[This story originally appeared in Issue 35 (July/August 1993) of Bound & Gagged. It was the first of three stories by a Canadian reader, followed by Skinhead Abuses Student while Deaf Mother Sleeps which appeared in Issue 50 (January/February 1996) and The Student, the Apprentice Plumber and the Whitehall Senior Servant in Issue 71 (July/August 1999).]
TORONTO, CANADA. I’m a long time subscriber to B&G and a great fan of the many stories that have appeared over the years describing college fraternities and hazing rituals—maybe because I grew up and went to school in England where such fraternities don’t exist. However my own bondage coming-out did take place during my years at University, in my case with a single hot man rather than a bunch of fraternity brothers.
It was the early Seventies and in England just as in North America, college students were making headlines with their new sexual freedom. But, if a journalist had asked me, he would have torn up all those stories and written one about a wave of celibacy on campus! I was a very naive young man with no sexual experience whatsoever. I knew that I wasn’t interested in girls but hadn’t plucked up the courage to try anything with boys.
My story begins at the start of my second year when I was able to get a room in the College itself. At last I was safe from the prying eyes of older adults like parents or landladies and was living in close proximity to dozens of other young men. My twentieth birthday was coming up in a month or so and when I looked in a mirror then I saw a tall thin young man with broad shoulders, blue eyes, clean shaven with brown hair. I didn’t like the fact that I hadn’t grown any body hair yet, except around my genitals, but I had to admit even to myself that I did have a cute bum and the beginnings of a well proportioned body.
Early one Friday evening I was on my way back to my room with a bag of dirty laundry. I hadn’t been able to find any spare machines and had decided to try again later. In fact my laundry had reached a critical point—absolutely no clean underwear at all! So for the first time in my so-far goody goody life I was walking around without any underwear on. Completely unwittingly I was a chicken hawk’s dream—an innocent 19 year old dressed like a street hustler.
As I dragged my bag of laundry along, my eye was taken by a very cute boy walking in the opposite direction. Not looking where I was going made me barge right into Bill, an older student who’d been in a couple of my classes the previous year. After we’d apologized to each other and chatted a little I found myself being invited out for a drink at a local pub near the University. He seemed really keen to get going and I barely had time to toss my laundry into my room before we were racing off down the hill towards the town.
Soon we were downing pints of bitter as if we’d been friends for years and Bill was regaling me with stories of his life in the British Colonial Police in East Africa. He was in his early thirties when I met him and had spent some years in the nineteen sixties as a corporal in the police in Northern Rhodesia before their independence. Though he was now a full time student he still carried himself with a military stiffness and wore his hair crew-cut short. This was the early 70’s remember so Bill stood out like a sore thumb in those long haired days. In fact, as he mentioned that night, I was one of the few boys around whose hair was even remotely as short as his.
Even though I could hardly admit it even to myself, I’d had a crush on Bill from the first time I’d seen him. Partly because of the years he’d spent in the tropics he was fond of wearing shorts and short-sleeved shirts, not typical clothes for a cool and rainy English town. As a consequence I could see that his body was covered by a mat of thick dark hair and that his legs and arms were heavily muscled to match his big barrel chest. Whenever I stood or sat next to him in class the previous year I had felt like a scrawny kid. The fact that I was six feet-one to his five feet-nine only seemed to emphasize my too-tall gawkiness near this compact tightly muscled man.
After a while in the pub—and two or three more pints of bitter—Bill started to reminisce about some of his more exciting experiences in Rhodesia. He had my rapt attention since all these stories seemed to involve handcuffing prisoners, or having to hold them down while they struggled or having to wade into sweating, heaving crowds to capture sneak-thieves, etc. etc. I listened with ill-disguised interest to all these tales until I suddenly became aware that my cock was completely hard and that my lack of underwear was making the fact pretty obvious, particularly to the man sitting close next to me in the now crowded pub. I was confused. On the one hand I hoped Bill was gay and that he could see that he was turning me on, but on the other hand if he was straight I didn’t want him realising I was a queer. My slightly drunken mind knew most of all that I was enjoying the attentions of a man who’d attracted me for the best part of a year. So I agreed without missing a beat when he invited me back to his house “for a nightcap.”
It was getting late by now and the cool night air helped me to sober up a little on the walk back to his place. I was in an agony of indecision about Bill’s motives and my responses. Being so inexperienced I hadn’t been able to decipher all the signals Bill had been sending me all night. So, when he sat down in his living room and told me that he and his wife had split up and that he lived alone in the house, I responded mistakenly and stupidly.
