Mike comes over and my folks are out of town. It's going to be another slave day and we play a game of strip HORSE to find out who the victim will be. I lose the game and my clothes. I'm his slave. Mike first gives me a spanking, telling me slaves need to be beaten. He slaps me really hard this time and it ends up stinging quite a bit. Just have a fight with your mom, Mike? Letting me up, Mike tells me to get the whipped cream out of the fridge. I tell him we don't have any. For a second I think he's going to get mad but instead he smiles and says, 'What else have you got?' We go into the kitchen.
It's a sign of the frequency of Mike's and my games that I'm getting used to walking around my house nude. He grabs a jar of strawberry jam from the refrigerator and starts to laugh. 'Bring a knife,' is all he says as he heads back to the den. Mike then ties my hands behind my back. I see what's coming and am both nervous and excited. After removing his clothes, Mike lies on the floor and spreads the jam over his chest. I'm told to lick it off and I try the best I can. What doesn't make it in my mouth sticks to my face. It is an awkward position plus I've never licked a guy's nipples before. Shit, I've never licked anybody's nipples before. Mike then spreads some jam on his lower abdomen, right above his pubes. Again he tells me to lick it off and I do, managing not to fall face first into his crotch.
Clearly disappointed with my success, a grinning Mike uses the knife to spread jam on his dick. I say there's no way I'm licking that off. I never made you eat whipped cream off my dick, I complain. We negotiate. I agree to just wipe off the jam instead. As I'm bound, I expect Mike will do this in a way I'd rather he didn't but, hey, I've seen his dick from zero inches away before. I get a reprieve as instead, Mike leads me into the bathroom. He helps me to my knees and after washing my face, puts a wet wash cloth in my mouth. Standing in front of me, he tells me to clean off the jam. I try. This is different and although it really doesn't work, the point has been made. We're now even. He unties me and I finish cleaning him up with the rag in my hand, wiping leftover jam off his dick and upper body.
We go back into the den. Mike says this might be a good day to spread out towels. Oh, good, we like messy. I get out the sky blue towels from my bathroom and cover the couch. Mike lies on the couch, his head to my right as I stand there, and tells me to play with his cock. I kneel down beside him. I rub him as much as I jack him, knowing how much he likes having the bottom of his dick rubbed by the palm of a hand, be it his or mine. I jack him for a while and then rub him for a while. Mike's hands join in so occasionally we have four palms giving him a workout. He rubs himself while I'm working on more sensitive areas. At one point I'm jacking his dick and fingering his nipples while he is pressing the butt of his hands deeply into his thighs. A minute later we've switched and he's beating his dick while I'm stroking the rest of his body.
I can already tell today it's going to take forever to make Mike cum, watching him squirm, writhe and moan while approaching an orgasm. He doesn't moan as much as he pants. He speeds up his breathing, grabbing air in short, hurried bursts. When he's guttural, it sounds like a grunt. Today, he's huffing. His body is already completely in motion. Having brought his feet up to his butt, thrusting his knees into the air for support, it becomes a little hard to jack Mike as he starts fucking my hand, his pelvis bouncing off the couch to meet my stroke. I have to match his rhythm just to keep his dick in my fist but once I do, his panting becomes quicker, louder and more emphatic. I place my left hand under his ass to help hold him up. With his movements and breathing unifying to become a single expression of sexual energy, I know he is close to shooting.
But not just yet. This afternoon, Mike repeatedly stops short of cumming, usually well short as it is easier to keep the pot from over-boiling if you turn the heat down early, and then breaks it all back down. He forces himself to relax and lie back flat on the couch, reining in his desire. This time before backing away, Mike gets closer to a climax than he might have wanted and has to work hard to slow himself down. Nothing is slower than a time out and he calls two in a row.
Next Mike asks me to just rub him, staying away from his dick. I always love this. I can roam his body, working everything from his face to his feet. I start narrowing my focus, first going to his nipples and then over his lower abdomen. This allows me to run my fingers through his pubes, which have never felt finer, in both senses of the word, and fondle his balls. Rubbing the inside of his thighs, I tell Mike to spread his legs. Standing over him, I roll his balls around in my right fingers while my left hand provides the lightest touch over the territory south of there, even reaching back to gently finger his asshole today, something I've seldom done before. Removing my hand only long enough to wet my index finger, he raises his hips to provide me entry. As he lowers them back down, he wiggles his ass to push my finger in deeper. I drop his balls and use that hand to give his taint a further workout. I'm almost upside down, bent over Mike, leaning on my left elbow, my arm extended under him. Driving my finger in as far as it can go, I concentrate on this part of Mike for a change. So does Mike. He starts rocking back and forth on my hand. I find my finger can go in further. His knees splayed wide, my other hand continues to rub that sensitive space between his legs. This is certainly different. We've never done this before. After awhile, I remove both of my hands, kneel back down on the floor, and return to rubbing my palms on Mike's belly and thighs. We start all over again.
