I knew I was playing with fire. I just didn’t give a fuck.See, Joey and I go way back. Our parents were friends, and we’ve hung out our entire lives. While I turned out to be the brainy, nerdy type, Joey drifted more to the thug crowd. I think his parents thought I’d be a good influence. With a truck driver for a father and nurse for a mother who rarely was at home, he needed guidance. Boy, did I show him the ropes.
We’d do what all typical boys did. Tussling grew to wrestling to full out battle royals. Joey ended up stronger than me, and I ended up on bottom most of the time. I didn’t mind. There was something about Joey’s weight pressing me down I enjoyed. Pretty soon a tap on the shoulder or a light slap to his side and we’d be straining and groaning and rolling around in the grass for a bit.
After a few ripped shirts, we started tossing them aside, neither of us shy around the other. A nasty dislocated finger, one his mom easily fixed when she got home, and we started leaving our shoes at the door. Pretty soon, it was easier to strip down to shorts after school when we hung out, “just in case”. It became a favorite ritual, hit his house, strip, tussle a bit and end up on my back pinned. Joey wasn’t mean, but he sure enjoyed showing who was boss, whether it was light slaps, pinches or a nipple twist. I’d eventually say “get up” and it was over. On to other activities for the night.
Bout the time our Friday curfew disappeared, Texas wrestling appeared very late a night. One athlete shared my first name, and I know I drove Joey crazy talking about him. I started calling myself “Von Erich”, trying to copy his high flying style (which wasn’t easy during backyard wrestling) and going so far as to buy a few tiny speedos and wearing them after school. I’d joke that Joey was whatever bad guy had been on last week, and occasionally we’d act out the storyline. We both had a good time roleplaying.
The first time I caught Joey in the nads accidentally, I apologized profusely, asking if he wanted to stop. He didn’t, we jumped back into it, and he caught me a good one with his fist that dropped me cold. “I owed you one,” was all he said before going into the house and leaving me curled up on the ground. The second time I racked him wasn’t so accidental. He busted my nuts twice before full nelsoning me and rubbing my face in the ground. The third time, deliberately, I just glared at him, daring him to respond. After that, it was open season on nads. Usually mine
At some point, I don’t remember why, we decided pinning wasn’t as satisfying and end. I still have the “contract” we signed in my high school stuff, agreeing that winning was by submission only. Now it wasn’t good enough to end up on top of me, Joey had to get me to say “I give”. I was used to his tricks and racking my nuts just left me speechless, so Joey had to come up with new tricks to get me to submit. He started trying out the holds we saw on TV, and let me tell you, that wrestling isn’t as fake as we thought.
He’d twist and turn my body, wrenching my limbs around until I was stuck in a painful position, then he’d ride it out until I gave. At first, he’d let go, I’d collapse, and that would be the end. Over time, I started to jump him after he let go, continuing to fight, until he got me in a second hold, or third. Eventually, I’d be submitting several time in the afternoon, each as meaningless as the next. Sometime he’d ignore me, pounding on the pressure. He got in the habit of bashing my balls when he wanted to stop, leaving me moaning and clutching my jewels. Over time, even that didn’t keep me down.
To say I was shocked the first time he whipped out the rope after I wouldn’t stay down is an understatement. I never dreamed anything like this would happen. I also didn’t know how much I’d enjoy it. It started out simply, tying my wrists to something, arms around a tree, easy knots. I’d always escape and eventually make my way into the house where Joey would be microwaving supper. I’d drop the ropes by the garage door, grab the food, and we’d watch TV for the rest of the night.
Me getting loose seemed to be a challenge for Joey. I remember the first time he hog tied me, and it wasn’t very loose. That was the first time I couldn’t get out. I rolled around the ground hunting for the knots, but I couldn’t reach anything. Eventually he came out and asked if I was having trouble. “Let me go,” I begged, but he knew me well enough by this point. He just grabbed my bound wrists and ankles, and slung me into the den still tied up. I ended up watching TV that way. That too became ritual, me tied up in my speedo, Joey free and making all the choices.
