Getting Tied Up By My Straight Friend 02

Everyone is 18+ and fully consenting.

Chapter 2: Round Two

"Did it feel good?" he asked, "They say it actually feels awesome. Like a guy can cum just from getting fucked if it's good enough."

"Yeah," I said quietly, "I felt myself getting there actually."

"Maybe," he started, pausing, "we could try again until you cum...?" 

I sat there with the rope marks still warm on my skin. A hundred thoughts shoved through my head. Was I turning gay? Was I just into bondage? Was I going to regret this? Then I remembered how it felt to give in, how my body answered before my mouth did. I nodded.

He jumped on me immediately, taking control again, decisive and steady. He moved my body, centering my hole at his hard cock again, getting his toy ready to use. He spit on the tip of it, and there was a quick, wet sound that made my face burn with anticipation before the pressure returned, deep and fulfilling, as he set the rhythm again, slowly this time. My breath fell into his timing. My body rocked against the cushions and the rope pressed into me the way it had before, only now I was leaning into it more firmly. Even though I had just been fucked, it took a minute to get used to it again. It burned, and my insides had already started to return to their default shape, but he was quickly re-forming them back to where his cock needed them.

“Stay with it,” he said as he watched my face for my reaction as he pressed in all the way. His hips were pressed hard against my thighs, and our sweat mingled where our bodies met.

I did. I let myself ride the wave of it, kept my eyes on the ceiling, and counted his breaths to keep from thinking too hard. When it got too sharp I said his name. He adjusted without breaking stride, like he was learning in real time how to fuck my body.

He changed angles, as much as he could while I was hog tied. He changed pace constantly, going slowly when he was trying not to finish yet. There was a moment when he pulled out completely, and I thought it was over, but then he made me open for him in a different way, presenting his sweaty cock to my face. I gave him what he wanted because I wanted it too. The heat built in my belly. I felt reckless and safe at the same time as I tonuged his cock that was just in my ass. It tasted like my own musk mixed with his. It was weirdly assuring. He pushed in slowly until I gagged, then gave me a rest for two seconds, before pushing in deeper. I started to like it more every time he penetrated me, whichever hole he used. He pulled out again when I could tell he was close to cumming.

He hovered above me, watching my face as his big, hard cock dripped onto my chest.

“You’re a hot girl for me,” he said. His mouth twitched like he was unsure how I would react to that. “How does that feel, baby?”

I breathed through it, dazed. “Just hold me tight like your girlfriend then,” I said.

He did. His hands gripped hard onto my hips, then firm on my shoulders, then braced at the rope on my torso so I could feel it deep in my body. He kept me exactly where he wanted me, where I wanted to be. He knew how to make control feel like care. We both told ourselves this was practice, training, a field test of trust. We both knew it was more than that.

He pushed me right to the edge, then stopped. He shifted and fed me again in a way that turned my brain off. He drew back with a wet sound and made me help him with my mouth, not tender, not romantic, just purpose as his body pounded into me on one end then the other. The taste never bothered me. It felt like being in the pit crew, tuning him up with my mouth so he could go back to using my ass. He alternated like that, working me at both ends of denial, staying just shy of saying what he was doing out loud.

“You like being used,” he said. “Doesn’t matter that it’s me. You’re just my toy right now.”

“We’re still straight,” I said. I could hear how thin it sounded.

“Yeah,” he said, a short laugh he did not fully feel. “Straight. And really good at knots.”

At some point, it was like his dick got bigger. It was harder, and stuffed into me more sharply while I lay there, still unable to move.

“Breathe,” he said. “Let it happen.”

I did. Time snapped and stretched. I lost track of how long he had been rocking my body. The room narrowed in my mind as he had his way with me. The TV was off. The garage door was cracked. Somewhere outside a sprinkler ticked. The rest of the world felt so far away.

“You’re close,” he randomly said.

I hadn't even noticed, but he was right. It was like he willed it to happen. I felt the pressured tingling rise from my ass and balls to my lower stomach and my cock.

“I am,” I said. My voice was not steady. “I think I am.”

