This story was originally posted in our online Alternate Issue 81, and then again in Alternate 101. A note at the top from me to editor Sean Van Sant said that I was sure we'd published it before, but couldn't for the life of me find it. That was, I discover some 15 years later, because we hadn't filed it properly and had changed the original title from "Straight Jock Abuses Teen in B/D Games" to the more appropriate "Sand Trap." No harm was done, since it's a wonderfully hot story, and no one should suffer from reading it twice, or more. I just wish we'd had an artist like Sean to illustrate it, since no photo could have done it justice.
SAND TRAP
WASHINGTON, DC. This is my story of how, in 1991, when I was 18, I got introduced to man-to-man sex. I had been fantasizing about it, but this experience was beyond expectations. I am a good-looking guy, active in sports, and then and now (at 28) I’m often told I should model. However, I was socially repressed back then (the strong, silent, petrified type) morbidly shy, and when it came to sex, just plain paralyzed with uncertainty.
I had a sense of what I liked, and I spent hours at our high school gym after school or during breaks working out, speaking to no one, but checking out the other guys, some of whom I’d fantasize about later in the privacy of my bedroom. I didn’t date or do much of anything outside of sports at school (I wrestled and played lacrosse). Even though I was well liked by my teammates, I often felt alone because my sexual interests were different.
A big thrill back then was to go next door to watch my 25-year-old neighbor, Mike, playing basketball, especially one-on-one basketball with his 27-year-old best friend, Jerry. Jerry was an “older man” but “all man” to me. While Mike was nice looking, Jerry was an all-American stud; he was the consummate jock. He had big shoulders, a narrow waist, well-muscled arms, and a powerfully built chest. He lifted and played just about any sport going. To match his bod, he had beautiful curly black hair a dazzling, white-white smile. But without a doubt, the thing everyone couldn’t help but notice was his pair of mesmerizingly beautiful and flirtatious blue eyes.
His looks and attitude had built him a reputation as a hot stud and everyone knew (including Jerry) that all the hottest women in town were chasing after him. His relaxed, confident air and sexy playfulness made me hot. It seemed to me like he flirted with everyone, men and women. The guys would smile and kid him back (except me—I’d blush), but I bet many of the guys he used to kid would actually have gone to bed with him if they were alone instead of in a group when he came on to them. Who knows? Maybe some did.
Anyway, I’d go next door whenever he and Mike had their shirts off playing one-on-one. Poetry in motion. Watching Jerry would make me all kinds of agitated, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. I think he knew it and liked that. On occasion, he’d look my way and smile or say something funny. Once he gave me a wink and snapped his shirt on my butt—something I jerked off thinking about afterwards.
Jerry and Mike took me under their wing and tried to get me to leave the weight bench and get a life. My first experiences at being rebellious were having beers with those guys (I was under-aged then). They liked to get me drunk and kid me about getting laid. I’d loosen up then and wrestle or pal around with them. Jerry seemed to take an interest in mentoring me and promised to fix me up with a girl friend of his who would screw my eyes out whenever I wanted it.
It was obvious I had a case of hero-worship going. I asked Jerry a lot of personal questions about sex. I even admitted I hadn’t had sex with anyone, something I would never admit to a soul at high school. Jerry told me about lots of his exploits, some of which were a little kinky. I’d get hard just listening and end up squirming in my pants. He noticed and would kid me about it by asking “What’s a matter stud? Jeans getting a bit tight?” He didn’t seem to care and would go one telling me hot stories.
He once got me stoned and I ended up pouncing him and play-wrestling. That was hot, and we ended up sweating up a storm. I got hard and he grabbed my underwear and gave me a capital wedgy while remarking about how we were going to have to get me some pussy since I was obviously one horny toad. I fantasized about lying in his bed watching him fuck one of his girlfriends and licking him all over. Besides me and him wrestling or slap-fighting or otherwise kidding around, my experience with him just left me worked up and wondering.
Later that summer, Jerry broke up with his then-steady girlfriend. They were supposed to go to his parents house at the beach for a 3-day weekend, but since she wasn’t going, he asked me if I wanted to. (As if I wouldn’t go just to see that bod of his packed in a pair of Speedos or nothing at all.) The beach where we went is fairly remote, and his parents were away—hence his plans with the now-ex-girlfriend.