There was one night I complained it hurt to lift me head for so long to watch TV. Joey wrapped a cord around my head, jerking it back until my neck arched back and I had a perfect view of the TV while hogtied on the floor. He tied the other end to my ankles and I no longer had to work to keep my head up. A few nights of me complaining about the pain that improvement caused, and he shoved a T-shirt in my mouth and ran the rope between my lips, effectively gagging me. He started tapping my bulging speedo with his toes. “Anything else you want to complain about, Kevin?” he asked. I moaned and tried to wiggle away, but it was useless.
Joey started getting real inventive with his bondage. He’d tie me to the chain link fence, the swing set. He came up with all sorts of stuff with a sawhorse that usually supported a sagging worktable. Bent over it, straddling it (and that hurt like hell), wrapped around it.
Not that we spent all out time together. Usually Tuesdays and Fridays, maybe a weekend here or there. With his parents gone so much, mine didn’t care if I spent the night. I had some clothes around, and usually slept on his older brother’s bed while he was at college. There was one afternoon I showed up, catching Joey in the garage, oiling his bike. I was bummed he’d made plans on “our” day to hang with other guys. He just smiled, patted my cheek and said,”don’t worry, Kevin, can’t let you think this changes anything,” I turned to leave, but he jumped me from behind and manhandled me over to the workbench. Pretty quick he had my wrists tied tight and tossed the other end of the rope over the rafters. With a hard yank, my arms were jerked into the air and I stood on my tiptoes. He tied it off, mock punched me in the gut, and told me he’d be back in a couple of hours. I yelled “what the fuck” before he had me gagged with duct tape. And he left me there, hanging in the garage, waiting for him to get back and let me go.“Shit,” I screamed, trying again to loosen the ropes. My shoulder and arms were killing me and I was terrified tonight would be the night his mother came home from the hospital early. I don’t know how long I ended up hanging there, choking on the stuffy air and terrified of each passing car. How the fuck could Joey just leave me here? Anything could happen.
I’d gotten used to being tied up, not minding to much ‘cause Joey was always around, messing with me, talking, including me even if I was unable to add anything. Hanging like this was boring as hell. Hurt like a motherfucker, too.
At some point Joey came home, but I was too dazed to really notice. The garage door to the house banged open, and before I could react, the rope was untied and I fell forward onto the cement floor. The door slammed shut and the light went off, but damn, at least I was free. Took me another hour to get loose and there was hell to pay with my parents for staying out so late without calling.
Boy, was I pissed at Joey. I blew him off the next day, and by Thursday, he acted all nice and stuff at lunch, “come on over tonight, Kev, I’ll make it up to you.” So, right after school, I showed up at his door. “Strip,” he told me, sounding way too much like an order, but I slid off my clothes down to an old threadbare speedo. He smirked and nodded to the back yard.
We wrestled, and even though he let try a few holds, I still ended up face down in the dirt. “Had enough?” he finally asked. I mumbled an affirmative. He manhandled my arms behind my back in a double hammerlock (ouch!) and forced marched me toward the house. “I need to do some stuff around the house, so I thought you could hang out in the garage a bit.”
It took a moment for the words to register, and I shout “hell, no.” I fight him all the way to the garage, but he’s just as determined and as usual I end up on the wrong end. It takes longer to tie my wrists. Joey’s working really hard, all over me. Once they’re bound, it’s a simple matter to toss the rope and hoist away, until again I am stretched out in the middle of the garage.
Joey chuckles as I curse him out. “Think your big, buff wrestling hero ever got tied up after a match? Wonder what the bad guys did to him then, Kev,” he tells me as he pats my cheek. I jerk back, as little as I can. I’m not really going anyplace. He slaps my cheek again. “Huh, Kev? What’s he gonna do?” He lands a solid blow on my ass, which hurts like a fucker. I kick at him and he steps back.
