Date: Tue, 8 Jul 2008 11:41:31 EDT From: EddyRiha@aol.com Subject: games with stefan 26 The usual disclaimers apply. This is a work of fiction, and those folks who are prevented from reading such fictional works either by age, by moral preference, or by law should not read any further. All of the characters presented here are fictional representations, including the narrator. Some of the events and characters are inspired by actual events and people I encountered in my younger days, but the presentation here of events and characters in no way is meant to portray actual, historical persons and events. It's just a story. All stunts were performed by professionals. Do not attempt these at home. Thank you again to all the readers for the encouragement and the constructive criticism you have provided as I continue to develop this story. This chapter, which I had wanted to write for some time and finally was inspired to do this week, is especially dedicated to trekboy008, a faithful reader. No Tour de France riders were harmed in the writing or reading of this story. If anyone is offended by the premise of the story, or by explicit sexual acts, please do not read any further. Why, indeed, have you read this far? Games With Stefan by eddyriha Chapter #26-The Impala's Back Seat The summer after I turned 16, I had already talked my folks into letting me get my driver's license and also letting me drive this old Impala that had once been Grandpa's. It had a honking huge engine that purred like a gentle cat when it was on the highway. At 65, it felt like you were doing 20. Sure, the gas mileage wasn't good, but back then gas was a whole lot cheaper than it is today. . . . Of course, in my state when you're 16 and have a driver's license, you can't drive anywhere solo after dark-well, you're not supposed to. So I did a little driving here and there, running errands for Mom, proud of the fact that I had a license and willing to go anywhere to show off the fact that, hey, I could drive, damn it! But, as you well can guess, this old Impala had a wickedly large back seat. It had vinyl upholstery and was about as comfortable as lying on a pile of innertubes. But there was one thing I wanted to do on that back seat. And one person I wanted to do it to. But that summer, he was gone the first month to his parents' camp, and Mom wouldn't let me drive there because she thought it was too far for me to drive solo, that soon after passing my driver's test. Before he left for camp, I hadn't even had the opportunity to tell him I'd passed my driver's test. So I was sitting in my room sulking one day when I heard a whistle outside, under my window. It was Stefan. "Hey, you doing anything?" he asked. "Nah, nothing at the moment," I replied. "I'll come on down." We shot the breeze a few minutes, when I said, "Hey, you wanna go for a drive?" "How?" he asked. "We ain't got a car. Nor a license." "I do," I said, as I pulled my wallet out of the back pocket of my denim shorts and flipped it open, ever so casually, to reveal the brand-new photo ID license that had arrived in the mail the day before. (Between passing the driver's exam and receiving the permanent license, I had the temporary paper license stamped to say I was a legal driver, etc., but it was soooo much more impressive to show that I had a real license-the first boy in the neighborhood with one.) I walked him around back to the spot where I parked the Impala. "Wanna go for a spin?" When he said yes, I popped my head in the back door to tell my Mom, who had come home from work an hour earlier, that I was going to take Stefan out for a drive. "As long as it's OK with his folks, it's OK with me," she said. So Stefan ran across the street to obtain that permission, and I started up the car and drove it around the house and onto the street. In a moment, he opened the side door and slid onto the front seat, which (for those of you who haven't owned or ridden in a '69 Impala) is a full door-to-door bench seat (as is the back seat, too). "Put on your seatbelt, boy," I said quietly, but firmly. I swear I saw a definite movement in his navy athletic shorts as his cock stirred to attention. Stefan buckled the shoulder belt into place, and I put the car in drive. "Where are we going?" he asked, his hands resting in his lap, as if to hide his erection from me. "You'll see." In a few minutes, he said, "We're going to Thacher Park, aren't we?" I didn't answer, but that was indeed where we were headed. Of course, at night it was a big makeout place at the time (now they have gated all the parking areas after dark to prevent that activity), but it was late afternoon, around rush hour, and as I drove the ten miles to the park, I pondered where we could park so we could break in the back seat. We parked and got out at the overlook, and I pointed out the various things you can see, including the entire downtown area, even though it was ten miles away. I discovered that Stefan had only once been there before, and that was a long time ago. But neither of us was as interested in sightseeing, seeing as how both of us were already somewhat aroused, and we kept finding reasons to stand next to each other and brush hands in passing. There wasn't anyone else around except a harried pair of parents who were occupied in keeping their kids from climbing over the stone wall and peering down the face of the cliff that is the park's chief natural feature. As our conversation petered out, we each looked at each other and, without speaking, knew what we were both thinking. So we went back to the Impala and drove off slowly through the park, looking for that secluded spot where we could park and get busy. I also was keeping an eye