Genel

First Time

Bdsm

It started off as a laugh, but now things seemed to be getting out of hand. Two married guys fooling around together after a night on the piss and I’d ended up tied to a dining room chair and was about to be blindfolded. We’d agreed that blindfolding me and tying me up would make it more exciting for both of us. The restraint was to make it feel kind of non-consensual and edgy, and the blindfold was to heighten my sense of touch, concentrate my thoughts and add a bit of mystery and intrigue. That was the science, anyway.

“I bet I can suck you off, Rob… good as any woman anyway.” Marty tied a lambswool scarf over my eyes.

“Never as good as a woman, Marty – come on.”

“I’ll bring you off in a minute flat… I bet you!”

“Shhh! Not so loud. Don’t want to wake Joanne,” Marty tended to get louder when he was enthusiastic about something, and especially if he’d been drinking.

“Don’t worry; she’d sleep through an earthquake. At least she would now she wears those little things in her ears.” Marty hiccupped and burped… then followed with a squeaking fart. “Oops, sorry!”

We were slurring our words after shifting ten pints of lager between us, although I was beginning to sober up as the implication of being tied down and helpless if and when Marty’s wife happened to walk in on us began to dawn on me. Even if we heard her coming, there would not be enough time to get me looking anything near normal. Was I getting cold feet, again, after so many abortive attempts in the past?

“There… how’s that? See anything?”

I shook my head. “Black as a black woman’s pussy.”

Marty giggled insanely, like a mad professor about to dismember his once loyal and trusted assistant. “That’s pretty black, I guess. Okay, I’ll let you off.” I heard him stumble, but he saved himself on the dining table. “I am so fucking pissed.”

It had seemed funny at first, a bit of a lark. On about our third pint in the Red Lion our conversation had inevitably turned round to the subject of sex as it always did sooner or later on the Thursday evenings we met for a drink together. Marty and I had been mates since school around ten years ago. Marty was 27 and I was a year younger. We’d married girls that were very good friends also, so we all had plenty in common and were very close as couples. Marty and I had at various times discussed gay sex (not as a serious alternative, just out of curiosity) and what it might be like to suck a man’s cock. It was just one of those things we wondered about. I’d sometimes fantasised and masturbated about sucking off a man, a faceless cipher, and once or twice even Marty. And sometimes I’d reverse the roles and I’d be the receiver. I told him once about my fantasy of us two doing it together and he laughed, but I could see it kind of hit home with him too.

Marty’s idea that it would either have to be a complete stranger or somebody he knew really well chimed with me too. I could understand the Casibom need for the act to be either anonymous or with someone you knew very well and trusted implicitly.

For some reason talking about cocksucking this particular evening was making me feel hornier than usual and I began to indulge in a little daydreaming while Marty was busy trying to describe the taste of his own sperm in terms of comparison to known substances. “…and a bit like peppery soap suds too. I wonder if we’re all much about the same?” he said, giving me a look that left me in no doubt of the implication, the veiled challenge. “Or whether it varies according to diet, mood, nationality, colour, race, that sort of thing?”

We were both very happily married and heterosexual, but there was always this underlying curiosity and fascination of having a bloke’s lovely big cock in our mouths — the smell of it as you prepared to take it between your lips, the weight of his balls in your hand, the velvety sensation, the taste, the jerking and pulsing as his excitement mounted, that moment when your mouth fills with the warm slimy goo and you wonder if you will be able to swallow it like you’d always dreamed, like a superhero porn star. It didn’t seem fair that our wives should have all the fun. Perhaps it was one of those must-do things before you’re thirty one had to try. We’d just never quite managed to get to the sharp (maybe that should read bulbous, or domed) end of it… yet.

By our fifth pint we were fairly pissed and were openly discussing — in hushed tones – the possibility of trying something together tonight when we got back to Marty’s place for coffee.

As we peed together alone in the gents at the end of the evening we both took the opportunity of eyeing each other’s pricks, kind of blatantly sizing each other up, and flaunting it a bit. We were quite brazen about it, inviting each other’s mutual appraisal and offering more than was probably decent. We were in that sort of mood. We were both respectably represented in that department, and although Marty was cut and I wasn’t, there wasn’t a great deal of difference in our genital dimensions. I’ve always preferred the look of a circumcised penis; they look more potent, ruder and sexually imposing somehow. We were both in a state of semi-arousal… that was obvious. Our cocks were already plumping up nicely. A semi-erection always looks so damned horny to me, something about the gathering lust, the intent and the inflated natural bigness, yet still not erect. I hoped we could maintain the mood and magic until we got back to Marty’s flat.

“What about Joanne?”

“She’ll be asleep.”

“We’ll have to be careful not to wake her though, Marty. Imagine Jo walking in on us.”

“Don’t even think about it, mate,” said Marty. “Anyway, Jo sleeps through anything these days.”

“What about a couple of props to spice things up?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like one of us being tied Casibom Giriş to a chair… say, for instance.”

“Kinky. What, you mean like all helpless and non-consensual?”

“Yeah, but only like pretending, so it wouldn’t really be non-consensual… just kind of makes it exciting… edgy, you know.”