Each time he came close, I lashed out with a foot. It hurt, pulling on my sore shoulders and wrists, and I had the devil of a time balancing, but it kept him away. He grinned like a madman, enjoying the game, knowing at some point I would miss, would tire, and he’d get close enough to swing that at my unprotected ass. He flinched forward, I kicked out, and somehow, someway, I landed a foot in his crotch.
Everything stopped. Joey bent over, clutching his groin as I hung there, waiting. “You are so fucking going to regret that,” he promised me as he straightened. I was really in for it now. He came after me in a rage, and when I kicked again, he grabbed my ankle. Once caught, it was easy to wrap a handy rope around it and stretch it to the side and tie it off to the garage wall. Trapped he easily roped my other leg and pulled that in the opposite direction until I was screaming from the pain in my groin and thighs. He stood in front of me and looked down at my unprotected basket.
I wanted to run home and lock myself in the closet, but I couldn’t move from the inverted Y shape I was bound in. I pleaded with him, begging, telling him how sorry I was and how I’d never do it again. He said “good” finally, and reached into my flimsy speedo. “This is what’ll happen if you so much as touch my balls again.” His fingers groped my abused testicles and squeezed. Hard. The pain was so intense I couldn’t even scream. “I won’t, I won’t,” I managed to plead after a bit.
He left to hang for a few hours and finally let me go. There was a cup of hot chocolate on the counter for me and we watched the end of a movie on TV.
Two days later, after school in the parking lot, I slammed down a piece of paper on the hood of his car and handed him a pen. It was an amendment to our “contract” stating the balls were totally off limits. He read it over twice and chuckled. “You gotta sign one of mine, tomorrow night, after we wrestle.”
The next night, Joe was in particularly fine form. I think it was the first time ever I submitted nine times. I was so wrung out after he released the last hold, he had to help me up and into the house. There on the kitchen floor was a typed piece of paper, already signed by him. Next to it on the floor was a pen. Kind of him.
He let me collapse on the tile as I crawled over to the paper. As I reached it, Joey reached down and grabbed my ankles and before I could react, he settled on my back in an excruciating back breaker. “Sign the contract, Kev, and I’ll let you go.”
God, I knew this was a mistake. Joey’s addition added a free ball bashing for each submission, including those I had already made tonight. It made when, where and how up to the winner of the match. My feet were brushing my too long hair before I finally gave in and added my signature.
“How many times did you submit tonight?” I shouted out nine over and over. “Give again!” he ordered, piling on the pressure. God, it hurt. The tile was freezing and all I had on was a tiny, thin speedo. So I gave and that made it ten submission. Ten ball bashes.
Fucker dragged me into the garage and told me to cross my wrists in front of me. I had to fucking stand there and let him tie me up. Again I was hanging from the rafters, my legs spread wide, when he grinned and said “one” and proceeded to slam his knee into my open crotch.
By the third one, I was sobbing. “Maybe this will make things last a little longer -- you keep giving up way to quickly.” I agreed, telling Joey I’d fight harder next time, I wouldn’t give up so easily. If this was the price, I’d keep my fucking mouth shut a hell of a lot more. “Ready for more?’ he asked and I couldn’t help myself, I started pleading and begging him to stop. “I’ll stop tonight. Come over tomorrow and help me with my homework.” I agreed, instantly. He left me in the garage until 11, and then only released the rope from the rafters. Took me another hour, stretching my aching body, to get my feet untied. I left through the side door and went home to a hot shower.
Joey lets me in the next day, and just stares at me in the foyer. “Out of those clothes,” he finally growls, motioning to my body. I just stare at him, until he reaches out and grabs my T-shirt and pulls. I liked that T-shirt and Joe rips it off my body. I quickly drop my pants, and he seems to get a kick out of white speedos. “Always ready for a tussle, Kev?” he asks.I sit down in one of the high backed kitchen chairs, and Joey grabs my wrists and starts tying them behind the back. “Hey!” I protest, but there’s no way to stop him. He grabs each ankles, pulling them back as well, until my legs are forced apart by the chair seat and with a hard jerk, he’s got them tied together as well. That forces my thighs completely open and I moan in pain.
