pants. All in all, he would have been a perfect model for a recruiting poster painted by someone with an appreciative eye for a male body.
Chuck was a few inches under six feet, and the reddish tint to his hair and the lilt of his voice indicated something of Ireland in his family background.
In the evenings, they would often sit together on Bill's lower bunk and talk together, or with other sailors who gathered around. Bill was a leading rigger, and Chuck was learning the trade, involving tieing the various loads that had to be slung aboard or around the ship, setting up staging slung overside from the deck, and a variety of other jobs involving the use of lines and knots. As a result, they often brought out lengths of light line, like clothesline, to practice on or demonstrate the various knots. I soon joined in learning, and spent a lot of time sitting across from the two of them, learning and practicing knots, usually tieing lengths together or to the rung of a bunk above.
One evening, when hardly anyone else was around, Chuck asked if I thought I could tie up a man. Of course I offered to try, and he turned and knelt on the deck with his back to me, putting his hands behind his back. "Any fool can get loose if he is tied in front, but if you can tie me so l don't get loose, you get a free punch."
I figured I had nothing to lose, so l tied his wrists, I thought, pretty tight. He turned and sat on the bunk and in about a minute he was free. I was surprised, and I couldn't say "no" when he said it was his turn. I let him tie my wrists behind me, and tried like anything to get loose, but he had done such a good job that there was no way I would get out of it. When I finally gave up, he said "free punch to me," and gave me a blow on the arm that knocked me over on my side.
I finally learned to tie up Chuck so he couldn't get loose, but was never able to get loose when he tied me.
One night later on, Bill said "No one ever ties me, but you can if you get loose after I tie you." Of course I had to agree, but even as he tied my wrists I knew I would never get out of that. When I had to give up, he told me to stand up for my punch, and he hit me hard in the belly, so I crumpled to the deck with the wind knocked right out of me. When I finally recovered, he grinned and told me I had taken it pretty well. Not long after that, they invited me to the "Y" as I told you in my last letter.
One evening later in the summer, during the dull, dog days of August, the heat and mugginess sent many of us up on deck to try to catch some slight touch of cool breeze. We were all wearing our whites, as required on deck after working hours, and eventually we saw some sailors on a destroyer moored not far away swimming off the fantail. Of course this was strictly against regulations, but discipline is always much more lax on those little ships. After envying them a bit, I suddenly noticed Bill pull off his white jumper and T shirt, and then his shoes and socks. I said, "No, you can't do that," but he ignored me and climbed up on the rail. He stood there, arms stretched straight over his head, tall and slender in his skin tight white bell bottoms, and then fell forward, dropping quickly to disappear cleanly into the water below, leaving just a ring of ripples to mark his perfect dive. He came to the surface to a cheer, and someone threw him a rope ladder. He climbed up, and looked very pleased when he again stood on deck, the water streaming from his body and his white sailor pants glued more tightly than ever to his narrow hips and doublerounded ass. Of course he was put on report and punished with extra duty and restriction, but obviously he felt it was worth his unique moment.
The summer faded, with a variety of activities, and one day I was hanging on a platform slung overside, well below deck level. Chuck and I were engaged in the endless round of chipping off old, rusted paint and putting on new, and of course we could talk easily with the perfect privacy of those who can only be seen from afar. I told Chuck how much I had enjoyed the session in the Y, and another similar one later, and I told him something of my few other experiences and more about my many fantasies. Chuck told me some good tales, too, but never would say anything about Bill, or their relationship, which was fairly apparent to me by now.
A few days later, Bill stopped near me when we were out of earshot of anyone else and said "Chuck tells my you'd like to get raped. Come out next liberty weekend and we can all have some fun."
Of course I agreed, and one cool, clear October weekend we left the Navy Base in a borrowed car. Bill drove competently, as he did everything, and Chuck was playing with some line in the other front seat, while I sat in back and wondered what would happen. We stopped for a few hamburgers, and then for a case of cold beer, and shortly arrived at an old fashioned set of tourist cabins. After Bill went into the office to make arrangements, he drove to one of the few cabins in the far back row not yet boarded up for the winter.
We carried the beer and the liberty bags we had brought into the cabin, and then Bill turned to me and grabbed one arm. Chuck grabbed the other, and together they twisted them behind my back. Chuck held me while Bill deftly tied my wrists, and then my ankles. He dragged me to one corner of the cabin and propped me up, and then began to beat me up.