He watched his cock carefully as he continued stuffing me, finding the exact spot, right where my reaction was strongest, and kept pressing there, shallow, controlled. I felt like I was going to pee, which scared me for a second, but it felt so good I couldn't tell him to stop. The hiss of my breath turned into a broken sound that embarrassed me until I heard his answer to it.

“That’s it,” he said. “Let go.”

I did. It hit me like a slow wave. I didn't have to touch myself. I didn't have to do anything. My body went tight and then soft and then tight again as an orgasm rippled through my body. It was like a new type of orgasm, spreading everywhere, not just my cock. I oozed cum instead of shooting it in streaks, making a large puddle on my abs. I kept releasing jizz for over a minute, and I felt it take my brain down, down, until I had nothing left inside but a zombie mentality. He watched, eyes wide, as if he had discovered a new trick the ropes could do. He kept the pressure steady, working me through it. It went on longer than I thought it could, easing and flaring, easing and flaring, until the aftershocks finally let me breathe normally again.

I lay stunned. He kept moving gently, like he was cooling me down. “We did it,” he said, hushed.

I nodded because words were gone. Pride and shame and relief mixed inside me.

Then his face shifted. He was close. He had been holding off for me. He pressed in balls deep again, searching my eyes for permission. I gave it with a small nod. He went from careful to hard. It was not cruel. It was decisive. I braced and let him take what he needed.

I felt pressure again, but in a different way, a kind of urgency I did not have a name for. The need to pee hit me hard and sudden. I tensed. “Wait,” I managed. “I might need to pee.”

“Almost there,” he said, clipped, still focused.

“I really might,” I said. Heat rushed my face. It was ridiculous to be embarrassed after everything we had done, but I was. The rope locked me in place. He held me steady. The pressure spiked, sharp, and I lost it. My body let go the wrong way, involuntary, humiliating. I flinched. And I released a few squirts of piss onto myself, unable to stop it.

He stilled, watching me unable to control my bladder, and swore under his breath. “Oh. Hey. It’s okay.” His voice stayed reassuring and steady. But he didn't pull away. He did not freak out. He just told me to breathe and kept his hands firm on me so I knew I was not going anywhere.

The mortification came in a full-body wave. My eyes stung. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I couldn’t hold it. I haven’t gone all day.”

“No it's kinda cool that I made you do that, actually," he said.

I nodded. He held there long enough for the moment to settle, then eased back into motion, slower, deliberate, keeping my eyes the whole time. I could see the choice in his face, the way he decided not to make it a joke, not to make it a thing I would never forget for the wrong reason. He kept going until he finished with a hard grunt while his hands clutched at me.

We stayed like that, both of us breathing. Then he slipped away and left me staring at the ceiling as he went for a towel. He returned with two and a bottle of water, quiet and practical. He wiped me down with a care that landed deeper than any of the rough stuff. He did not comment on the mess. He just took care of it.

“How're you doing?" he asked.

“I’m good,” I said. “I’m here.”

“Good,” he said back.

He checked the rope marks on my wrists the way he checked his gear, thumb pressing to see if the color returned. He untied the main harness and eased my arms forward. The blood rushed back with pins and needles. He rubbed them out while I leaned into the couch. Everything felt surreal.

We sat with it for a while, the two of us quiet in the garage. I drank water and stared at the coils of cord on the floor. I could still feel phantom pressure across my hips where the line had been, and in my body where he had been. It made my stomach flip when I thought about it.

He broke the silence. “We’re still straight,” he said.

“Right,” I said. “Still straight.”

He nodded. “This was just knot practice.”

I started cracking up. The whole day came crashing into my brain and I just had to laugh it off. Somehow, it was like that was the funniest thing I had ever heard. He joined me and started belly laughing too.

He stood and stretched, then gave me a look. “Round three?” he asked.

I laughed, and the laugh turned into a groan because my body felt rung out. “Give me five minutes,” I said. “And a banana.”

I let him fuck me one more time, before I finally saw his dick go slightly soft. It was still half hard, but he declared, "Alright. I think I'm done."

"Me too," I said. "You can untie me now."

He actually looked kind of disappointed. "You sure?"

"Yeah," I said, "I actually still have to pee."