Upon arriving Friday afternoon, we tanned on the beach and then went bar hopping (I was legal in this state and made good use of it). We had a good time, and got real loud and sloppy that night. I ended up telling him how good-looking I thought he was. He told me that he thought that I was going to be one hot dude by the time I was 25. There was a lot of back and chest patting, oogling at women and buddying around, but that was about it Friday.
On Saturday morning, we worked out, ate, fixed a huge thermos of gin and tonics, packed a lunch, and hiked way down the beach to get some sun. I got very lit and uninhibited from the gin. We were oiled up with sunscreen and ginned to the eyebrows while tossing around a Frisbee on this one section of beach with houses up in the dunes and a few people lying down near where we were walking. Jerry once took the frisbee and slapped it hard enough against my ass to really smart, all the while giving me the “just kidding” grin. Later, there was a point when Jerry bent over to pick up the Frisbee and started looking at some shells on the sand. I went over to see what he was looking at, but I found myself spellbound by how sexy his big back, narrow waist, and hard butt looked, especially the white tan line as his butt began to show a little over his Speedo as he bent over.
Being drunk, and having been recently “spanked” with the frisbee, it seemed okay for me to playfully grab his suit’s waistband with my thumbs on either side and tug down hard, bringing his suit to his knees while toppling him over onto the sand. As he struggled to pull his suit on to hide his pretty butt from the public, he bitched at me. “You little shit. I oughta rip your shorts off and tear them up right here. Bet you’d like that, faggot boy.”
He was really pissed and that remark stung me. He told me he was going to get me back but good. I felt bad and said I was sorry, but all he said was “You’re gonna be,” as he took off down the beach toward the house.
I felt like I had done something really queer, and I went back to our blanket, lay down and got depressed. Later, Jerry came back and said with a friendlier but devious smirk, “It’s payback time, fuckhead.” I was still feeling bad about what happened, so I went along with him when he told me to get up and come down the beach with him. Despite my apologies bordering on whimpering, he pushed me along with what I sensed was “pretend” anger. Even so, I was glad he was with me and I was very much wanting to get back in his good graces.
When we got to the point where the main footpath turned up over the dunes away from the beach to the houses, including his folks’ place, he pushed me off the path to the right along a little sand trail that lead toward the beach. “This way, fuckhead,” was all he said.
There's usually a steady stream of foot traffic on the main footpath we had been on, but no one comes down to the beach near this section since there are sharp rocks in the water. I couldn’t figure what was up until we finally got to a big freshly dug rectangular hole in the sand about 70 yards beyond the main footpath. Next to the hole was a mound of sand with a big bucket next to it and a long-handled shovel sticking in it. It was obvious that Jerry intended for me to lay down in the hole. When I asked what he was going to do, he said, “Pay you back, smartass—aren’t you man enough?”
He pushed me toward the hole. After a mild protest and some drunken wrestling, I asked what he was going to do, and he told me he was going to bury me in the sand for an hour as punishment for “pantsing” him in front of everyone. The alcohol and the friction of our oiled bodies wrestling had me pretty worked up, so I decided to submit, “but only for an hour.”
He had me stand in the hole with my elbows behind my back and my head and feet facing toward the main footpath and back toward the ocean. He filled the hole with sand, taking care to pack it in good all around me. Only my head was sticking up so I could still see the footpath when Jerry wasn’t in the way. As he shoveled the last of the sand on me, I started to feel a touch helpless and I got both scared and aroused thinking about what might happen. Jerry then took the bucket filled with water and dumped it on the sand all over and around me to pack it tighter. The last gallon he dumped on my head for effect.
When he was done, I could hardly move at all except my neck and head and a little wiggle room I had made around my toes. My alcohol buzz, Jerry’s sexy body sweating in the sun, the view of him from below, an occasional sexy grin, and the feeling of being trapped made me very hot and horny. I was relieved he couldn’t see the raging hard-on in my Speedos.
When he started walking away back toward the path I got scared. I started to yell for him and he yelled back at me, “Keep your panties on, Cinderella, I’m coming back.” A little while later, he came back with all our beach stuff and set our blankets down one on each side of me with my head in the middle where they joined. He then put one of our low-slung sunning chairs down a foot or so in front my face and asked if I was comfortable. He was blocking my view of the dunes and the main footpath in the distance except for the tiny 2-3 inch space underneath the chair.
