It all started with our mothers.
During the post-war slum clearances, our mothers were displaced along with their parents. Fate placed them side-by-side in a terrace of new council houses. Their friendship blossomed quickly and endured, even after they married and settled into separate homes just a street away.
They shared everything, including an unwavering love for the chart-topping pop idol, Cliff Richard. Between them, they owned every single and LP he ever released.
Then came their daughters – Lauri and Una – born mere weeks apart, named after the leading ladies from Cliff’s hit film ‘Summer Holiday’.
Eighteen months later, two sons followed, delivered two days apart at the Cottage Hospital.
That’s where I entered the scene. I’m Clifford, though everyone calls me Cliff.
Hank, named after his backing group’s lead guitarist, arrived two days later and became my lifelong friend. We grew up like brothers, inseparable all through our childhoods.
Eventually, we found ourselves at the same university, but pursuing different degrees, still side by side. Sharing a two-bed flat felt as natural as everything before. And that’s where my story truly begins.
._.
Being so closely intertwined, we explored sex together, browsing discarded magazines with photographs of naked young women disporting themselves. Hank found a book in his parents’ bedroom with graphic descriptions of intercourse. We devoured all these while quietly pleasuring ourselves to orgasm.
At uni, things changed when we joined the undergrads’ social life and started dating girls. At eighteen, we were adults and could buy drinks or go anywhere without restriction. Our masturbation sessions became infrequent. I suppose I did it more on my own than with him, until one cold, wet evening mid-winter of our first year. I was sitting on my bed listening to Radio One when Hank came in.
“God, Cliff, I’m so horny tonight.”
He stood at the foot of my bed, rubbing an obvious tent in his trousers.
I looked up at him and smiled. “Fancy a wank then?”
Usually, he would lie next to me, and I would hold my prick, watching him play. This time, he came to the bed head, then thrust his loins against my face. I felt the rough material of his jeans and the bulge on my cheek.
As he rubbed against me, his fingers fumbled with the buckle and zipper, and then his trousers dropped away. Only his thin underpants separated me from his shaft.
At the same time, his hand was rubbing my crotch, over my rapidly enlarging prick.
“C’mon, take them off, let’s get naked.” Hank grinned lustily.
I removed my own clothes and stretched out, looking up at his thick dick. Without a word, I opened my mouth and took it between my lips for the first time. I could taste the pre-cum and began sucking in earnest.
Hank moaned and encouraged me. My head bobbed faster, hands working his balls while his hips jerked. In no time at all, he was close.
“I’m gonna cum,” he growled.
My throat worked hard as I swallowed his spurt, feeling its warmth in my mouth and throat. We were both panting, staring at each other, sweat glistening on our skin.
“You tasted good,” I gasped, as his hand pummelled my stiff shaft. In my mind, I was thinking how nice his pre-cum tasted, and how much I enjoyed the sensation of his cum hitting the roof of my mouth.
Most of all, I thought about the feel of his prick against my tongue, the feel of his pubes against my face and his odour. All these sensations drove me to climax, and when I came, it was with a series of convulsive thrusts of my thighs, my whole body surging in one huge spasm.
I peered along my body, still shuddering from the aftershocks as his thumb stroked my cockhead, looking at his fisted hand with my cum dripping over the edge. “Oh, fucking hell, Hank. That was great.”
Then, Hank pushed his cummy hand onto my lips. “Suck it,” and I licked my own cum off him, swallowing it to join his inside me.
In a way, it was like nothing had changed, but everything had. Our bond was stronger than any sexual act could provide. For me, it was just another step in our long friendship.
._.
Nothing happened for a week or so, then one afternoon I returned from a lecture, let myself into the flat and was entering my bedroom when Hank barrelled into me from behind, propelling me onto my bed, flat out on my front with him lying on top.
He grabbed my arms and pulled them behind my back in a twin lock, my wrists pinned together by his hands. I felt his grip ease just before there was the ripping noise of tape being wound around my arms.
Hank lay on my back, my hands and arms pressed into his stomach.
“Welcome back, Cliff, you are just in time for a special surprise.”
I struggled against the restraints and protested, “What the fuck, Hank?” with my heart racing.
He laughed and slapped some tape over my mouth, muffling my protests. The weight of his body on mine felt both pleasurable and unnerving.
Hank rolled off me and sat on the edge of the bed, admiring his handiwork.
“All in good fun,” he said, his tone light but with a hint of excitement.
