By Tommy Guns

I was on my daily run, wearing nothing but a pair of red nylon jogging shorts and tennis shoes, when a panel van first passed me and then turned abruptly to block my path. Two guys jumped out of the side door and tackled me. They forced me to the ground and handcuffed my wrists behind my back. I tried to kick out at them, but they quickly snapped a set of short chain leg irons on my ankles.

They then lifted me roughly shoved me into the van. Next they forced a penis shaped rubber gag into my mouth, fastening it with a strap behind my neck. A leather hood was pulled over my head and was laced tightly behind it, and a locking collar was fastened over it to keep it in place. They then forced me on to my stomach and attached a short chain from the leg irons to the chain between the handcuffs. The final assault was when they cut off my shorts and shoved what I could only guess was a huge butt plug up my ass I would have gasped out a scream of incredible pain, but all that escaped my gag was a muffled and unintelligible sort of grunt. I was hogtied and could neither speak nor move a muscle, and my asshole was on fire. Resistance was futile.

All I could do was injure myself, and wonder just how the hell I got here, hog chained, hooded, a penis gag filling my mouth, a huge butt plug invading my asshole, and a raging hard on I could do nothing about! If it wasn’t for these add-ons, I would have concluded that this was yet another training exercise that members of my Special Ops Group were always subjected to when it was least expected. Then I realized that Billy had set this whole thing up as an initiation of sorts into the bondage group he had introduced me to a couple of months ago.

I’m not sure where the next part of my odyssey should begin. At the same time that I was becoming used to – really enjoying would be a better description of my feelings – the kidnapping and captivity scenario, and the butt plug was finally settling in after my sphincter muscle had relaxed, there was lurking in the back of my mind the idea that I had crossed a line somewhere, and that I was well and truly damned for all time. Except for a brief interlude at the Brig in San Diego, and at the Naval Hospital there, most of my gay encounters had been of the pure vanilla kind, lots of oral and anal play, both as top and demanding bottom. I say most, because Billy and I used to get into some bondage play as kids, but at that time in our young lives, neither of us knew what the hell bondage really was.

I knew at an early age that I was gay. Don’t ask me whether it was a genetic or an environmental thing. I don’t know and, quite frankly, I’ve never given a damn, and still don’t. I am who I am, an androphile, a lover of other men. There is nothing quite like the intensity of the physical and emotional bond between two men. It’s all about the raw sexuality and emotional bond they form and share. I do not fit within any stereotype of a gay man. I don’t think there is a single bit of estrogen running through me. Rather, I am all man, the hunting, fishing, beer swilling, partying kind of man. I just happen to love having a throbbing hot cock shoved down my throat and, if possible, another one deeply plowing my ass at the same time.

Being a more or less straight arrow kind of 4-0 Marine, being gay had never been an overriding concern, except to be discrete. In the days before the disastrous ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ policy, any hint of being gay spelled the end of a career, even though there was a ‘stop loss’ order in effect at that time. You could do almost anything short of a major crime and not be discharged from the Corps, but the one unforgivable crime was to be gay. It is ironic that during my years in the Corps, I was well decorated and promoted for my skill at killing other men, but was eventually forced out for simply loving one. My best friend Billy, with whom I joined the Corps on my 17th birthday, was my first lover. I guess we were both naive, thinking that our love for each other wouldn’t make any difference in our lives. How wrong we were.

Billy was always a bit more adventurous than I was, perhaps because he was older by two years and had had far more experiences than I had before we realized that we were meant to be together. When I think back on my early years, it was always Billy who wanted to make sure that the captured Indian [usually me] was tied tightly and couldn’t escape. It was always Billy who found my hiding places and would wrestle me to the ground instead of running away after ‘tagging’ me. And it was always Billy who was there to soothe my bumps and bruises, and who liked to play just a little rougher than necessary, slapping my bare butt while he roughly fucked me, and pulling my head forward onto his cock so that it would settle deep in my throat, sometimes gagging me until I learned how to relax my muscles. I learned to enjoy the taste of his salty cum as it struck the back of my throat and dripped its way downward, and I made sure to lick every last drop of it off the head of his beautiful cock so as not to waste any of it. I was in a place that I loved, with the man I would do anything for. Yet, I really didn’t know Billy had a complete bondage side to him, and that he was getting deeper and deeper into it.

Billy and I went through Boot Camp and ITR together, before I was sent for Recon training, advanced sniper training, and everything else the Corps could throw at me before I met up with Billy again in Nam. We both served nearly three tours there, and although we were in different units, we always found a way to be together for some special time. We were closer than brothers, a perfect fit for each other. Indeed, if I had to make a choice between saving Billy or one of my two real brothers, I would have been hard pressed to decide which it would be. I always wished that Billy was my real brother, but I guess that would have made our life together just a bit too kinky. It’s ironic that my mother signed me up for the Corps in order to ’make a man out of me’. Little did she know that what she would get for her efforts to make me ’normal’ was a man who could either blow you away at 750+ meters, or simply blow you! In another era Billy and I would have been able to live openly and perhaps would have served in the Sacred Band of Thebes, as fearsome warriors and lovers, each encouraging the other on, and afraid of disappointing the other by some shortcoming.

I guess it was after my return from Vietnam, and during my prolonged stay at a Naval Hospital in California, that Billy, who was stationed at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, ventured farther and deeper down the rabbit hole of bondage. We were separated for nearly two years before I managed to get reassigned to Camp Lejeune. Even then we were in different units, so our times together became more limited than they used to be. I missed him, as both my friend and lover, and I went out of my way to find time and places to be with him. I accidentally discovered his love of leather and bondage when I went over to his off base apartment early on a Saturday morning to see if he wanted to do something that day.

As I drove up, Billy was just returning from a Friday night out on the town. To my astonishment, he was dressed in full leathers, complete with knee high boots, the tightest fitting leather jeans I had ever seen, and a leather shirt that was fairly bursting at the seams as well. He saw me get out of my car, and it was like walking in on your son jerking off. His face turned red, and if there had been a hole nearby, I’m sure he would have gladly crawled into it. It wasn’t until I got closer to him and he saw that I had a raging hard on that was threatening to burst out of my Levis, that he seemed to relax a bit. I guess that grabbing his cock through his jeans, and forcing his mouth open for a prolonged bout of tongue wrestling, also helped in that regard. He gave me a bear hug that threatened to crush my ribs, which seemed to be equal parts of comfort, relief and just being glad to see me and not have to hide the other side of his gay life.

To be continued …

Note: This is a story that Tommy Guns sent back in 2009, which I am reposting.