I realized later of course that he was trying to reassure me that the coast was clear, but in my nervous over-excited mood I took a wrong meaning from what he said. All I could “hear” was that he was a married man. I immediately assumed that this meant he wasn’t gay, that he’d noticed my erection in the pub and was warning me off. Disappointed and embarrassed I responded by making up stories about my “girlfriend back home.”
Not realising what had triggered this new turn in the conversation, Bill proceeded to get quietly angry. All he could think of was (as he told me later) that I had been leading him on all night and had now decided to cop out instead of making out. I have to admit his version of events did make sense. I was dressed like a hustler; I agreed to drop my plans without a second thought to join him at the pub; I’d let him buy all the beers once we were there; my only contribution to the conversation had been to sit looking doe-eyed at him while my dick hardened down my thigh; and then I’d followed him home without question. Now I was suddenly boring him with stories about my “girlfriend.” This was major cock teasing behaviour!
He grew hostile and quiet, just waiting for me to leave. I sensed something had gone badly wrong but didn’t know what to do. Desperate to salvage something from the wreck I noticed a photo of his police detachment hanging on the wall. He looked so handsome in the picture that I screwed up my courage and asked if he had any more mementoes. He grudgingly showed me a few things, then pulled out an old pair of police handcuffs. He was still angry and had no intention of starting anything with me. In fact he’d noticed my excitement in the pub at his police stories and decided to humiliate me by encouraging another erection and then showing me the door.
His plan worked well to begin with. He offered to “show you how they work,”,then pulled my wrists behind my back and screwed the cuffs on tightly. Then he walked away, sat down and ostentatiously began reading a newspaper. I was left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, feeling like an idiot but at the same time conscious of the fact that my cock had grown instantly hard and was inching its way back down the leg of my jeans.
Suddenly the beer and the nervous tension were making me feel ill. I barely had time to rush to the bathroom, kneel by the tub and throw up. I was still there when Bill came in to see how I was. Rather than feel sorry for me, he was even angrier. The cock teaser had turned into a drunken kid who was going to spend the night being sick in his bathroom.
As I knelt there I realized that I also desperately needed to take a piss. I stammered an apology about the mess I’d made and told the angry man hovering above me that I would have to pee soon, expecting him to unlock the handcuffs for me.
Instead he muttered “Oh, for God’s sake,”bent over to grab me by my upper arms and stand me up, then turned me around so that my back was to him but facing the toilet. Then I felt him fumble with the zipper of my jeans and pull them down to my knees, exposing my naked backside. “Go ahead and piss then,” he said. Unfortunately for what was left of his patience he now discovered that my cock was still as hard as a rock and was pointing out at 90 degrees to my body.
“You’re going to pee halfway up the wall if you’re not careful” an exasperated voice said behind me and then a hand came around to grasp my dick and point it downwards at the toilet bowl. This was all too much for me—here I was with the first man ever to touch my cock and I was standing in his bathroom with my wrists cuffed behind my back wearing nothing but a skin tight T shirt and my jeans around my ankles. Before I could have another conscious thought my whole body was wracked by the throes of a massive orgasm. Bill held on even though he was as surprised as I was. It was just as well since a moment later about three pints of recycled beer came rushing through as well.
I was mortified, excited, humiliated and pleased all at once. As a consequence I didn’t say a word or find it particularly strange when Bill took me into his bedroom, pulled off my shoes, socks and jeans and pushed me down onto his bed. He took his own clothes off and lay down next to me a few seconds later. All he would say before turning over to go to sleep was “You must be tired, we’ll talk in the morning.”
Neither of us had mentioned the fact that I was still wearing the handcuffs. I made myself as comfortable as I could by lying on my side and soon fell into a dream-filled sleep.
The next morning I woke to find Bill pushing me onto my stomach in order to unlock the cuffs. He slapped me hard on the buttocks and said gruffly “You’d better get your clothes back on,” then openly watched me as I stumbled across the room to retrieve my clothes, hampered slightly by my morning hard-on bobbing in front of me.
Bill lent me a long sleeved shirt to replace my own T shirt since my wrists were rubbed red by the irons and as he hustled me out of his front door he would only say “If you want, you can come back tonight around seven.”
Neither of us was surprised when Bill opened his door at 7.01 pm and found me waiting there that evening. I blurted out the whole story from my point of view and he explained his annoyance, Before we went any further he wanted an assurance of my willingness and explained some of what he intended to do. It all sounded like a dream come true to me. I gulped a quick yes and we started in earnest.