“Just a little bondage roleplay, you know, to spice things up. You’re always far too serious after those lectures.”
Hank’s hands deftly moved under my clothes, unbuckling and unzipping with clear intent. He then proceeded to remove his own trousers, revealing his arousal. He stood before me, his eyes locked on mine, a smug grin on his lips.
When Hank left my line of sight, I felt him grip my ankles and pull my shoes off. Next, there was a tug on my trousers as they were pulled down, exposing my legs. They joined the shoes on the floor, leaving me in just my peacock-blue underpants below my waist.
I felt Hank’s hands slide up my legs, then grasp my buttocks as he murmured, his voice thick with desire, “Mmm, I love your blue pants, Cliff, they are so sexy.”
He climbed on top of me again, and then I felt the hardness of his erection pressed into my cleft as he rubbed himself against the cloth, pushing it deep inside. On the other side, the fabric was stretched taut against my erection as he started to grind against me, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through my body as I squirmed beneath him.
“Relax,” he whispered in my ear, his voice a seductive purr. “You’re going to enjoy this, I promise.”
I could only grunt beneath the tape covering my mouth, “Umph.”
Then, I watched as he reached across to open the bedside cabinet drawer and lifted a gel tube in his hand. How did that get there?
He sat over my thighs and leaned forward, his breath hot in my ear as he whispered, “Are you ready for your surprise, Cliff?”
I nodded reluctantly, unsure of what was coming. I felt his palms pressing on my pants, then he grabbed the hem and swiftly pulled them down.
Something wet and slimy slid along my cleft, then there was pressure on my sphincter, and I realised what was about to happen just before he spoke.
“Cliff, I’m going to fuck your arse.”
And he pushed in hard, the head of his prick breaching me with a feeling like a soft plop.
I let out a muffled groan through the tape because his sudden intrusion took me by surprise. Hank chuckled and whispered, “Good boy”.
He pushed in slowly, filling me with his length. I felt a sharp pain at first that turned into a pleasurable ache as my body adjusted to his size.
When he started to pump in and out, the friction of his skin sent waves of a fulfilling sensation coursing through my body. I could feel the head of his cock brushing against my prostate with each thrust.
Below, my erection was trapped between my belly and the bed, painfully hard and begging for attention. Behind the tape, I made a series of small whimpers, a mix of pleasure and discomfort.
Gradually, he set a motion, rocking back and forth steadily. I felt his hand push under my body, seeking and finding my erection, stroking me through my pants.
He spoke softly, “It looks like someone is enjoying this,” while grasping my cock firmly, stroking in time with his thrusts. Behind the tape gag, I enjoyed the twin sensations; the combination was almost too much to bear.
My eyes squeezed shut as I tried to shut everything out and focus on the feeling of Hank inside me, pushing past the initial discomfort to find the sweet spot that made me arch my back, pushing up to meet his thrusts.
“Yes, that’s it, Cliff,” as he tightened his grip on my prick, wrapping it with the stretched fabric of my pants. “You’re so tight, so hot.”
His words drove me closer to the edge, and my body responded automatically, outside my physical control.
The bed creaked beneath us, and the headboard thumped against the wall with every thrust. Hank’s breathing became laboured as his spare hand found my nipple and pinched me hard.
“You like it, don’t you?” he panted, his voice strained. “Being tied up, helpless under me.”
I couldn’t form words in response, but my body betrayed me, bucking against him, pushing back to meet his hips. His grip on my cock sped up, the pressure increasing in time with his thrusts. I felt myself getting closer and closer to the edge, the tension coiling tight like a spring.
Then the dam broke, my prick pulsating in his grip, and my seed jetting into my pants. I remember screaming into that infernal tape as my body desperately tried to convulse under his weight. On and on it went, my head filled with a display of orgasmic fireworks that I never wanted to end.
Suddenly, Hank stopped, still buried deep inside me, his hand still around my softening erection. He leaned in to whisper, his breath hot on my neck, “But that’s not all the surprise, slut.”
He pulled out abruptly, leaving me gasping and exposed. I felt a twinge of fear and a strange thrill at my unknown fate. He rolled off me and stood up, leaving me bound and trembling on the bed.
I felt my pants being pulled down my legs and off over my feet. Hank appeared and knelt beside my face, then reached across and ripped the tape off my mouth. In shock and pain, I yelled, and my open mouth was the invitation he needed to stuff the wettest part, soaked with my cum, inside. More and more of the fabric filled my mouth, and my cheeks felt stretched to their limit. Then there was the ripping sound I had heard earlier, just before he stuck a new, longer piece of tape across from cheek to cheek.