He chuckled, and in a minute he had untied me. After getting the feeling back around my body for a inute, I  tiptoed over and peeked into the door to the house to make sure no one was around, then walked naked to the nearest bathroom. While I peed, I leaned over and turned on the shower. It felt liberating to have control of my limbs again. But I knew I was going to be tied up again, by someone, sometime, maybe even Eddy.

I stepped into the hot water and it felt like a massage. My body was sore from everything that happened. I didn't notice when Eddy entered the bathroom and opened the shower door. Not until he was standing in the shower with me. I noticed, and it surprised me for a second, but I couldn't move my body from the comforting position under the hot water.

He soaped me up, getting every inch of me, from my head to my ass, my hard cock  and balls to my feet and armpits. I let him scrub me down tenderly, and I felt his hard dick rubbing against my ass as he moved.

Later, after showers and quiet, we lay on opposite ends of the couch, ankles touching, a new thing for us, a reminder that we were something different now. The TV was back on but we were not watching it. The rope lay in a pile between us.

“We are never telling anyone,” I said.

“Obviously,” he said.

He turned his head and watched me for a beat. “You okay?”

“I am,” I said, surprised to mean it. “It's just weird how much fun it was. I didn't know gay stuff was fun.”

He nodded. “Yeah.” He hesitated. “I want to try some of this with my girlfriend,” he said, almost sheepish. “If she ever lets me.”

I felt the words land. Something in me pulled tight and then loosened. “Right,” I said. “Makes sense.”

He studied my face like. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I do.”

We cleaned the last of the gear, put the paracord back in his bag, left the garage as if nothing unusual had happened there. In the hallway, he bumped my shoulder with his and grinned.

“Can't wait for Joshua Tree,” he said.

“Yeah, Joshua Tree,” I said back.

—

The next two weeks flew by. Nothing really happened. No late-night repeats, no backsliding into the garage to see what else we could do. At first I was relieved that nothing had changed, but soon I felt like something was missing. I wanted to do it again, I thought. But we just acted normal together. We kept it at jokes and logistics. We were still close, maybe closer, but we both pretended we were the same. Every now and then I caught him watching me and he looked away when I turned to him. I did the same to him actually. The side glances continued, like there was something under the surface.

We got ready for the trip. We printed checklists. We argued about whether to bring extra ropes. I bought a new chalk bag and wore it around for a bit, making him laugh. He sent me links to climbing blogs and car-camping hacks, then sent me memes that had nothing to do with anything so he would not have to ask the questions he wanted to ask.

At night I lay in bed and felt the ghost pressure where that main rope had crossed my hips. I tried to feel on the inside where he had penetrated me, but it wasn't there anymore. The memory made me warm, but I needed a physical memory jog. It made me angry at myself. It made me proud. I did not know if I was any of the labels I had avoided since high school. I only knew that when I remembered the way his hands steadied me, I literally slept better.

When the day finally came to pack the car, the heat was already climbing by midmorning. We hauled gear down the stairs and Tetris’d it into the back, arguing about cooler placement like it mattered. He tossed me the food bag and I checked the list.

“Water,” I said.

“Four gallons.”

“Stove.”

“In the bin.”

“Headlamps, extra batteries.”

“In the red pocket.”

I leaned into his duffel to make sure the first-aid kit was in there and saw it stuffed in on top of a coil of cord. I adjusted the kit, then my hand hit another bottle. I pulled it up and blinked.

It was a giant bottle of lube. Not discreet. Not travel size. It was like... industrial size.

I looked up. He was watching me with a face that said he wanted to laugh and also wanted to jump off the balcony.

“For rope burn,” he said, straight-faced.

“Sure,” I said, fighting a smile. “Safety first.”

We held each other’s gaze an extra second. Then he took the bottle, chucked it back into the bag, and yanked the zipper shut.

He climbed into the driver’s seat. “We roll in five.”

I slid into the passenger seat and stared through the windshield at a sky that looked like it would never end. My chest felt light. I was excited. The road to the desert awaited us.

He started the engine. He drummed the steering wheel to the music and grinned. I grinned back.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Belay on.”

“Belay is on,” he said, and we pulled into the street, the city already shrinking in the rearview as we drove toward rock and heat and sky and whatever else was going to happen outside of civilization.