By PFC Pflege

(This story originally appeared at Bondagezine.com)

I was twenty-four when I was outposted from the Marine Corps, and returned to Philadelphia. I was lean, I was hard, I had a military haircut, and the Marine Corps “look”. After I got set up in an apartment, and was back at my old job, I soon was hitting the local gay bar scene. Philadelphia’s gay community wasn’t very big back then – not  very big now – and there were only4 or 5 gay bars. I discovered that a whole lot of gays had a thing about Marines, and I didn’t lack for dates, and in 18 months or so, I must have had a couple of hundred guys, sometimes two a night. I liked lean, hard guys like myself, and I liked to fuck. I also discovered that there was no end of guys who wanted to suck off a Marine.

It was late one Friday on a hot June night, when I left one of the bars, alone, to go home. There wasn’t much action going, and the crowd was pretty familiar, so I made up my mind to watch a movie and go to bed. Outside the bar, standing under a tree, was this geeky little guy, maybe 5’4”, maybe 130 lbs soaking wet. Not my type. I liked them my size: six foot, 185lbs, strong, and hard. This geeky one had wire-rimmed glasses, which was something that did get my attention. I have this thing for guys in glasses.

“Hi,” he said, as I walked past. I slowed down.

“Hi,” I answered.

“You were in the Marines, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Going home?”

“Yep.”

“Let me come along. I want to talk to you.”

Now there was something amazing about this guy’s voice. It had a mesmerizing quality to it, and I discovered, much to my astonishment, that my cock was hard. In a voice I barely recognized, I said:

“Okay.”

“My name’s Aron,” he said. “Aron with one A.”

“I’m Dan.”

“Oh, I know who you are. I know a lot about you.”

Again, his voice had a hypnotic quality, a sure,confident voice, yet pitched so low that only I could hear him. In my jeans, my cock was rockhard. I knew something was going to happen, but I also knew something else: Aron was in control, not me. I was accustomed to fucking guys, tying guys up, making them kneel and suck me, and here was this wispy geek hypnotizing me, and giving me a massive erection.

Again, my voice sounded strange and harsh.

“Why do you know so much about me?”

“Because I want to.”

I fell silent. It seemed as if I were a puppet, and Aron was controlling the strings. I had never felt like that, but my stomach was full of butterflies, my mouth was dry, and my palms sweaty. Each time Aron spoke, his soft voice mesmerized me more. My cock was hugely hard when I turned the key in the door, and we walked up three flights to my apartment. He looked around.

“Nice place. What I thought you would have.”

He inspected the books on the shelves, and I tried speaking. Finally, I croaked,

“ Do you want something to drink?”

“White wine only. Then I want you to go into your bedroom.”

With my hands shaking violently, I poured two glasses of wine, and walked into my bedroom. I am fastidious, and hate a mess, so everything was neat and ship-shape. It was late at night. The clock at my bedside read 1:15. Aron sipped the wine. He was totally at his ease, but I was shivering with sexual excitement.

“Okay, “ he said, “Let’s get started. Get out your ropes – I know you have them – and then strip naked. Take everything off, clothes, watch, that chain around your neck, everything.”

I opened a closet drawer, and pulled out a bunch of lengths of rope, all neatly folded. I put them on the bed, and then started stripping. I was shaking violently, and when I finally managed to get naked, my 8 inches jutted forth in obscene excitement.

Aron looked at me, his eyes sweeping up and down my Marine body.

“I said everything. Take that ring off.”

I did as he said, and watched him sort through the ropes. I tied guys up, they didn’t tie me up, and yet here I was, standing stark naked with a massive erection, while a geeky guy sorted through my ropes.

“Okay, good. These will do,” he said. “Lie down face up on the bed.”

“What are you going to do?”

He didn’t answer me. I stood, irresolute for a minute, then went over to the bed, and lay down on it. Quickly and yet with a strange gentleness, Aron spreadeagled me. He knew exactly what he was doing, and though he did not pull the ropes hard or jerk them, when he was done, I was locked in an extremely tight spreadeagle, with my legs spread wide. Aron looked down at me, and my heart was pounding like a steam engine. No fear yet, but a roaring in my conscious mind that something was happening over which I had no control.

Aron went over to the drawer where I kept the ropes. He rummaged about, and found two lengths of leather. With these, he quickly bound my balls and cock, separating my balls, and tightening them with the leather thongs, into the base of my erect cock. He’s just going to suck me off, I thought.

But he didn’t. He started caressing me, and his caress was as mesmerizing as his voice. All over my body his hands flew delicately, gently, yet firmly. My tits he made prick-hard in seconds, but his hands reached into my crotch, my thighs, my armpits, over my shoulders, back down to my feet. Everywhere but my cock. I bucked and heaved in the ropes, lusting in an incredible heat. He continued until he drove me wild – thrashing and thrusting upwards in the ropes, pleading for him to jerk me off. He said nothing, but did everything. Just as his voice controlled me, now his fingers did. My cock was ready to explode with cum, but though his fingers came very close to my rockhard erection, he didn’t touch it.

