By PFC Pflege
I met Mark through friends of mine. He was 19 years old; I was 28. It was the summer that everyone was gin-rummy mad, and played whenever we could. Most of the guys were in their early twenties, and didn’t have a place of their own yet, or, if they did, it was a small apartment. Since I had just bought a house, it was natural that a lot of the games were played there. We’d have 6 or 8 guys playing, sometimes more; none of us had a lot of money, so the stakes were real low. On the weekends, if the fever was on, we sometimes played all night, nodding over the cards as the light of early dawn filled the rooms.
Mark was a good player, and won fairly consistently, but he never had any luck against me, and I used to ride him, in a good natured way. He was tall, taller than me by 4 or 5 inches, so he was 6’4” or so. He was good-looking, in a boy-next-door way, and was something of an athlete. He was in his first year at Lehigh, and was good at track and field, particularly pole vaulting and hurdles. He dressed the way we all did that summer – cut-off jeans, tennis shirt, sandals. His hair was curly brown, and he kept it short. He was handy at a lot of things, and you could tell from his hands that he was on terms with tools and equipment generally. Now and then some kind of repair needed to be done at my house, and Mark quickly and deftly fixed whatever it was. But he couldn’t seem to win against me in gin rummy.
July turned to August, and our little group started breaking up, with guys going back to college. About a week before Mark left for Lehigh, he came over to see me.
“Well, Dan, you’ve been beating me all summer. How about a challenge game, winner take all?”
“Sure,” I said. “What are the stakes? Bragging rights?”
“No,” he said, looking directly into my eyes, and speaking slowly. “No, not bragging rights. I’ve been hearing things this summer. I suggest that the loser gets tied up with rope, any way the winner wants. Any way.”
My throat contracted so that it was very hard to speak. My stomach twisted into a knot, and my mind raced furiously. I had had several scenes with Steve, one of the card players, in which we tied each other up, and one time, we had crossed the line into a definitely sexual scene. Mark must have heard it from Steve, and maybe guessed I was gay, too. His eyes bored into mine.
“Sure,” I choked, “I’ll be glad to tie you up after I win.” I tried to put a brave smile on it. I could see Mark wasn’t buying it, because he slowly smiled.
“Yeah, that’s right, Dan. If you win, I agree to be tied up, any way you want, and for as long as you want. Of course, if you lose…”
“Not likely,” I said, recovering my composure.
We agreed on the night, and the terms – best out of 21 hands. It meant that it would be a long match, with the tension building throughout. During the couple of days which led up to this challenge match, I was intensely excited. Because I had consistently beaten Mark, I wasn’t worried about he result, but thought exclusively of how to tie Mark up. I decided that I would make him kneel in the basement, with his back to a steel post, so that I could tie his hands and feet behind the post, effectively hogtying Mark on his knees. He obviously knew about Steve and me, so he couldn’t be surprised if stuff happened to him. In fact, I thought, what if I make him strip first? The thought of watching Mark strip naked, then kneel to be tied up, gave me a massive hard-on.
The night finally arrived, and so did Mark in his ancient Jeep. He jumped out, looking bronzed and sexy. “How are you, Dan?”
“Good. Just waiting to win.”
He smiled his long, slow smile. “Let’s be sure we know what the rules are.”
“Okay,” I answered. “Best out of 21 hands wins.”
“Loser gets tied up with rope, any way the winner wants. In other words, loser must do whatever the winner says.”
“And there’s no time limit on being tied up, right?”
“Let’s shake on it.”
We did so, and went inside. It was hot and sultry, and I didn’t have air conditioning then, so we moved out on the patio. From the very first deal, Mark seemed to be a much different player than he had been all summer. In fact, I lost eight straight hands before winning one. It was too much of a lead for me to overcome, and, four hands later, it was over. Mark had won 11 out of the first 13 hands played. He leaned back, gloating. I tossed my cards on the table, and sat there, dazed. It had happened so quickly that I was stunned. It hadn’t even dawned on me yet that I wasn’t going to be tying up Mark with rope, on his knees, or any other way. Then reality broke in, and I realized that I had lost, and that I was the one going to be tied up. My heart started pounding, and my palms were sweaty.
“Okay, Dan, you know the rules. You get tied up any way I want, for a long as I want. Agreed?”