Just then, some people walked by in the distance, and I could see their ankles, but I couldn’t tell if they had noticed me, because all I could see above that was Jerry’s legs on either side of my head and his crotch about a foot away. This, too, made me hot, but I hoped the people that walked along the main path wouldn’t be able to see me like this. Not only because of the predicament I was in, but also because I was really turned on now.
Jerry was still guzzling out of our big thermos and he seemed to get a kick out of pouring me a plastic cup of gin and tonic now and then and feeding it to me while holding the back of my head as if I was a baby. I was really thirsty, and it tasted great even if being fed that way only reminded me of how helpless I was. I began to feel subdued, buzzed and very secure.
When I was pretty lit, Jerry leaned over slightly to his right in his well-positioned chair and pushed the blankets apart a little and started digging his hand in the sand right about where my crotch was. I start to freak as he got deeper and wouldn’t respond to my questions about what he was doing and whether my hour was up. I was panicking but didn’t know what to do. I just tried to make small talk to make my hard-on go away mentally, but the idea of him feeling me up like this got me too horny. When I looked up, I saw a different look in his big blue eyes. It was very devious, and there was a devilish, slightly drunken smirk on his face.
When the little mineshaft he was digging in the sand got closer to my dick, I started babbling. I knew it was now right near my crotch and I told him to cut it out, let me go, etc. I think I cursed him out a bit too, but he just sat back in the chair staring right in my eyes and smiling as he slowly dug out the rest of the sand and started rubbing my rock hard cock. He had total access, and I didn’t have any. Having piled up the sand from the hole he dug as he went along, all he needed to do was just shift his position slightly and put his hand down the hole. I protested, even though I knew he could feel how hard I was and see how heavy I was breathing. He just grinned that sexy smirk, and told me slowly, in a deep voice “You want this, you need it—and you’re going to get it.”
After telling him that everyone was looking, he told me that he was tired of listening to me whine, so he folded up on of the white socks from my bag and pushed it into my mouth. He told me not to let it fall out if I knew what was good for me.
After I was gagged, I wasn’t able to do much but grunt. Oddly, I ended up relaxing a little because Jerry was right, I did want this, but I no longer had to voice any real complaints about how I didn’t. After the sock went in, I protested a lot but it was without any fear that others on the main footpath might hear me. I was so turned on by Jerry’s slow rubbing and knowing that there was nothing I could do (or say) to make him stop that I went a little wild. I was his captive and abandoned myself to the situation with gusto.
I guess a switch just went off in my head. I put on a great show of squirming and protesting all the while I was getting hotter by the minute. I pleaded and blushed and shook my head “no” while mouthing off into my sock. Tears of frustration were streaming down my face, but not because he wouldn’t stop. Instead it was now because he was doing just shy of what my immobile cock needed to get off.
Thankfully, Jerry didn’t buy my protests. He kept on smirking at me while leaning back in the chair with his legs spread around my head and his hand action keeping both my cock and me delirious. Just then, I heard some passers-by on the main footpath, and I prayed they couldn’t see my head or figure out what was happening to me. Thinking back, there was nothing about Jerry’s position that would have given anything away to anyone up on the footpath some 70 yards away. However, it felt at the time as if everyone on the beach could see me and that they all knew and were getting a kick out of exactly what Jerry was doing to me. I felt like he had me completely on public display and was showing everyone just how aroused he could get and keep me.
I then realized that Jerry knew exactly what he was doing and exactly how I felt. This was his version of the ultimate payback for what I did, and he was getting off on the powertrip of completely controlling, prolonging and heightening my desire and embarrassment. I could tell from his sneer and intense stare that he was getting off on having this much control over me. I learned later that this was indeed his gig. He loves dominating guys to a point where he’s completely in charge and they know it. Whether it’s wrestling or sex or some form of contest, he digs having control over other dudes. Sex or the possibility of it is usually his method, but it need not be sexual if he can get a guy under his thumb some other way.
I was by now delirious with pleasure, embarrassment, lust, helplessness, anger, you name it. He wasn’t letting me get off no matter how desperate I wanted it. This went on for an eternity, including several more episodes of people going by on the main footpath and many muffled pleadings through my sock.