Suddenly, he got up, and I lay back in the bed, awash in desire and sexual pleasure. Aron stripped. He wore only shorts, sandals, and a t-shirt, and in a few seconds he was naked. I looked at him. His cock was rigid, and it was proof of something I had learned, through experience: that the scrawny, geeky guys are often hung huge. Aron’s cock was easily as big as my 8 inches, and probably bigger. He stood beside the bed, and ran his fingers lightly across my balls and up the length of my cock. Then he left the room.

I heard him in the kitchen, but I couldn’t figure out what he was doing in there. I heard drawers and close, and then, Aron reappeared in the bedroom. I was holding wooden spoon, the kind of spoon you stir sauces with.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. He was naked, and his cock looked huge from the angle I saw it. Suddenly, he flicked the head of the spoon across my tied-up balls, not hard, but not gentle either. He flicked the spoon again, this time harder, and I violently reacted.

“What the fuck are you doing??” I shouted at him.

He ignored me. My cock had gone flaccid, and fear constipated my mind. I was spreadeagled, stark naked, with this crazy fucker starting to work on my nuts.

“Untie me now, asshole,” I screamed at him.

He fitted the concave bowl of the spoon over one of my testicles, and then the other.

“I was 19 years old, in San Francisco, when a Japanese kid, maybe 18 years old, taught me this technique. I had to go back to him several times, before I was able to practice it on him, correctly. For months I have been planning to use this technique on you. I would get rock hard at home, thinking about you tied up, with your legs spread. I watched you a lot in the bars, but you never saw me. Who sees a geek computer programmer from Penn? But I knew I would get you eventually.”

I was totally silent, hardly even breathing. This guy was a maniac, and I was tied up, bare-assed naked, and he was some kind of sadist or serial killer. My mind just blocked out.

He looked at the clock by the bed.

“It’s after two a.m.,” he said, conversationally. “I will need several hours to torture you, probably until just before dawn. The torture will seem bad at first, but then you will get into it, and, at the end, you will have the biggest erection of your life. After you cum, I will have one further use for you, and then I will release you.”

The voice again. despite myself, and despite the eerie atmosphere in the room, the sexual miasma, the sickly, sticky intensity, my cock began to grow. I was reacting to his total control, but also to what he said: why tell me all this if he was planning to add me to his list of victims? But then he placed the concavity of the spoon over one ball, and smacked, hard. He moved to the second ball, and smacked it. I thrashed in the ropes, pulling them so hard on my wrists and ankles that I cut deep marks into them. I begged him to stop.

“Don’t make noise,” he said. “I do not want to gag you. I am enjoying your torture and your pleading. Many times I have seen you, arrogant and proud, the big Marine stud in the bars, taking any guy you wanted. Now, it’s close to 2:30 in the morning, and you are being tortured. If you make too much noise, I will gag you, and continue to torture you. If you make no noise, I will continue to torture you. It is so easy to torture a man.”

It went on and on. He did not smash my balls, but insistently, lightly, struck them. He had tied my balls with leather thongs, so they remained tightly separated and hard. They were an easy target. My cock was shriveled, and, while my rational mind knew it was useless, my mouth spewed words of begging like marbles on a pavement. I promised anything, would do anything, but since all Aron wanted was me spreadeagled and tortured, I had nothing to sell. He varied his technique, sometimes doing nothing for a while, sometimes executing a quick tattoo of 4 or 5 smacks on my testicles. There are no words to describe what it feels like, to have your sensitive nuts smacked gently, lightly, and yet firmly, over a period of two-plus hours.

During the first hour, when I was jerking and thrashing and cutting deep line sinto my wrists and ankles with the rope which held me. Aron spoke of my arrogance, my not caring for people like him, and my self-centeredness. As time passed, he began to recite a kind of mantra of my upcoming erection, and, to my amazement, in the exhausted, sweating hours of the morning, just before day break, my cock began to react. A kind of absolute submission to the agony of my crotch warmed my body and mind. I wanted to be tortured, slowly, excruciatingly slowly. Aron was right: I erected. Slowly my cock hardened, and slowly my body stopped thrashing, and began a slow, luxurious writhing in the spread eagle. As I my cock hardened more, I thrust upward with my hips, embracing the concave bowl of the spoon on my nuts.

It went on and on. The room lightened, but nothing lightened the sexual intensity of the scene. Aron was 100% into it – I could sense that – and he knew I was, from the rigid cock I thrust out. My mouth formed new sounds of groveling desire and sexual lust for the torture; my balls ached, and the ache fueled my erection. Never had I erected as hard and long as that. I begged Aron for release, lying in a pool of sweat on the bed, my face scratchy with a morning’s scruffiness, my body wracked and exhausted.

