This is a work of fiction. It includes sexual activity and some bondage between high school students. No resemblance to persons living or dead is intended. If you are underage, or if possession of this text is illegal in your area, leave now. Some of the activities described in this story may cause injury or transmit diseases, including HIV. Please play safe--I don't want to lose any fans!
Before your hands get all slimy, be cool and click the "Donate" link at the top of the index: make a contribution to maintain Nifty!
Authors retain rights to and title to their submitted works. (Please consult Nifty's submission guidelines for more information.)
The Grand Tour
Looking back, it was obviously Miss Trent who set it up. She definitely had an "instinct" for that sort of thing.
It was the Senior Class Trip to Our Nation's Capital, and somehow it worked out that two of us had to share one hotel room. Everyone else was four to a room, but Izzie Tomohito and I were the twosome. Izzie's real name is Isauo, but nobody in our class could pronounce it. He was Japanese, obviously, but not the delicate, boyish sort of Japanese guy. His family was from northern Japan, and he was built. High school wrestling team--that kind of body. He had hair, too. Everybody called him Izzie the Bear. He had a "get the fuck out of my way," a "meet me after school and we'll settle this" attitude. And he always won. The worst part was that ours was a single room, which meant Izzie the Bear and I were going to have to share the bed.
My name is Ron Zanski, and I got all the way through seventh grade as Ron. Then we moved and I changed schools and everyone found out that Ron was short for Byron, which quickly evolved to Bye- bye, then Bye-bye Baby, and finally, Baby--not the best nickname for a short, slender, "graceful" nerd. My things were photography and chess (although I was a way better photographer than chess player). I was a wimp, which is utterly unfair, since all the other Zanskis are, shall we say, hefty. Football, rugby, that kind of stuff. My dad and my brothers kept telling me to "man up," so I wouldn't get picked on. It didn't work, of course, and the worst bullying came from the crowd of rowdy jocks that Izzie hung with. So Izzie terrified me. I stayed out of his way as much as I could, and prayed he and his pals would somehow forget that I existed.
And then came the Senior Class Trip to Our Nation's Capital, and the EzyNite hotel. (I don't know how the school found the place, but its primary descriptive adjective would be "cheap.") We got in late, and Miss Trent passed out room assignments, and Izzie and I bumped into each other in the hallway with our gear, right outside the room. He had the "Get the fuck out of my way" look. And I did. I tried to make myself even smaller, left most of my things in my suitcase so Izzie would get most of the closet and the dresser, and kept dodging his very large body as we settled into our little room. As soon as I could, I ducked out and went down to the lobby to read the parts of the local newspaper that hadn't been completely destroyed. There was a curfew at ten o'clock, which gave me almost a whole Izzie-free hour.
I headed for the room just before bed-check. Mister Holleran saw me in the hall in front of the door. Mister Holleran was scarier, in his way, even than Izzie. He frowned, looked at his watch, and gave me an angry wave. I'm sure he was disappointed that he couldn't penalize me for breaking curfew. I got into the room as fast as I could. Fortunately, I didn't have to turn on any lights: there was enough spilling through the window from the hotel's sign. I spent a long time brushing my teeth, hid in a shadowy corner to put on my playful puppy pajamas--thanks, Mom--and slipped into the bed, holding my breath and praying that Izzie was already asleep. He wasn't.
"Been waiting, dumbass," he growled, as he grabbed my wrist and put my hand on his cock. His cock. It was already hard, sticking up like a tent pole. He put his hands under his pillow and spread his legs. "Work it!" I almost puked from terror, then pulled myself nearly together. At least he hadn't slugged me for waking him up. I moved my hand up and down his massive shaft carefully, like that eight-inch flesh pole was made out of glass, or something. "Work it, pretty boy!" he growled, and I squeezed it a little tighter. "Nice and slow. All the way up, all the way down."
"Yessir," I said.
"Shut up. Just do it like that, nerd."
I obeyed. And my own cock started to rise. It was a pencil stub, compared with Izzie's. I had to grip it with two fingers and my thumb when I wanted to jack off. But I have to admit, it was enthusiastic, once it got going. So I kept all my attention on Izzie.
"Spit on your hand, dumbass!"
I spat, and wrapped my hand around his shaft again.
"You call that spitting, cunt?"
I kept spitting until it was slick enough.
"Tighter!" he ordered, and I obeyed. "Rub the tip," he ordered, and I obeyed. "Faster, asshole!" I obeyed. "Slower, now, brat!" It took a while, but eventually I was playing his cock like a virtuoso, and he pretty much stopped giving orders. I prayed I could keep him happy until he fell asleep, or something.
No such luck. "Tickle my nuts." I let go of his cock. "With your other hand, stupid!"