I said, yes, I agreed.
“So help me get some stuff from my Jeep. I came over prepared for this.”
In the back of his Jeep was a tennis bag, and a curious piece of construction, a wooden square, 4’ by 4’, with what looked like padded knee holes on two sides.
“I made this last month, just for you, Dan. See? There’s your name carved in it.”
I looked where he pointed, and, sure enough, the name “DAN” was carved into one of the wood pieces. I looked at Mark. He must have set me up all summer, even making plans for the bondage.
My mouth stammered out, “You set me up.”
“Yes, I did,” he answered. “I loved letting you win, and watching you strut around like king shit. That’s why I smashed you so quickly tonight. Summer’s over, Dan. It’s payback time.”
“What if I don’t want to be tied up?”
“You gave me your word. Is it garbage?”
I carried in the square wooden frame, while Mark carried the bag.
“In the living room. Remove the card table and chairs, and set the frame on the floor, facing the big easy chair.”
I did what he said, and removed the card table and the two chairs. I didn’t have much furniture then, but had splurged on a big comfortable easy chair, a side table and two standing lamps. There were a couple of canvas director’s chairs, but that was it. When I got more money, I was planning on buying a couch. Right now, though, buying a couch was far from being on my mind. My brain was constipated with emotion, and could not think. All I kept saying to myself was I’ve been set up. Who the fuck is this guy? What is he going to do? The idea that, a month ago, Mark had methodically made this frame, carved my name in it, and waited patiently for me to accept his challenge, like a trout rising to a fly, literally made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Like the trout, I had been thoroughly hooked and landed.
“You want something to drink, Dan, before we start?”
I shook my head.
“Okay, then. Strip naked, and stack your stuff in the corner. Naked means you take off your watch, glasses, and that chain around your neck, too.”
I did what he said, and in a few minutes, was standing stark naked behind the frame. I knew what his next command would be, and, when he gave it, I knelt into the knee holes on the frame. Kneeling like this spread my legs very wide. I felt obscenely naked.
Mark tied my hands behind my back, quickly and expertly. I was not surprised that, handy as he was, he was an expert with ropes, too. He bound my elbows and upper arms, and ran rope around my neck and back down through the arms, locking them tightly. I had not noticed, as I knelt, that there were leather straps attached to the knee holes. Now Mark strapped my legs, one strap at each ankle, and one strap just behind the knee. I was locked in the kneeling position, much the same way I had planned for tying up Mark. The irony of it did not escape me.
Mark picked up a roll of duct tape. “I am not going to gag you, Dan, unless you make a lot of noise. If you do make a lot of noise, I will gag you very tightly with tape, tape your eyes shut, and leave you. You can then spend all night on your knees. Do you understand?”
“I can’t hear a nod. Say it.”
“Say ‘Yes, Sir.”
“That’s better. Now you and I are going to have some fun.”
Something in his voice wakened me, and the tension and emotion abated. I was tied up, stark naked, and I was kneeling before a young stud. I noticed, for the first time, that his worn, cut-off jeans showed a major bulge. As Mark took a small brown bottle from the bag, and unscrewed the top, I had a sudden revelation: Of course! Mark’s gay, too!
He took a whiff of the poppers, and then gave some to me. As the fumes ignited my mind, my cock grew rock hard, and I jerked around in the bondage, waving my erection at him. It’s a good sized piece, and Mark looked at it with interest. He stroked his bulge deliberately, showing it off. We had communicated perfectly, without words.
After the effect of the poppers began to wear off, Mark got something else from the bag. It looked like a camp stove.
“It’s a Coleman propane cooker, for camps, Dan. It’s the perfect height, but I made some modifications to it, by removed the propane apparatus, and replacing it with a simple heat lamp.”
I couldn’t make out why he was telling me all this, until he placed the Coleman on the floor, between my legs. He plugged it into a wall socket, and heat began radiating into my ass and crotch. He sat down again, and now his crotch showed a lovely curve in the straining jeans.
“We’re going to cook you, Dan. The lamp has a rheostat so I can raise or lower the heat. I have planned this out to the last detail.”
I said nothing, trying to adjust my body to escape the heat lamp. It was impossible.