He stopped. He came and knelt on my chest, his rock hard cock in my face.

“Suck it, Marine.”

I sucked and in a few moments, tasted his spurting cum down my throat. His crotch smelled of manhood, sweat, and sex. I drank it in. Then he turned around, and sat on my face, his ass right on me.

“Eat it, Marine.”

The big stud Marine licked Aron’s ass while he smacked me a few more times with the spoon. I lusted upwards, with my face in the cleft of his ass, and with my hips, thrusting my massive erection towards him. He stroked my cock, smacking my balls much harder now, as I erected. Then I spurted, in the most massive erection of my life, spurting cum all over myself and Aron. I lay back, totally spent. I just wanted to be untied and fall asleep. The exhaustion of my body was consuming, and I was close to falling asleep, still spreadeagled.

Aron stood by the bed. He was stroking his cock, and once again, he was hard. His insistent, controlling voice spoke.

“I’ve fucked your mouth, Marine boy, now I am going to fuck your ass.”

I had been fucked only once before, and it had been a bad experience.

I begged. “Please, Aron, please don’t fuck me. The pain is really horrible.”

“No,” he answered, “you have to be fucked by me. For months, I have dreamed of torturing you, making you suck my cock, and then fucking you. Forget your bullshit.”

And, in a way, I did. His voice calmed me, and I guess I figured that whatever else he did to me, it couldn’t be as  bad as the last few hours, even with the massive erection. He didn’t untie my hands, only my legs, one by one. He pulled each leg up to where my wrists were tied,  and tied them there, thus pulling my legs over my head, bringing my ass up, exposed, like a whore. He greased me, and I resigned myself to a new horror of pain. But he was surprisingly gentle. His eight inches were big and thick, but he inserted his cock very slowly, stopping and staring again, until finally he broke my resistance, and his cock penetrated the chute of my ass.

Then he fucked me. As he could tell that I was able to take t, he started fuck-pounding, taking almost all of his cock out of my ass, then slamming it back in. He talked while he fucked, and his voice had a different tone to it. It was all “Fuck you, you fucking Marine asshole, you arrogant prick, take it up the ass from the computer geek” and so on. But the fucking seemed endless. It was a new form of torture, this time up my ass-chute. It seemed as if I were being fucked by a telephone pole, and Aron was relentless. Once again, I was weeping, begging, pleading for him to stop. He didn’t, and I slowly stopped begging, and slipped into a hopeless state of living pain. Tied up as I was, with my legs over my head, and my ass in the air, I was exhausted, sweaty, and total beaten.

Aron continued to fuck me, and the only sounds in the room were the sucking sound of his cock coming out of my ass, and the sound his hips made as they slammed in my butt. Slowly Aron fucked me into submission. Every room in what was left of my mind  had Aron’s rock hard cock in it. He fucked me in every dirty corner of my mind, and then fucked some more. Then, he jerked his cock out of ass, stroked it rapidly, and shot a huge load through my legs into my face and on my chest. I remember that all the time he fucked me, he kept his wire-rim glasses on – I bet he knew they were a turn-on for me.

Then I was finally untied. I sat on the edge of the bed, sweaty, dirty, exhausted, but most of all, defeated. Aron had whipped me, and never again would this cocky Marine strut through the bars as he had done for the last two years.

“Get a towel, and bring it into the living room.”

I got up, and grabbed a towel from the bathroom. I followed Aron’s cute ass into the living room. He selected an arm chair, and sat down.

“Fold the towel length-wise in half. Place it so that you can kneel on it, facing me.”

I obeyed without question.

“Spread your legs.”

I spread my legs, while I knelt, stark naked, cum all over my face and chest.

“Remove the cum with your fingers and eat it.”

With my fingers covered in cum which I took from my face, chest, and abdomen, and some which had dripped into the hairs at the base of my cock, I licked my fingers and hand, tasting for the second time Aron’s cum. To my amazement, my own cock had grown hard.

“Masturbate.”

I jerked off at Aron’s feet. It didn’t take long. My cock had obviously enjoyed my night-long torture and humiliations, and in a few minutes, I spurted several long ropes of cum at Aron’s feet.

“Lick it up.”

I had to force myself to do this humiliating act, because, after I had cum, the taste of it was not enjoyable. But I ate it. My submission to Aron was total. Suddenly, he was gone.

I never saw him again, though I have masturbated, on my knees, to him, many times since.

THE END

Metal would like to thank PFC Pflege (of blessed memory) for this story.

COPYRIGHT 2008 PFC PFLEGE & BBH LTD. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

This story is courtesy of Master Jack at Bondagezine.com, used with permission.