His blows really hurt, but I took it as long as I could, before my knees buckled and I sprawled at his feet. I was obviously helpless, and they quickly untied my hands and pulled off my blue jumper and T shirt. Stripped to the waist, my wrists were each tied, with the lines quickly thrown over two wood beams which joined the walls on either side where they met the upward sloping roof panels. The lines were quickly tied, leaving me strung up, spread eagled, toes barely touching the floor, and utterly helpless. Bill stood back and grinned at me, and then turned and left the cabin, while Chuck pulled off my shoes and socks, then pulled down my briefs, leaving me totally naked. He tied my ankles again after stripping me, and then Bill returned, carrying and flexing a slender stick he had cut from a tree. He said "I think you are going to get a little more than you bargained for, but I guess you can take it, and anyway, you have no choice."
With that, he proceeded to whip my ass very soundly with the stick. Of course it hurt a lot, and I tried hard to keep quiet, but finally I had to yell with pain. He stopped, reached into his bag, and pulled out a jock strap. He shoved the pouch into my mouth and twisted the strap around my head to firmly hold the rough cloth with its flavor of sweat and piss and cum in my mouth. My cock was rising anyway, and this made it stand up hard, as I thought of breathing the fumes of his body into my lungs. He whipped me some more, and finally stopped as my ass was glistening red, and some blood was beginning to show. That he wiped off with a towel, and then he stood behind me.
I knew what was coming, and could only enjoy the relatively minor pain as he shoved his lovely cock up my ass. They let me down, but tied me down on one of the beds while Chuck fucked me too, and then Bill took another turn. They kept me tied, but helped me drink a few beers, and I recovered somewhat from the pain and humiliation they had inflicted on me.
Later, they again tied me firmly to the bed, spread eagled, face down, and gagged with the jock, while they went out for some supper. They at least brought me back a sandwich when they returned an hour or two later, and we spent the evening drinking. They kept me tied, one way or another, and I was not surprised, when we finally were ready to turn in, when I was tied with my wrists to the head and my feet to the foot of one of the beds. Bill fucked me again and then went over to the other bed, while Chuck slept with me, and I grew to enjoy his cock gradually shrinking inside my ass.
In the morning I thought they would let me up, but it turned out Bill had not yet had enough. I was again suspended from the beams, hanging naked and helpless in the cold cabin, while Bill whipped some warmth into me with his stick, striking again and again, and gagging me with his jock and beating me some more when I yelled. As I rather hoped, he finally stopped, and they both fucked me again before releasing me to get dressed and ready to leave.
They bound my wrists and arms securely, once I was in uniform again, and they shoved me into the back of the car. Then they tied my ankles and legs, leaving me helpless in the back seat. I didn't want to sit, since my ass was still very painful, so I lay on one side, and since my head wouldn't show, Bill gagged me again. I rode like that back to Newport, and they let me loose only shortly before we reached the Base.
That night on the ship, a couple of other sailors asked questions or looked at me in ways which made me guess they had gone that way before.
Being able to take the punishment without complaint made them all respect me more, I think, and I found I was accepted more than before. Bill and Chuck went out of their way to be nice to me and help me along, and I worked into the job of rigger, also. It was several months later, though, before I worked up the courage to ask if they wanted to go out again for a liberty weekend.
It was a few weeks after that weekend, actually, when I found myself working with Bill in the rope locker, that I first felt able to talk about the whole experience. He told me he sometimes got carried away with giving pain, and he hoped it wasn't too bad. I said that the pain was bad, but it was worth it, since I liked getting tied up, as well as feeling his body against mine, any way he wanted. He leaned over and quickly kissed me hard on the mouth, his tongue snaking between my lips, and then he pulled back and told me how much he had enjoyed all we had done. I got no promises, but I knew that we would have fun again.
The months passed, and I know Bill and Chuck took a few other sailors out for a session, but I was not invited, and I never tried to discuss what went on.
I know one sailor got a transfer right after one of these occasions, so l suppose he didn't work out. I was enjoying my work as a rigger with Bill and Chuck during working hours, learning a lot of ways to handle the heavy loads we needed to move aboard ship. We also made up some fancy work such as rope mats for the Skipper's state room and wrappings for the railings of the gangways or ladders. I was enjoying hitching to Boston on liberty weekends once in awhile, and the cold weather guaranteed that I would be very grateful to any driver who would pick me up.
Finally May came around, and Bill told me one day that the cabins were opening up again. I didn't need to be told twice, and planned for a long weekend. We got off the ship on Friday afternoon, and before we left Newport, my wrists were bound behind my back. Again we picked up some beer and we all had a few cans, with Chuck pouring mine down my throat, spilling only a little down the front of my Navy blues. When we got to the cabin, I was hustled inside.
Bill stood in front of me and said, very seriously, "Look, I don't want to hurt you too much, but I really get a kick out of whipping a guy, and I want to do it a lot. You have taken it better than anyone else I have ever worked on, even Chuck here, who doesn't really like to get hurt, but how much can you take?"