Okay. At least it would keep me from giving in to my growing desire to mess with my own prick. I didn't dare touch it right then, or Mister Enthusiastic would have exploded. I couldn't get to Izzie's balls lying on my back, though. I started to turn on my side, but that meant my jacking arm wasn't free to do its job.
"Get between my legs, you damn dumbass! And get those stupid pajamas off!"
Every second away from his dick made me more scared of his anger. I kicked my legs free of the stupid pajamas (at least we agreed on that) climbed very, very carefully over his leg, and knelt between his thighs. I managed to keep working his cock most of the time, which I was proud of, in a way. The blankets sort of slid off my back onto the floor, except for the very end, which meant the bottoms of Izzie's legs were the still under them, and by the time I'd settled into position between his legs, my feet were pressing the blankets to the mattress. "Yeah," he sighed, for some reason. I yanked my pajama top off and tossed it away. Then I went back to work: a little more spit, and tickle the balls. Izzie's balls were huge, and hairy. I pretty quickly discovered that I could sort of pet them, pushing the hair around them but not quite touching the sac.
Izzie groaned. "Oh, yeah! That's good!" and his cock got even bigger--or at least harder. From this angle, I could see his whole upper body, and I finally learned what "washboard abs" meant. His massive, hair-covered pecs rose and fell, and beyond them his eyes watched me like a god's. He started coaching me again and I kept obeying, and eventually his chest was heaving and the muscles of his thighs were pressing against my legs. There was just enough stray light for me to see the muscles in his arms bulging--but he kept his hands under the pillow. That wasn't a problem: it meant they weren't on me!
And as soon as I had that thought, I thought about Izzie's hands on my package. I wondered if my cock was even as big as his fingers. He'd just tear my little dick off, probably. I went back to his cock with a vengeance. "Stop!" Izzie said, and I froze. His breathing slowed, and his legs relaxed. His biceps settled into his arms, and his cock softened, almost started to get limp. What the hell? Did he cum and I missed it? "Okay boy, start." I obeyed. More spit, and pretty soon his cock was mighty once again. And once again, he gasped, "Stop!" He made me stop five times before he yelled "Do it!" and shot.
Unfortunately, at that moment my face was right above his cock, because I was about to lubricate his tool with more spit. He shot into my mouth, and my nose, and my eyes--the eyelids, anyway--and my forehead and my hair and up and over onto my back and his chest until I thought he must have been pissing white, gooey urine, or something.
The next part happened way too quickly to describe exactly. He grabbed me and started rubbing me against his body and my cock was on his and his arms were pressing me into his body so hard I couldn't breathe, and I came. Nothing like his explosion, but respectable, for a mere mortal. Like I said, enthusiastic. I lay there, crushed against him, feeling his heartbeat under the hair against my cheek, and then he started to relax his grip.
Pretty soon, he was snoring. I started to slip away, and his arm tightened, like I was a teddy bear, or something. The cum had dried between us, gluing my nearly hairless body to his very hairy one. I was suddenly terrified: what if I pulled away now, and it hurt enough to wake him up? I didn't want to deal with the angry bear. So I did my best to just relax. I closed my eyes. I tried to sleep. "He'll let me loose eventually," I told myself. "Just try to sleep." I took a deep breath--he smelled! He smelled sweaty, but it wasn't stinky sweat, somehow. I took another sniff, and caught a hint of deodorant, the same as mine- -unless it was mine. Our cum was all mixed together, so maybe our sweat was, too; and why in hell was I thinking shit like that?
I closed my eyes again, willing myself to sleep. I imagined myself just melting into him, coating him like another layer of cum. After a couple of minutes, though, my cock woke up. It wanted to rub against his groin, but I didn't dare. The damn thing grew anyway, poking its way through the cum-soaked hair around his crotch. In spite of everything I could do, I shot again. The cum didn't have anywhere to go, of course, so it just sort of puddled there, gluing us even more tightly together. Izzie didn't stir, thank God, and eventually, I fell asleep. I dreamt I was riding a galloping horse, but lying on its butt. I dreamt I was sliding down some sort of roller machine on my stomach, like a "Willy Wonka" thing. I dreamt I was lying on the ground in my sleeping bag during an earthquake. I dreamt things I couldn't remember when I woke up to the ringing of the telephone.
Izzie snorted underneath me, shifted his arm, and at last I rolled off onto my back. I grabbed the receiver as quickly as I could. It was the automated wake-up call. I hung up and looked at my body. I half-expected to see myself coated with Izzie's body hair, but aside from some reddish patches, everything looked normal. It didn't feel normal when I moved, of course, dried cum pulling on everything, but I slipped out of bed and into the shower. When I was done getting all the goo out of my crotch hair, I gave myself a final rinse and got out. While I was drying off, I heard a sort of sighing groan, and an Izzie-shaped blur appeared in the fogged-up mirror.