I am in awe as Mike goes for well over an hour. It's forever in fifteen-year-old-boy-blast-fast-and-often time. Mike loves to ride that roller coaster. I would have jumped the tracks long ago. Eventually I realize this is our last climb up the hill. With my head lying on Mike's stomach, looking down at his dick, we're locked into the rhythm of the jack, our pushing and pulling in perfect sync. We're one. Now let's try to do it in the third dimension. His feet and knees coming back up, Mike's butt is off the couch and in motion, forcing me to straighten up. Staying on my knees and putting my left hand under his ass, I start pushing up to reinforce his stroke. My other hand comes down on his dick.
We start off slowly to keep together and build up speed and power. It's time to get serious. I switch my rhythm so instead of my two hands coming together in opposition, smashing his pelvis between them, I start moving them in unison to match Mike's motion. He responds by driving his dick deeper into my fist. His ass is no longer resting on my hand but jumping off it. I'm working hard just to keep ahold of his torso. Mike's pants become yeahs, more emphatic with each breath. He's not fucking my hand, he's fucking me. With every stroke his thrusts feel crisper and his gasping becomes quicker. He's moving so hard and fast I can't keep up. I let him take over completely and just try to surf his sexual wave, although I actively keep holding up his ass and I certainly don't let go of his dick. Pushing even more fiercely, his panting now sounds like a steam train at full throttle.
His whole body is a spasm. It's past time. With a giant 'FUCK', Mike's butt rises further, forcing me to let release his cock but now with two hands free, I push his ass up high, well above his knees. Spunk explodes out of his dick, shooting wildly as it jerks. His first shot lands two feet over his head on the end table. One burst hits the wall. His face, chest and arms are streaked in white as more sperm continues to rain down over everything. 'Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...' With my gentle support, Mike's butt slowly falls to the couch as his feet slide back down. His arms now rise, his fingertips bouncing over his body. '...fuck...fuck...' His right hand lands on his oozing dick, stroking it dry. His left hand wipes his face clean. Mike's breath is still hurried but his motion is settling down. He gives out a last sigh of '...motherfuck.' Both of Mike's arms fall to the couch. He is finally still.
Getting off my knees, I sit on the floor. I hear my dog barking outside. Without thinking about it, I raise my hand to grab Mike's. It's an expression of affection we've never used before. He squeezes my hand back. The cum on his fingers binds us together. We sit there quietly as Mike's breathing returns to normal. He turns his head to look at me and smiles. I start to return his smile but there, look there - it's all over his eyes and smile - there's that expression of ecstasy I was looking for in our first time together. I want to kiss Mike, I really do. But I don't. I squeeze his hand instead. We sit, time passing slowly. Raising his head, looking around and chuckling, Mike says, 'Nice blast,' and asks me for something to clean up his spunk. I let go of his hand and grab my underwear, which are lying next to me on the floor, and pass them to him. Slowly rising to a sitting position, Mike gets up off the couch, telling me it's my turn to jerk off. He also thanks me for the jack. That stops me. I mean, he did all the work...no, wait, maybe I did have a hand in it.
Mike rambles into the kitchen, looking for a glass of water. I replace him on the couch, feeling his warmth left there, and start beating off. After a brief stop in the bathroom to do some basic clean up, Mike returns and sits in a chair, sipping his water and watching me jack. He comes back from Nirvana and remembers he's master of the day. After I climax, a great one for me but a pitiful one compared to Mike's, he orders me to jerk off again. I barely stop, obeying his desire. After my second blast, Mike tells me to use my underwear to clean up the mess, his and mine, as remnants of Mike still dot the room. Allowed to go to the bathroom to pee and wash up, I return to sit on the couch and finish a diet soda pop I opened earlier.
Looking at each other, Mike's eyes wander to the jar of strawberry jam that's been left on the coffee table. His eyebrows raise and Mike's smile of contentment is replaced by one from the devil. Grabbing the jam and the knife, Mike sits back down and orders me to stand in front of him. Using the knife and his hands, he smears jam all over my dick, balls, butt, ass crack and pubes, rubbing it in to make one real ugly mess. Yuck! Telling me to get dressed, I put my cum-stained underwear on over my jammed up junk. Mike also dressing, we go out to the basketball court and shoot multiple games of one-on-one, playing until Mike gets tired and goes home. Defending the basket, he gooses me a couple of times to remind me of the disaster he left in my shorts. Don't worry, Mike, I notice it every time I move, plus jam stains have started to bleed through my jeans. I drive a layup in and right over him, getting what little revenge I can. After I'm freed from slavery, I take a shower, starting fully dressed, and jerk off one more time in the bathroom. This afternoon has been quite the turn on. Doing a load of laundry before mom and dad get home erases the strawberries and cream evidence, as does touch up paint for the wall. I throw out the rest of the jam. God knows where that knife has been.