After an unbelievable period of this torture, Jerry shifted his position again—this time burrowing more around my poor cock. He dug out just enough sand to get hold of and push my Speedo off just to below my balls. I was rock hard and pleading for something, anything that might get me off. He was teasing me verbally as well as with his hand. He then poured some warm water down the hole, which washed off my still rigid dick. It felt sensual as it ran down my ass crack and around my hips and legs.
After about half a minute of staring intensely into my pleading eyes, he popped the entire lid off my bottle of suntan lotion and dumped it down the hole onto my prick. I moaned uncontrollably it felt so great and I then started whimpering for him to do something, anything, with it. He moved his sunning chair forward and leaned back so that his crotch was now right in my face. From what I could occasionally glimpse of his smirk, he seemed really turned on himself. He made it clear that he was going to make me work for it if I wanted any relief. Adding to my frustration was that I felt mortified by my very public predicament. Jerry knew all this and was determined not only to show me off, but also to make me perform despite my embarrassment.
Slowly he wrapped his big fist around my lotion-covered prick and very, very slowly he started to jack me. There was some beach sand in the lotion, and the additional scratchiness drove me completely nuts. He kept me squirming on the verge of cumming forever. I was crying and sobbing and whimpering into the sock. I desperately needed to cum. I would have jacked off naked in Columbus Circle in Manhattan at that point if only he would have let me cum. I never needed relief so bad, and I had never been so mindless about it. The only thing was, just as I thought I might get there, he slowed down and stopped. He unlaced a shoelace from my sneaker, made a noose, and leaned back, put it down the hole, and slipped it around my balls, tightening it as he did so—all with one hand.
He covered his legs and waist in the big beach towel, which acted like a tent all around me with his legs framing the tent. Once he had me (and himself) all covered up like that, he pulled his suit way down his thighs. He told me that he was going to take my gag out, but that I better be real quiet and real cooperative or he would yank my balls off. A good tug on the shoestring convinced me that I had better cooperate.
As he slid forward in the chair, his balls and ass were pressed right up against my face. I smelled his musk, and he made me lick all around, saying that I was going to learn to lick his balls, his ass and suck dick too. What he was doing to me made me even more overwhelmed and desperate to come and come and come. I concentrated on my assignment because I didn’t want to think about the people that I could hear on the footpath just then. Jerry was acting nonchalant but giving hard tugs on the shoelace when I slacked off with his tongue worship. He pushed his crotch against my face, leaned back, put his hand in the hole, and started jacking me again, very slowly. I was delirious.
Pleading for him to resume stroking me as I licked his dick, balls and ass, I asked him to please let me come. I promised I would do anything. He took his advantage further, and asked me a whole series of embarrassing questions about what I would let him do to me. I answered each question with an earnest promise to do just exactly everything he wanted or suggested, including one promise about me being his slave until I graduated from college in four years. Among other indecencies, I also promised that he if he wanted to, he and his friends could drive the hour down to campus to come “play” with me and that I would cooperate with that whenever he wanted.
Finally, after I had promised him everything and had shown myself to be completely and mindlessly obedient (and possessed of a furiously fast tongue), he picked up the pace and stroked me in earnest as I licked his ass and balls. As a particularly boisterous crowd of people were passing in the distance, Jerry spoke to me as if I was a puppy and told me softly in sweet “goo goo” talk, “OK fuckhead, go ahead come for all those nice people up there.”
I did. I never before and never again have come so hard. I buried my moans and my tongue in his ass crack while I went into orbit and strained to tongue his butt deeply. I was delirious with pleasure, and I didn’t know or give a shit whether the people just a short distance away were oblivious to me having this powerful orgasm or completely aware of the fact that I was willing to go through such public humiliation at Jerry’s hands if he would just let me do this.
From then until my graduation Jerry used me as his personal sex slave just as he had made me promise. I never knew when and what he would have me do next, but it kept my four years in college dizzying—especially on those weekend nights when Jerry and a couple of his friends would drive down unexpectedly to take control of this guy that Jerry had in the palm of his hand. I often had to make excuses to my roommate when I crawled in the next morning, exhausted. (Once, the only thing they would let me have back was my room key. So at 6 a.m. with no one awake yet, I had to parade across the quad and up to my room buck ass naked.) But those are stories for some other day. I’ve got to get to work now. My boss is a control freak and he sneers at you whenever you're even five minutes late.
A nice sock gag is always appreciated. ;)
Posted by: sockboy mark | June 12, 2016 at 01:24 PM