on my watch because I knew that my Mom would have dinner on the table at six-thirty sharp, and I'd better not be late or she might curtail my driving privileges. I pulled into a one-lane dirt road where a sign pointed to "Hikers' Trailhead." The road ran alongside a field, then dipped into the woods. We reached the end, where two cars were parked--hikers, no doubt, who were out exploring one or another of the marked trails that began there. I turned the car around and was about to give up as I drove back to the main road, when I saw a narrow lane to the right. It was not much more than a grassy track between the trees, and probably if I had more driving experience I wouldn't have dared it. But I flipped on the turn signal (driver's ed class was still on my mind) and pulled into the narrow lane. The car bounced a little, as I slowly navigated the car between the branches which slapped at the car from each side. In a few moments, the lane turned to the left and opened into an overgrown grassy field. There, the road seemed to end, but it suited our purpose. There was no one in sight, and I backed the car toward some overhanging bushes to one side, thus partially camouflaging the vehicle. (Did I forget to mention that the car was medium green?) "Well," Stefan said as we both watched the sunlight filtering through the branches dance on the dashboard. "What now?" "Slave," I said in my most commanding tone, "why are you still dressed?" In a flash, Stefan had his seatbelt off and was pulling his t-shirt off over his head. Then he kicked off his shoes and pulled off his socks, before slipping his fingers under the elastic waistband of his shorts and sliding them and his underpants down in one motion. Then he turned to face me, a smile on his face, his dick fully erect and waiting. "Slave," I said, "why are you still on the front seat?" Immediately, he slid off the seat and onto the floor. Not what I had in mind, but it immediately suggested all kinds of future possibilities to my mind. . . . "Slave," I repeated, "why are you still on the FRONT seat?" Then he understood. He climbed back onto the seat, then slid his tanned, sinewy body headfirst over the back of the seat, landing with a crumple of arms and legs half on (and thus also half off) the back seat. As he started to make himself more comfortable, I said, "Stay put, slave." And he did. In a moment, I had shuffled out of my own clothes and had slipped even less gracefully into the back seat. I reached under the driver's side and pulled out two items I'd stashed there the first night I'd had my driver's license, just for a time like this: a small tube of Vaseline and a small coil of rope. Stefan's eyes lighted up when he saw what was in my hand, and he gave no resistance when I pushed him onto his back, with his head against the passenger side wall. (Keep in mind that this car was a two-door, which meant that the back of the front seat normally had to tip down to let passengers into the back seat. That's why we'd gone to the effort of sliding over the seatback to reach our destination.) In the back seat, there were no shoulder belts, only lap belts, and I used one of them to hold Stefan's torso in place, as I pushed his hands up above his head. I tied his wrists together with one end of the rope, and then threaded the rest through the handhold built into the ceiling on that side. That stretched his hands away from his body, and gave me plenty of rope for the next step. I pushed his legs up so his knees touched his chest, and I separated the ankles, tying one to the rope, then looping the loose end back through the handhold, so his right foot was out of my way. That left me full access to his ass, his cock, his face, and his nipples, without anything he could do to stop me--not that he would. I began lubing his hole, running my finger around inside the sphincter and poking his prostate. Though it had been several weeks since we'd last been together, and a whole year since that wild weekend we spent at my parents' house, little had changed between us. I was sixteen, he was fourteen--that was the sum of the changes. He was keeping himself shaved just for me, and he still couldn't cum, which bummed both of us out. I was in the process of covering my rockhard cock with the Vaseline, when we suddenly heard voices. I immediately froze in place, and when Stefan started to say something, I clamped my hand over his mouth. From where he lay, he couldn't see anything but the ceiling inside the car, so I had to look for the both of us. I peered over the back of the front seat--and saw a young couple walking by. They were probably in their 20s, and the guy was carrying a knapsack. With their t-shirts, jeans, and hiking boots, it was clear they were out on a hike. But, to my absolute relief, they didn't see the car, they didn't even look in our direction. I was thanking myself silently for having the sense to back the car as much out of sight as possible-and thanking my grandpa for having the good sense to buy a medium green car. . . . As soon as the hikers were out of earshot, I resumed my focus on the bound boy lying on the back seat. "Shouldn't we perhaps not do this here?" he whispered, still obviously frightened by our close call. (We later discovered that what looked like an abandoned grassy lane was actually the beginning of a prominent hikers' trail, so I guess we were fortunate not to be discovered that day.) Also, I realized later that, had the hikers seen the car, they might have been prompted to investigate when they saw an ankle being held aloft by rope-Stefan's right ankle was the only part of either of us that could be seen through the front window. "You chicken?" I asked. "Because if you are chicken, you're getting punished." "I'm not chicken," he replied, but it was too late. I had already begun slapping his asscheeks, alternating between left and right, until both were red and sore. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Throughout the ordeal, Stefan squirmed and wriggled, but the bonds didn't allow him much freedom of movement. "Please, please, please!" he begged, his eyes almost in tears. "I won't ever be chicken again!" "You do that," I said, pretending indifference. I really hated spanking him, but it was just a part of our games, and he knew I would never really hurt him. But some pain was necessary to teach him how he should behave. Even fourteen-year-olds need correction every now and then. I had finished lubing my cock, and so I pressed it against his exposed hole. Leaning down, I kissed him on the lips, on the cheek, on the left nipple. As my cock slipped into his hole, I found myself kissing and licking along his neck and his emerging Adam's apple. Once I was fully inside him, I realized I hadn't quite allowed myself enough room at this end of the seat, and I had to bend my back a little to keep from hitting my head with each thrust inside my lover. I made a mental note to myself to give myself a little more room the next time--and then I proceeded to fuck Stefan. He closed his eyes and smiled as he felt my cock pushing and thrusting as deep into him as I could go. My mouth was busy nibbling along his shoulder, his ear, his jawline. The rope scratched against the vinyl surface of the handhold with each thrust I made into Stefan, and his free left leg wrapped itself across my back, helping keep me in place. The whole experience, fucking my buddy on the back seat of my very first car, in a place where someone might catch us in the act, brought me to climax sooner than I expected, sooner than usual, and I was dumping wads of cum into Stefan's ass, cum that began leaking out onto the vinyl seat as soon as I slid my cock out of his hole. "That was awesome," I whispered, as I kissed his lips again. "You are the best fuck ever." And I was glad that he was the first I would ever fuck on the back seat of my car. But he hadn't yet had his orgasm, and I wasn't going to serve myself without pleasuring him, too. So I began rubbing his cock, massaging his balls, then running my lips over the wrinkly boyskin of his sack, before I sucked them into my mouth, kneading and gently squeezing each ball with my tongue and lips. Then I licked up the underside of his shaft before I enveloped his small cock with my mouth, sucking it all the way in until the head touched the back of my throat. I wiggled my tongue against the underside of his shaft, and that was enough to send him into ecstasy. He gasped, "Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! OH! OH! OH! OH! OH!" as his cock jerked around in my mouth. It was yet another dry cum, which disappointed me, but I knew if I were patient someday I was drink his first cum. For a few minutes, we lay there, master and slave, kissing gently and enjoying the secret pleasure of now being able to carry out our games somewhere else, all thanks to my having obtained a driver's license. We began to whisper together about all kinds of adventures we could have, some realistic, some fantastic--I wasn't about to be able to drive all the way to Alaska, for instance, at least not that year. Then I looked at my watch and realized we needed to get going on our way back home. As I untied Stefan and we clambered back onto the front seat to get dressed, I brought the rope with me. "Now here are the rules," I said, as soon as he picked up the first item of clothing. "When you ride in my car, you wear no underwear. That's rule number one." "OK," he said. "And what's rule number two?" "Rule number two is that, whenever we go anywhere for a game like this, as soon as we are out of sight of the neighborhood, your hands and feet are tied together." He thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Can we try it out now?" he whispered. "Sure," I replied. We had enough time that I could take a leisurely route back home, and it would be so incredibly intense to drive past all these places with my boy beside me, and only he and I would know he was bound, helpless, with his erection barely covered. So I let Stefan put on his t-shirt, and pull his athletic shorts halfway up his thighs. Then I tiued his hands behind his back, ran the loose end of the rope underneath him and up between his legs, where I wrapped it three times around the base of his cock and balls, which would keep him aroused during the trip home. Then I ran the remainder of the rope through one leg of his shorts before pulling them up into place, catching the tip of his cock between the elastic and his belly, so I could see it every time I looked at him but no one else would be able to. Then I tied his bare feet together. At first, he wanted to put on his socks and sneakers, but I pointed out that his feet were one of his most beautiful parts, and I didn't want them to be covered by anything in my car. Finally, I strapped him into the shoulder belt, which would keep him in place. I sat back to admire my handiwork. No one in a passing car or truck could tell that the boy in the passenger seat was tied up, not unless they looked really closely, and I'd drive carefully enough so no one ever had a reason to do so. Then I started the car, and we were on our way home. But a new level in our games had just been attained, and I couldn't wait for the next adventure. As we drove home, and as my free hand kept straying toward Stefan's bound and erect cock, I was already planning our first camping trip together. . . .