"Get out of my way," he growled, and pushed past me into the shower. I slipped past him and as soon as I was dressed, I yelled, "I'm going to breakfast!" and hurried from the room.
Izzie appeared maybe ten minutes later and completely ignored me, piling a little bit of everything from the buffet onto his plate, then sitting a couple of tables away with the other jocks. Everyone else at my table was a girl.
We visited all sorts of placed around DC: the Kennedy grave, the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, the Jefferson Memorial, I forget the rest. We saw more of the tour bus than the sights, though, I think. They crammed a lot into the first day. The second day, we knew, would be the highlight of the trip. We'd be on the Mall, walking from building to building. But before the second day, came the second night. As I ate supper and watched Izzie out of the corner of my eye, I debated going to bed first, so I'd be asleep when he got to the room, or stalling, somehow, so he'd be asleep when I got into bed. I remembered Mister Holleran and finally decided on option one while I finished the gelatin dessert. I convinced myself I was already sort of tired from the day's activities, anyway. The housekeeper had evidently buried the stupid pajamas somewhere in the dresser, so I shrugged my shoulders and hopped into bed naked.
Of course, Izzie plopped onto the bed and woke me--thinking back on it, I doubt there was any way a guy that big could have gotten into the bed without waking me. But, long story short, pretty soon we were up and rerunning the first night, almost. Then, he ordered me to lick the end of his cock. I sort of flicked it with the tip of my tongue, and that seemed to do the trick. He managed to stop me seven times before he finally shot. He fell asleep with me playing teddy bear again. This time, I was on top of the Washington Monument when the earthquake threw me off.
I'm not sure what time it was when he woke me. "Do it again," he growled. I checked his cock--giant redwood, this time. Okay, if I was only going to survive as Izzie's whore, then that's what I'd have to do. So I got between his legs, and we were off and running. The sooner I got him to shoot, I figured, the sooner it would be over. He stopped me, of course. So it was like a contest between us. I really wanted to make him cum. Whores suck cocks, of course. There was no way I was going to suck his. But I got my mouth around the head of his dick and attacked it with my tongue, hoping to get him so close he'd shoot before he even said "Stop." He stopped me a second time, so I decided to try something else. I kept working him with one hand while I pumped my cock. Mister Enthusiastic responded quickly, covering his cock and balls and my hands: he was a slimy cum-covered mess. I knew exactly how to work his cock, and I worked his cockhead, as well--it was my own cum, after all. And just as he started to holler "Stop," he shot. I pulled my hands away and watched that cannon wave around and shoot, and shoot and shoot.
Just as he had before, he pulled me to his body and pumped himself against me, and Mister Enthusiastic came again, to my surprise. And there was one other important detail. When Izzie wrapped himself around me, I felt something weird on my ass, and realized he was wearing handcuffs.
We had to peel ourselves apart so he could get free. "The key's on the dresser," he said, without growling. I had to turn on the lamp to find it, and when I turned back to the bed, he was lying there with his cuffed hands in front of his face.
"Where'd those come from?" I asked.
"I got 'em at that little store by the last place we stopped."
I didn't remember the little store, but there were tacky souvenir shops just about everywhere, so it didn't matter. The cuffs weren't toys, but I doubt they'd have held Izzie if he really wanted to get away-- the chain between them was very poorly welded. Still..."Why'd you cuff yourself?"
"I wanted to...see what it was like." His voice sounded kind of strange.
"What what was like?"
"Being handcuffed, dumbass."
I took a big jump into the pit. "You mean, for sex?"
I should have known Izzie could move so fast. He was standing behind me before I knew what was happening, sliding his cuffed hands down my chest. "Unlock 'em!" His voice rumbled against my back.
"What'll you do if I don't?" I challenged, panicking. "What if I swallow the key?" I have no idea where that came from: it was like the words fell out before I knew what I was saying.
I felt Izzie take a deep breath. "Okay," he said, and I could tell he was trying to calm himself. "Okay. Just unlock the cuffs." His next word hit me like a ton of bricks. "Please." And I felt his cock swelling against my back.
"What are you doing, Izzie?" I asked softly. "What's going on with your cock?"
"Oh, shit."
"Izzie?"
"Can I fuck you?"
I froze in panic for a moment. Then, I remembered that he was still cuffed. "No, Izzie," I answered. Silence. Then Izzie's arms retraced their trip up my body and I stepped away and turned to face him. He was huge and naked and gorgeous and almost erect. And handcuffed. And I was still holding the key. "Izzie?" I said again, carefully.
"I'm sorry, Sir."
"What?" I was convinced I'd just had some sort of hallucination.
"I'm sorry, Sir," Izzie repeated.
This must be a dream, that's it. I'm dreaming. "For what, Izzie?" I was standing in a room full of gasoline with a match, or something. My heart was pounding.
"I didn't mean to hurt you, Sir."