I didn't know what to say, but I knew I was in for a lot of pain, because I didn't want to disappoint him, and it was obvious he liked me, and somehow this was the best way he had to show it. Finally, I said "Do what you like. I will take anything you want to do to me. I couldn't do anything about it, anyway, once you tie me up, and you could even kill me if you want."
He replied, "It won't come to that, but thanks. I appreciate your trust."
This time, they didn't hit me first, but I stripped and they strung me up again by the wrists, ankles tied together. As before, Bill whipped me hard, and I was fucked several times. Later, they decided to go out, leaving me very tightly bound, forearms tied together behind me, upper arms tied to my sides, ankles and knees tightly tied, and a noose around my neck running down to my ankles pulled up behind my back. The jock was again filling my throat with its musky odor, and I was hoping they wouldn't leave me too long. It turned out to be several hours, and they were both pretty drunk when they returned.
Bill whipped me harder than ever, although the ropes that bound me took some of the strokes. Chuck took a turn, too, but obviously didn't care for it. Finally they untied me, but I was so stiff I couldn't move, and they had no trouble re-tieing me for the night and then fucking me before we all went to sleep.
In the morning, I really needed to take a leak, and I guess they did too, but they told me to get dressed in the bell bottom dungarees and blue work shirt I had been told to bring. My wrists were quickly bound again, and I was pushed out and behind the cabin, where they both pissed all over me, and I pissed in my own pants. Back in the cabin, I was left again tightly bound while they went out for breakfast, bringing me back another sandwich.
We all drank some beer, and I made several trips outside to piss in my dungarees or get pissed on. I was worried that someone might see what was going on, but that didn't seem to worry Bill and Chuck, and after a few hours, Bill said they wanted some privacy.
They took me back into the woods behind the cabin and tied me firmly to a tree, still wearing my piss soaked clothes. I suppose they were making out together, for it was several hours before they finally came to release me. By this time, I was cold and hungry and hurting and generally unhappy, which I guess Bill sensed, for he untied me and sent me in to take a long, hot shower.
When I finished, both of them were sitting together on one of the beds, naked, but with a blanket around them. Bill smiled up at me and said "You really passed the test this time." He held out a hand, and I joined them on the bed, where we all did everything to each other.
We went out for supper together, dressed in our tight Navy blues once again, and enjoyed a pleasant evening.
I didn't really know what to expect when we got back to the cabin that night, but we all undressed, and looked at the welts on my body. Finally, I reached over and picked up some line, handing it to Bill.
"I know what you want, and I guess I can still take it." I spent that night tied again, and took some more beating and fucking before we finally returned to the ship. I was afraid to let the other guys see me, with the angry welts all over my body, but it couldn't be helped, and some of the others had been in the same shape before.
I find I have gone on rather long about Bill and Chuck, but you will have guessed that that was by far my most exciting experience. Another time I decided to hitch to Boston fairly late one summer evening. I got stranded by a driver turning off just by a gas station, so I wandered over, attracted by a gas pump jockey wearing tight, greasy levis, a dark blue shirt with a gas company logo over the pocket, work boots, and topped off with a shock of unruly blond hair. We chatted a bit and I couldn't help but notice the contrast between my starched clean whites and his dirty, but equally tight, jeans. It turned out that he got off duty fairly soon, and he offered me a lift further up the road.
Once we got into his pickup truck, he asked me about the line I carried, as usual. He got the idea pretty quickly, and pulled down a back road, stopped, and tied my wrists. He started to rub my quickly stiffening cock, deep kissed me for awhile, and then told me to get out.
He took me to the back of the truck, lowered the tailgate, and pushed me forward so my chest was flat on the truck bed. He untied my wrists and pulled them forward, tieing them to some ringbolts further up the floor of the truck. Then he pulled off my pants and shorts, fucking me soundly with his big, full cock. He let me go after that, and I pulled myself together while he drove me up to a major highway.
I got out, but looked back to wave as he turned back toward his home. At least there was more traffic on the highway, and I knew my whites would show up well in the headlights of oncoming cars. As one went by, though, I looked down, and realized his hands had been as dirty as his jeans, for a black stain of finger and hand prints was covering the groin area of my tight white sailor pants. I was just wondering what to do about that when a car screeched to a stop, and I ran to climb in. The good looking young driver grinned at me and asked if I had been having a good time, and if I wanted some more. It was a great weekend.
Well, this has been a long evening of typing for me, and the old Navy blues I pulled out to give me inspiration as I type are getting tighter than ever.
I will try to write again in a few weeks about some of my other experiences, such as with the Marine MP I told you about.
awesome postings. I too was in the navy and loved the tailor mades as they got me horned up as well. Sex wearing them was gr8 although a bit rare with another sailor as it was mostly non sailor guys who were turned on by the uniform. Like you, even now, I often get into a set of snug fitting Dress Blues and end up straining the 13 buttons as I surf the net reading stories and pics .
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