“Sounds good to me. I’m up for that if you are. Let’s get back kiddo, before we lose the urge.”

“We must go through with it this time, Marty,” I said, shaking the drips off and tucking it back. “We’ve been so close to doing it and then crying off at the last moment so many times.”

“Not this time, mate… I am so fucking up for it, I tell you. It’s for real. Tonight I am going to finally find out what it’s like to suck cock. I bet I’ll be able to make you cum in less than sixty seconds.”

We had both laughed and headed off for Marty’s marital abode.

And so here we were – about to take the acid test. But was I suffering last minute nerves? I’d had a hard-on from the moment we’d arrived back at the flat, but now, faced with one of the defining moments of my life, and in bondage, I had suddenly gone soft.

“I’m sorry, mate,” I said. “I’ve lost it. I guess it’s the alcohol. I’m not sure I can do it now.”

“You, my son, don’t have to do anything. You just sit there and leave everything to me.”

“I don’t have much choice now, do I? Anyway, that’s not what I mean.”

“I know, but now I’ve got you where I want you… well, it would be such a waste. I am going to give you a lovely, fantastic blow-job, so just relax and enjoy it, because I am.”

I felt Marty’s hand on the crotch of my jeans, stroking me. Fucking hell… He was going for it.

“Oh Robbie, baby… you’ve gone all soft on me. We’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?” “I’m a dead leg, sorry mate. I’ll have to call it a day… I really will.”

“Just relax, Rob. You’re not going anywhere. I’ve told you, I’m going to make you cum whether you like it or not – in less than a minute. It will be all over before you know it.”

“I really don’t think I can. I’ve somehow lost the mood.” I twisted and squirmed in the chair, but the restraints held good. “I really ought to be going, Marty. It’s getting late.”

“Nonsense, dear boy.”

And then I felt my zip sliding down, and the fumbling of a man’s hand — quite different to a woman’s touch, somehow more positive and authoritarian – as he manoeuvred my flaccid penis through the gap in my boxers. I felt the air on it and Marty’s hands, stroking me, squeezing it, playing with me and teasing me. I struggled against my restraints, feeling them bite into my flesh again and then I felt my cock twitch and jump in response (the mood was returning) and then the silky warm wetness of his mouth on me, the swirling velvet tongue of my best friend, caressing the tip, and then sliding along the shaft. He was actually doing it, oh fuck, this was it. The thing we’d so long desired and aspired to. I felt myself getting harder by the second. It was happening for me.

He teased me, stirring the lust in my loins that I had so acutely felt earlier, bringing me erect in his mouth. He was right about the blindfold – it did indeed heighten sensation and concentrate the mind. Then I felt the powerful, urgent sucking, the delicious vacuum that only an airtight hot wet mouth can produce. I felt him take me all the way in, gagging, and then easing back. I could feel his end-of-the-day stubble pressing against my groin, a gentle reminder that this was actually a man, and not a woman exciting me. It was kind of taboo and sexy. At one stage I thought Marty was going to tear the thing out by its roots, such was the enthusiasm and raw power of his sucking.

He had me fully hard now. I felt my excitement mounting. I was back in the game again, but at the same time I began worrying about the outcome. Would I cum in his mouth or would I try and hold back? What would he think of me? Would the taste disgust him? Would there be regret. Would I feel guilty and ashamed? Would our friendship be tested as a result of this one senseless, naughty act?

I tried to delay the moment, perhaps even the inevitable moment by thinking of something else, playing football on Saturday, fishing for carp in Bat’s Lake, fixing my motor cycle. But it was hopeless; Marty was determined and as good as his word. He wasn’t going to let me off this time. He was good – very good – and I had to admit, far more attentive and enthusiastic than Hazel and better than any blow-job I’d had from a woman.

I guess a guy intuitively knows what another guy wants, the way he wants it. My heart was thumping. I felt the sap rising, the coiling in my stomach, the contracting of my muscles, my legs stiffening and their hopeless snatch against their bonds in a last bid for freedom. The point of no return was upon me.

“Oh Jesus, Marty… watch out!” But he held on, as the delicious melting sensation in my guts began, the running of quicksilver through my loins, the pulsing and spasms as the sperm bubbled up from my balls, along the shaft and finally to the tip, all this taking less than three seconds, and then the magnificent ejaculation as my cock spat the viscous creamy fluid into Marty’s mouth. And still he held on, sucking me dry, devouring every last drop of cum from my cock. It was incredible, what an orgasm my best mate had given me.

“Oh, Marty… Oh fuck, guy…”

But after the euphoria of ejaculation, I soon began to feel slightly dirty and used. How could I face him now after shooting off into his mouth? He had humbled me, made me beholden to him. He had made me cum, he a man, not my wife or his, or any woman; but a man, a person of my own sex. It was done. I felt guilty and embarrassed and weak.

I heard Marty collapse to the floor, giggling insanely. I hoped he would remember to untie me before he fell asleep right where he was. And then I heard the toilet flushing. Joanne was awake. I really hoped Marty would stop giggling and farting and that his wife would go straight back to bed.

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