"You didn't--" I stopped myself and thought about the last hour. He hadn't, actually. He hadn't hurt me, either night. Just scared the shit out of me. "You scared me, Izzie."
"Is that why you won't..." He raised his cuffed hands.
"Go sit on the bed, Izzie." Where the hell was this coming from? I was about to strike the match. I was about to die in a cheap hotel room in Our Nation's Capital.
"Yes, Sir." Izzie sat.
For the first time in the universe, I was taller than Izzie Tomohito. Might as well go for broke. "Before I unlock the cuffs, Izzie, I want you to tell me what the hell this is all about."
Izzie stared at the floor. "I like you," he whispered, then looked up and into my eyes. "I like you, Ronnie."
Nobody ever called me that before. Not even my mom and dad. How's that for strange? I cleared my throat.
"Is it okay I call you Ronnie, Sir?" A wonderful moment of confusion washed over both of us.
"Yeah," I said. "Ronnie's cool. You like me?" I asked, amazed.
"You're really pretty, Ronnie. I don't mean like girl-pretty. It's not like that."
"Are you telling me--" I cleared my throat. "Are you telling me I'm sexy?"
Izzie nodded. "I never felt...My brother used to play with me. But only if I kept my hands under the pillow. And he used to..."
"What, Izzie? What did he used to do?"
"He tied my legs to the bedposts."
I fell back against the dresser. "He tied you up?!"
"Just my legs," he pleaded. "I told him I'd tell on him if he tied my hands up, so he said I had to keep them under the pillow or he'd stop."
"He tied you up and jacked you off?"
"You're not supposed to play with yourself!" Izzie pleaded. "I mean, now I know it was dumb, but I was seven! So he said it was okay if he did it for me, and then I could do it for him. And I figured out that he was bullshitting me eventually, but I kind of liked it, so we kept doing it 'til he went to college. And you're so pretty!" he wailed.
The picture was overwhelming: seven-year-old Izzie tied to the bed while his brother made him almost cum, over and over until the poor kid couldn't take it anymore. "You--was your brother pretty?"
"Not like you. He was just bigger than me." Izzie smiled in spite of himself. "Not any more, though. I was scared when he came home from college, but he never--we never did it again. He married a girl," Izzie added as an afterthought.
"Izzie? Are you a homo?" I asked, wide-eyed. I should have said gay, I know. I don't know why I said homo, except that's what his guys called me, so...
Izzie nodded, and I saw a tear drop off of his cheek.
"I--" I took a deep breath: this was it. "Me too, Izzie," I said, saying it out loud for the very first time. We just looked at each other for maybe an hour or something--time doesn't really make sense in situations like this. And the real mind-blower wasn't that I finally admitted to myself that I was gay. It was that I suddenly realized that I wasn't just gay: I was in love with Izzie Tomohito. I was in love with this towering hunk who was sitting on the bed in handcuffs, almost crying. I walked, or more staggered, over to him and knelt on the floor and looked into his face and a tear splashed on mine and a tear from me splashed onto the top of my leg. "Can I be in love with you, Izzie? I mean, is that all right?"
And things happened at lightning speed again: somehow, we were on the bed, and Izzie's arms were around me and he sort of rolled and I was on top of him face to face and we kissed each other. And it was magic, like real first kisses are.
We toured the Capitol, next day, and saw the White House and the Washington Monument, which reminded me of Izzie's cock every time I glimpsed it. We spent not nearly enough time at the Smithsonian and kept stealing glances at each other from my crowd of nerds and Izzie's gang of jocks. And that night, we replayed it all again, except I used our belts to tie Izzie's legs apart and cuffed him again. And instead of spitting on my hands, I licked his cock. And at the right moment, I took the head of his cock into my mouth and swirled my tongue around it. I brought him to the edge at least eight times and then sat on his chest and jacked myself off onto his face, and Mister Enthusiastic did me proud! Then I had to put my hand over his mouth so when I finally brought him off, they wouldn't hear his yells in the next room.
We returned from the Senior Class et cetera, and graduated, and went to the state university so we were commuters and we spent every spare minute at my place "studying." We studied bondage, mostly, and ways to drive Izzie crazy without letting him cum. We studied those chastity cages, and finally bought one, which he mostly wore just during the day until our sophomore year, when we both got really busy with classes and projects. Then I made him wear the cage all week so he was in wonderful agony by Saturday. My Mom asked me one Sunday morning what we'd been doing last night, because it sounded like Izzie was screaming, or something, so I made up some story and we got Izzie a gag.
We're both doing pretty well, now. Izzie wound up in advertising and I manage a photo processing outfit--we're the guys that make Izzie's client's products look irresistible. We've got our own place, and a king-size bed with all sorts of attachments. Sometimes I sit on Izzie's cock when I'm working him. It took a lot of practice with dildos before I could do that, but it's the kind of sacrifice you make for the man you love.