He motions to the book on the table in front of me. “Tell me the answers,” he orders. I wiggle enough to know I wasn’t getting free on my own. Still, I had to resist. “I can’t do the work for you,” I protest. He smirked, and roughly clipped two clothespins on my nipples. God, they hurt. “Simple,” he tells me. “Those stay on until I finish my homework.” By 10pm, I couldn’t stand the pain any more. I babbled out the answers to the questions and waited frantically while he carefully wrote everything down.
“Now,” he said, setting his pencil down and scooting his chair over to me. He didn’t act like he was going to take the pins off my tits. “You like this, don’t you,” he whispered in my ear. I wobbled on the chair, trying to escape while I stuttered, “nooo...” He chuckled, giving each of the clothespins a flick and watch me arch my pain. “Of course you do,” he corrects me. “You like to come over here and strip down to your tight little speedos and let me manhandle you around the backyard. You like it when I wrap my arms around you and lock you in a tight little hold so you can rub your body all over mine trying to escape. You want me to tie you up and humiliate you and fucking own you.”
I’m crying now as I whine another “nnooo..” He reaches down and cups my aching hard on and with a couple of stroked, I’m cumming, still tied to the chair and Joey’s laughing at me.
“Lick it,” he orders, holding his hand covered in my cum to my lips. It takes another clothespin on each nipple before I do it. “I have one last contract for you to sign,” he tells me, motioning to the piece of paper on the table. “Next Friday, the night after your eighteenth birthday, you’re going to come over at dusk. Don’t think about cutting your hair.” He untied one hand and left me alone. I couldn’t stop bawling.
The contract simply states if Joey can make me beg to be his slave at our next wrestling match, he can do anything to me until graduation. As my master, he could order me to do anything, and punish me when I disobeyed. I would truly be his slave. It took me an hour to get free from the chair, and another to think. I grabbed my jeans and put them on, then signed the paper and got the hell out of his house.
I turned 18. I got four hundred dollars in gifts which I stuffed into my pants. Joey’s front door was unlocked and a package waited for me in the foyer. I opened it, and inside was a pair of pristine white wrestling boots. I sniff them and rub my hands over them. They are by far the best presents I’ve received. Also in the box was a scrap of cloth that looked like it could barely wrap around my waist.There’s just enough of a cloth tube to slide my hard cock into, and a small pouch for my balls. The rest of the “suit” is consists of straps that run around my waist and up my butt crack. I check myself out in the mirror, preening and posing, when I notice a video camera next to it. Damn, he’s taped all that.
I make my way to the backyard, and almost have a heart attack. Across the grass is the meanest looking son of a bitch I’ve ever seen. Joey’s wearing black wrestling boots, a shiny black squarecut and has the evilest badguy goatee on the planet. I walk over with my hand out to shake.
He kicked me in the balls and I dropped like a rock. That was the high point of the evening. Over the next few hours, he stomped on my fingers, charlie horsed my biceps and twisted my nipples repeatedly. He yanked my around by hair and squeezed, crushed and busted my balls. I begged to be his slave, over and over, but he didn’t stop. He made me kiss his ass, lick his chest and tongue his balls. He made me crawl to a corner of the back yard where four tent spikes were hammered into the ground and he tied each arm and leg to one of them. Then he tied them tighter.
“Does it hurt,” he asked. I moan. “Is it tight?” Fuck, yes. “Can you get out?” I jerk futility with each limb. He stomps my balls and I scream, but I can’t get loose. “I guess you’re telling the truth.”
He clamps clothespins on my nipples and kicks me in the balls again, just because he can. He hammers a fifth stake on the ground between my legs. I ask him what it’s for and he tells me “just in case you don’t cooperate.” He jerks me off until I’m about to come and stops, leaving me hanging.
“Open your mouth,” my master orders. I think I’m about to lose my virginity. I think I wanted this. I’m about to get burned. I open my mouth like a good little slave boy.