“All summer I have been waiting for this night, Dan,” Mark said, conversationally. “You strutted around like king shit, thinking you were such a hot card player, and all the time, I was working on your punishment for you being such an arrogant prick.”
He adjusted the rheostat, and the heat increased. I began sweating.
“You win, Mark. You beat my ass fair and square.”
“Yes, I did. And when you are on your knees like that, remember to use the word Sir.”
“Yes, Sir,” I croaked.
Mark went into the kitchen, and I heard a bottle of wine open. In a few minutes, he was back, with the wine, but he had stripped down to low-slung, skin-tight Speedos, hunter green, with a white side panel. My cock, which was still hard, now grew even harder. Mark noticed.
He sat down, stroking his bulge, and sipping wine.
“Steve told me you have a thing for Speedos. I do, too, so I thought I’d give you a treat.” My eyes feasted on that spot between Mark’s long legs, showing a lovely curve but still covered. My cock remained rigid, and I was really getting into the scene, and it was obvious that Mark was, too.
“Man, you trapped me good, you trapped me so fucking good,” I said, then hastily, “Sir.” Mark stroked his packed crotch, widening his legs a little. I lusted for him, on my knees.
“Yeah, Danny-boy, all summer you were Mr Arrogant, and now it’s payback time. How’s it feel to have your cock roasted like a wiener on a grill. Yeah, fucking grill your wiener, Danny.”
Sweat was now pouring off my body. The heat wasn’t high, but it was continuous, and flowed into every part of my crotch and ass, grilling my balls, roasting my cock, broiling the crack of my ass. If I moved back and forth with my hips, all I did was increase the heat for a while in either my puckering ass hole, or broiled my cock and balls. It was a fiendish punishment.
“So what do you want, Mark? I mean, Sir?” I asked after another 20-30 minutes had passed.
“Oh, I have what I want. I have you right where I want you, on your knees, sweating like a pig. Make noise, and I seal your mouth and eyes, and leave you tied up. By dawn, your balls and cock should be cooked.”
“You fucking prick!” I rasped, but I kept my voice down. I thrashed in the frame, trying to break the leather straps holding my legs in the knee hole. I thrashed and heaved for a long time, while Mark watched me. Finally, I subsided.
“You fucking prick what, Dan?” he asked pleasantly. There was a long pause.
“You fucking prick, Sir”, I finally forced myself to say, and my traitor cock grew a little harder as I submitted, orally, to Mark. The heat was now making me very uncomfortable. It was not burning me, but I couldn’t escape it, writhe as I could. My body was sweating, and every now and then, sweat would drip off my crotch into the lamp. You could hear the brief hiss. Most of my sweat coursed down my body into a pool on the floor. A year later, and I would be introduced to the hot box, a torture device used by the staff at the Training Center, then in Missouri. In that box, which was only high enough to kneel in, I would be heavily chained, naked, and locked in the box. The box was steel, with a glass door. They could see in, but I could not see out. I saw my own reflection in the door, and I watched as I slowly melted. I got to love this kind of torture, and one year, over a 14- or 15- hour period, I was in the box for 9 or 10 hours, usually one hour at a time, though once I can close to two hours.
The hot box was radiant heat, all over my body. What Mark was doing to me now, was concentrating the heat on my crotch and ass, cooking my naked body, very slowly, from below.
Mark inhaled some more poppers, and held the bottle under my nose for a good long time. My mind lost all control, and I heaved with lust on my knees, croaking out words of submission to Mark, begging him for his cock, his balls, to lick his ass, to kick me in the nuts, lots of submissive words. My kneeling submission got the desired result. Lowering his Speedos enough to release his cock, he fucked my mouth, ramming his manhood down my throat. With the poppers, the kneeling, and being tied up, I took all 8 1⁄2 inches of this 19-yr-old stud’s fuck tool without gagging. In less than 60 seconds, he climaxed in my mouth and on my face.
He would cum two more times before I was released, and told to masturbate on my knees, while facing him. Feeling the heat of the lamp on my hand, as I jerked off, I spurted cum at Mark’s feet. The scene was over.
I saw Mark several times after that, once up at Lehigh, where he had taken up wrestling. He looked real good in those tight singlets. He got married, though, and started a family, but I doubt he has ever forgotten the summer of the heat lamp.
Copyright 2008 PFC Pflege & BONDAGEZINE.COM
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.