Hank delved into the cabinet drawer again and pulled out the blindfold that I occasionally wore to sleep in the daytime.
“Time to heighten the senses,” he said, placing the blindfold over my eyes.
My hearing felt accentuated, but the sounds Hank made moving around the room made little sense. Then there was the all too familiar sound of tape being ripped off its reel, just before Frank grabbed one of my ankles and gruffly ordered me to spread my legs.
Seconds later, I felt tape being wound around it, three or four turns, before he shifted across to the other one – doing the same there.
After another rip, there was silence, and I wriggled my legs to discover what he had done. The realisation dawned on me that I was trapped, spread open for his pleasure.
Then, sounding almost apologetic, he said, “I have a little toy for you,” and after a pause, he continued, “and it is going to make everything better for you.”
Something wet, cold and hard pressed against my anus. I tensed up, and my heart raced.
“Enjoy the plug, Cliff.”
I felt the intruder spread my sphincter muscles apart, and they seemed to expand further than ever before. His fingers prodded my perineum, pressurising my prostate, sending waves of pleasure around my groin.
“Relax,” he murmured, his voice a mix of reassurance and command. “Breathe easily.”
I focused on his voice, taking deep, slow breaths as the plug slid in deeper. The stretch felt incredible, a strange mix of pain, discomfort and arousal. Hank continued to work it in and out until I felt myself relaxing around it.
“Good boy,” he praised me, his tone gentle but firm. “Now, let’s see how well you take it all.”
With a firm push, he seated the plug completely, the flared base pressing against my cheeks. The fullness inside was unlike anything I had ever felt before. Despite the initial pain, I found myself craving more, enjoying the cool metal against my flesh, a constant reminder of my vulnerability.
“How does that feel?” Hank asked. I managed a muffled grunt of approval, and he chuckled in response. “I thought so.” He reached underneath my body to stroke my prick again.
Even though I had just had an orgasm, my shaft was rock solid, and without my pants in the way, Hank was free to taunt me, rolling his thumb across my slippery tip.
I flexed my hips, trying to escape the intense feelings he was producing, but my taped ankles allowed no such freedom. I felt the mattress give as he climbed over me to lie on my back again, his prick squashed into the gap between my buttocks.
Just like before, Hank frotted himself on my body, but this time his weight pressed down on my cheeks, bearing on the plug nestled inside me. Every thrust moved my shaft against the bedsheets, arousing me even more. Squashed by him and restricted by the pants stuffed in my mouth, I was hardly able to breathe, my lungs seemed to be bursting from the stress, but this, combined with the plug and my raging hard, made me desperate to cum again.
I bit down on the pants, desperately trying to hold back the orgasm that was threatening to overwhelm me. Each movement sent waves of pleasure through my loins, the pressure building until I thought I could not take any more. I whined into the pants, my sound muffled but clear in the quiet room.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” Hank murmured.
He sped up, his strokes in my crease matching the tempo of his hips. The plug felt like it was expanding, filling me up completely. I nodded frantically, my body begging for release.
Suddenly, he lifted off me, leaving me floundering on my own. The friction between my shaft and the sheets was reduced and no longer sufficient to drive me on.
I lay there exhausted and frustrated with my fun ruined. Then I felt the tape binding my ankles being torn off, then the same with the tape holding the pants gag in. Finally, the garment was pulled out of my mouth, the blindfold removed from my eyes, and I lay panting, blinking in the bright light, enjoying unrestricted airways again.
“Get off the bed and on your knees.” Hank’s command was compelling, and I obeyed without question.
Hank helped me up, his hands gentle despite his previous domination over me. He stood before me, his erection hard and demanding. “Take it in your mouth,” he ordered firmly.
I hesitated for a moment, then opened my mouth and let his cock slide in, his precum and my oral juices coating his shaft.
I started to suck, and the feeling of the plug inside me enhanced the sensations. Hank groaned, his grip on my hair tightening as he guided me, his hips rocking gently. The only sounds in the room were my muffled moans and the occasional slap of his skin against my face.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice strained. “Take it all.”
His cock slid deeper into my mouth. The sensation of him in my throat was overwhelming, and as I gagged, Hank’s hand on the back of my head kept me in place.
“You’re doing good,” he said, his voice filled with approval, “fucking good.”
The tension in his body told me he was close, and I redoubled my efforts, eager to please him. I never felt so used before. Each stroke of my mouth on his shaft ran through my body, the plug inside me a constant reminder of my submission.