Mike and I stayed jerk off buddies, messing around and playing our games, for at the most eighteen months. It probably was a month or two less. Our relationship ended because just before he turned sixteen, Mike's family moved away. But even before that our sessions were winding down. We were seeing less of each other because we plain ran out of new games and our jerk off sessions got boring. I mean, really, how many times can you hogtie and gag a naked guy? Once should be enough, don't you think?
Another reason was both of our parents started to get really suspicious that we were doing something illegal, immoral or dangerous. Or maybe they knew. When they questioned us about what we were doing, they always asked about drugs, which curiously was one vice we didn't do. They never quizzed either of us about having sex, or even hinted at it, and after Mike moved the subject was dropped so I never found out what mine had learned or suspected. But being concerned parents, they knew enough to tighten the leash. They started calling each other, checking up on our alibis. That evening we spent together in his fold-out bed, humping for the first time? I'd lied to my parents, telling them Mike's folks would be home and it was OK with them for me to spend the night. But later, toward the end, our folks would have sniffed out a lie like that immediately. They also instituted a rule that we couldn't be together unless a parent was around so if I said I was going to Mike's, my mom would call his house first to make sure his mother was there. During our last few months it got very difficult for Mike and me to spend extended unsupervised time together. It was then we both ditched school one day to mess around. We got away with that one, too. On other days we still had the avocado tree. We'd go under it when my mother was home, keeping an eye on us. She never got wise to that.
While writing this I have wondered, will anybody will believe this story? Could two teenagers in 1960s white bread America have been so horny, so into jacking, so risk taking, so stupid, and frankly, so into cum? The answer is yes, this is what happened (to pass Solo Touch's standards, I have made some minor changes in what we did, mostly in the story with Shelly, and that story remains eighty percent true). This is my life. Mike, and his name really is Mike, and I did all this stuff. Look at it from my perspective. When I was thirteen, I had a best buddy who would accept, fulfil and even expand most any sexual fantasy I could come up with, and the same was true for him. Wouldn't you have gone there? Wouldn't you, also, have explored that side of yourself? If you could have been this sexually active when you were thirteen and fourteen, wouldn't you have been, too?
Our young ages completely colored Mike's and my sex. You can say the sexual fantasies we acted out were juvenile. Guess what? We were juveniles. Our stripping games, domination play, bondage, public nudity, excessive masturbation and fetish for semen are exactly what you'd expect from thirteen to fifteen year old boys. OK, maybe not the semen. But we didn't just play juvenile games. Mike and I weren't there only for the cum shots. Our relationship was much deeper. We were into each other. There was an intimacy underlying our domination games. Our needs and desires were definitely being considered. I cared for Mike and he cared for me. We cut each other a lot of slack to let the other boy express himself sexually. With both respect for and an incredible trust in each other, it was the only relationship I've had where that trust was never broken. For as long as it lasted, we were a good pair. My first sexual relationship was a successful one. We allowed each other full and free expression of our sexual desires, supported each other in fulfilling those desires, all while being both tender and tough, aggressive and compassionate, domineering and submissive, men and boys. We even knew when the other guy needed a hug. Not too bad for a couple of young teenagers.
One day when I was a senior in high school, Mike rang the doorbell to my house. He'd been gone from town for years but was back for a visit. He wore a bushy beard and later, when he let me run my hand over it, I found his hair was still soft. Mike saw me in shape for the first time, football and weight training having done the job. We ended up in the backyard, catching up. Now living in Arizona, he was in college. Mike said he was no longer a virgin and had a steady girlfriend. I believed him but told him I was still one. At that point, I'd only had a few dates with girls. Besides being older, Mike was always more forward than me. We sat on my old swing set next to the avocado tree. I asked Mike if he remembered what we'd done under its branches. He said of course he did. We laughed about a few of our times together, the crazy ones, including our mad, nude dash out of the house to avoid being caught by my mom, his hogtying me and the Boner Run, and agreed we were stupider than slugs back then.
Did he want to go under the avocado tree for old time's sake and have one more afternoon of fun? Mike said no. I was OK with that. He soon left. Really, without the sex, once we'd made sure each other was fine, there was nothing there. Still, part of me wishes he'd said, 'Sure, let's mess around.' It would have fit the let's-try-something-new attitude of our best times together. We would have had to play a game of HORSE to determine who would have to strip. After that, to please him, I wanted to try a new dare that would finally make me eat Mike's spunk.