He led me upstairs to a little second bedroom at the back of the house where he kept a small writing desk. He leant in the doorway with his arms crossed and watched while I stripped naked and piled my clothes in a corner. Then he produced the handcuffs and some pieces of rope from inside the desk. This time he cuffed my wrists in front of my body and tied the thinnest piece of cord around and between my balls and the base of my cock, which had reached its by-now usual state of erection. He pushed me down onto my knees and left the room for a few minutes.
There was an electric heater going full blast and the little room was very stuffy and hot. This along with my state of excitement was making me hot too and I noticed a film of sweat had broken out over my body by the time he returned. Now he was wearing his full tropical police uniform of cap and shirt, dazzlingly white shorts and socks and thick black leather boots. He was holding a thin birch cane which he flexed through the air with an audible whoosh. The mere sight of all this made me quiver with erotic excitement.
Things speeded up. He stood me up, led me over to the desk, bent me forward at the waist, pulled my hands over the far side of the desk and used one of the ropes to tie the chain linking the handcuffs to a hook scrrewed into the bottom of the desk. My ankles were forced far apart and tied with the other ropes to the desk legs on either side. He had me completely helpless. I couldn’t move my legs and my arms were stretched so far downwards that I couldn’t raise my torso. My body was draped over the surface of the desk with my erection trapped between the top and my stomach. He hadn’t finished yet since he now came around in front of me and started tearing strips off my T shirt that I had left that morning. Before I could object a strip was shoved in my mouth and then held firmly in place by another tied around my head.
Quickly now he moved around behind me and laid four swift cracks across my ass with the cane. The shock was enormous and the pain instantaneous. But he stopped at four strokes and immediately both his hands wandered carressingly over my buttocks using the film of sweat on my body as a sort of massage oil. This was repeated more times than I could count—a vicious couple of thwacks with the switch on the buttocks or upper thighs and then a loving caress with his wonderfully soft hands.
My body felt red hot, especially my backside. I found myself moving my hips as much as I could to try to massage my rock hard cock, trapped as it was between my body and the cold hard surface of the desk. This must have looked particularly lascivious from Bill’s vantage point behind me and I soon heard him unzipping his own shorts and felt him move up close.
I know now that the first time you get fucked it’s supposed to hurt. Then, I didn’t know! So when Bill first pushed a finger up my asshole with a big glob of vaseline and followed soon after with the head of his cock I was too turned on by the bondage and the whipping and the continual caresses to worry about any pain. As a result, instead of tensing up I just relaxed in happy acceptance as he shoved it in me slowly but firmly. I couldn’t believe any thing could feel so good and I pushed up and back against him as much as I was able. Before long Bill came to the edge of orgasm and pulled out in order to spray my smarting backside with his cum. My own semen followed suit immediately, forcing its way up past the string constricting my cock and balls and puddling out onto the desk beneath me.
Any thought that I may have had about a rest were quickly banished when Bill, after untying me from the desk, attached my still cuffed wrists to a hook high above me on the wall. He undid the cord around my cock and balls and wiped my hot sweaty body with a cool cloth. Then he left me hanging while he went downstairs to get a couple of beers. After taking the gag out he fed me some from the bottle. Even though a lot of it ended up on my chest I certainly enjoyed the cooling effect of the beer in that hot stuffy little room.
What Bill was waiting for soon happened. My 19 year old dick became fully hard again and he took the ropes off the desk this time to lash both my ankles and my knees tightly together as I stood against the wall with my hands raised high above me. The gag was replaced and accompanied by a blindfold also torn from the ruined T shirt. I felt him drop to his knees in front of me and take my cock in his mouth. He was an expert cocksucker and worked on my dick for an age. Eventually I had to give in to his insistent mouth and gushed out all over his face and down his throat. This time he did figure I’d had enough and slowly untied me and took off the handcuffs. We fell into bed and I slept like a baby for hours.
Over the next few months he and I had lots of bondage sex together while he taught me how to suck cock and gave me a Master’s course in the exquisite pleasures of tit torture. Eventually in the ungrateful way the young have, I picked a fight with him over another man and we left each other on bad terms. But, I’ve always retained a soft spot in my heart for my “colonial copper.”
Read the sequels to this story:
1) Skinhead Abuses Student while Deaf Mother Sleeps
2)The Student, the Apprentice Plumber and the Whitehall Senior Servant
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