“Fuck,” Hank grunted, his hand tightening in my hair. “I’m coming!” With that warning, he did, hot and thick in my mouth. I swallowed reflexively, the taste mingling with the lingering taste of my cum soaked pants. He pumped into me a few more times before pulling out, releasing his grip on my hair.
He took a deep breath, chuckling to himself. “You’re a natural, Cliff.” He leans in, “How do you feel?”
I managed to croak out a response, “Good, different.” The admission earned me a satisfied smirk.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Hank murmured, his voice a balm against the needs still dominating my body. He led me to the shower, turned the control knob, then waited ten seconds before we entered. The warm spray hit my skin as I stepped in and washed away the physical remains of our sex. I leaned against Hank, letting his strong arms support my weight as the water splashed upon my back. He ran his soapy hands over my body, his touch gentle as he washed me, paying special attention to the places where the tape had been.
I let out a low groan as his fingers traced the lines of the tape; my skin there felt extra sensitive. Hank chuckled, his hands moved down to cup my cheeks, and his fingers pressed on the base of the plug still lodged inside me. I groaned again, feeling the plug move inside me, sending shards of pleasure into my prostate.
“You liked that, huh?” he asked, his voice teasing. I nodded, unable to find the words to describe the tumult of emotions and sensations still coursing through me. He reached around to twist the plug, his movements slow and deliberate, seemingly playing with my sensitivity.
Suddenly, he grasped the base and, with one swift motion, pulled it out of me. I gasped in surprise; its absence left me feeling empty.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft now, the playful edge replaced with genuine concern.
I mouthed a quiet, “Yes.”
Hank took this as a cue to kiss me, his tongue slid through my lips and against mine as his hands roamed over my slick skin. I wrapped my arms around him, the tension in my body slowly increasing with the depth of our kiss.
Hank’s hands moved to my cleft, and a finger slid into my freshly emptied hole. He explored, his touch tentative at first, then more confident as I pushed against him, silently begging for more. He added another finger, then another, stretching me out gently, the slickness of the water and the lingering lube made it easy.
“You’re greedy,” Hank whispered, his voice filled with affection as he continued to finger me. His other hand found its way to my prick, quickly responding to his touch. “But I like it.”
He started to pump me, as his fingers inside moved in time with his strokes. The water beat down on our bodies, the heat enveloping me as I became lost in the sensation of his hands on and in me.
I leaned against him, and the warmth of his body against mine offered comfort. The shower stall was filled with the sound of my muffled moans and the slap of skin on skin as he worked me back towards the peak. Hank’s fingers hit all the right spots, and before I knew it, I was rock hard again, the ache in my balls building again.
“You’re so responsive,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe and satisfaction. “It’s like your body was made for this.”
His fingers curled inside me, hitting my prostate just right, and I could not help but push back against his hand, silently begging for more. He laughed, the sound echoing off the tiles, and added a fourth finger, stretching me to the point of pain, but I was too far gone to care.
I gasped, my hips bucking back against his hand as my orgasm hit. My arms linked around his neck as my legs gave way beneath me, and my head exploded in intense waves of pleasure. I lost control, screaming, sobbing, and then, after spending, my bladder voided itself, my piss flowing away down the drain with my seed.
“Do you want more?” he asked. I shook my head, unable to form words through the haze of arousal.
He pulled his fingers out of me with a wet pop, and his other hand returned to my softening shaft. His grip tightened, stroking me in long, slow motions that felt almost gentle in contrast to the harshness of the earlier play. My forehead rested against his chest, panting heavily as he continued to work on me.
“Look at me, slut,” Hank said, his voice gentle but firm. I lifted my head, and our eyes met. He watched me closely, his gaze intense. I saw hunger in his eyes, a need to claim me fully.
My balls were aching, and I was exhausted, but I was desperate to be his, to give him everything he desired. He leaned in, kissing me, his tongue exploring my mouth as his hand squeezed my prick. I submitted, again, and again.
._.
I was his slut from then onwards, his to use and abuse.
That night has lived in my mind every day of my life – or should I say – every day of our lives. We never looked at a woman sexually again. Our devotion was total; neither ever strayed. During the eighties, the gay community was ravaged by AIDS, but we were safe. When civil partnerships were created, we had one. When gay marriage was enacted, we married.
Now, over fifty years on, I am still by his side, holding Hank’s hand as his life ebbs away into oblivion.
