Bondage Wrestling for my Birthday

I recall it was a hot summer afternoon. A Friday. I was in the middle of grad school and had taken the summer off to "recalibrate" and evaluate my life choices. As such I was doing nothing, just hanging out with one of my best friends at his house. Unlike me, he had gotten a job right out of college at a tech firm. It paid well enough that he had bought a house. I considered this as I stared out the big windows in the living room wall. The house sat on a small hill that overlooked the town we had both grown up in, a place he still called home but that I had fled in search of something 'better' I guess.

In any case, it was hot. He had A/C and kept the place at a reasonable temperature (a little on the warm side, perhaps; his circulation was poor, he claimed), but I was lying on his sofa in the sun streaming in those windows and felt like a lizard baking in the heat. Ben looked lethargic, too. He worked from home on Fridays and had just turned in a project to his boss, so he could easily slack off the rest of the day and nobody at work would notice or complain. His short, thin body was draped over the leather armchair--legs dangling off the far end, one arm left hanging askew in the air.

"What do you want to do?" he asked, catching my eye as I looked at him. It wasn't often that we got to spend time with one another like this, and I think we both felt an urgency in using the time well. Trouble was, it's difficult doing anything on a lazy summer afternoon.

Ben was a cute guy: short brown hair; vintage 1980's fashion sense that never seemed to go out of style; youthful, boyish features that never seemed to age even as we inexorably got older. We had met in middle school and had been close friends ever since. He had come out in college, and I suspected there might be more there for him but hadn't really ever asked. He had recently broken up with his boyfriend. They had been together a year and it had been messy.

I, on the other hand, was still working through my sexuality. So far, I had concluded that one, I had a general disinterest in sex, as classically defined; but two, I had a strong fascination with a number of kinky situations and scenarios. For example, I loved exhibitionism in the sense of being underdressed given the context. This could mean being shirtless when everyone else is fully clothed or wearing a speedo when everyone else is wearing swim shorts. It definitely also includes being compelled to strip in front of others.

I also loved being tied up and gagged. The humiliation of having that done to me, of feeling helpless and knowing the person who did it can do whatever they want to me, was really powerful in an erotic way. This was especially true if it was done against my will, as the result of losing in some contest. Strip poker, for example, had always been really fun for me.

Ben and I had experimented a bit in high school and college. Mostly, they involved competitive games where the winner got to tie up the loser. I occasionally won, but am the less competitive of the two of us and was always happy to lose in any case.

I mention all this because I was feeling rather horny in that special way that hot, lazy summer afternoons often cause. I think maybe Ben was, too, because after I replied with a generic "I don't know, what do you want to do?" he made a suggestion that surprised me.

"Do you want to wrestle?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I mean wrestle. See who can pin the other person down."

"Where?" I asked, still trying to imagine what this would be like. I was not the wrestling type. My idea of athletics basically boiled down to hiking in mountain forests by myself. I had never been a team sports or competitive athletics kind of guy.

"Right here," he replied, nodding to the carpeted living room floor between us. "We'll move the coffee table out of the way and use the furniture to delineate the wrestling space. If you leave it, you lose."

"I'm not really much of a wrestler," I confessed, feeling uncertain about the whole experience.

"Oh come on, you'll have a natural advantage," he pressed. "You're about 20 lbs heavier and taller, too."

It was true. I was about 4 inches taller and, though slender, significantly heavier. Ben was both short and skinny.

"I bet I can beat you anyway," Ben taunted.

That tone in his voice was enough by itself to overcome my complacency. "Oh yeah?" I replied. I didn't like being discounted as a pushover; I think my natural shyness made me sensitive about it, eager to prove others wrong. Ben knew it well. "I think you may be getting a little overconfident here."

"Prove it, then," he taunted back.

"How will we know who won?" I asked, starting to take this seriously now.

A devious look crossed his face. "The first one to tie up the other wins."

That sent a thrill of erotic energy down my spine. I was really invested now.

"Wait, this is bondage wrestling?" I asked incredulously.

"Don't tell me you're not interested," Ben replied coyly. He knew all about my kinky fetishes. I blushed hard at this, still deeply embarrassed by my 'unique' tastes, even around my best friend.

"I mean..." I began, unwilling to straight up own it, but totally aware of how obvious it was.

"Each of us will get rope," Ben explained, "and the goal will be to pin the other down and tie him up."

"But how can you tie someone up if they can resist you? What if no one manages to tie up the other?"

"Oh, I don't think that will be my problem," Ben retorted, the taunting tone clear in his voice. Not willing to back down, I gave him a haughty look that oversold my self confidence by a long shot.

"Ok," I shot back. "What constitutes 'tied up?' How tied up does the loser need to be? Are we talking just hands, or a hand to an ankle, or what?"

Ben considered this a moment. "If you can get my hands tied, I'll give you the win."

"That's all?" I said, suggesting he was going too easy on me but also feeling he was about to say more but wanted to be prompted.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice cocky. "For me, we don't need to be specific." I raised my eyebrows to let him know I was calling his bluff. "When I've tied you up," he went on, "you'll know it. There won't be any doubt about it."

"Oh ho ho," I shot back. "A little cocky are we?"

He said nothing, just gave me a devious look and got up from his chair. He walked to the garage, opened the door and went inside. Sensing things were about to get real, I rose from my torpor as well and waited. Within a moment he returned with several lengths of nylon rope in his hands. He tossed me one, kept one for himself, then distributed the rest on the ground around the edge of our improvised "wrestling mat." I helped him move the coffee table out of the way.

"Let's wrestle, bitch," I said, again faking a confidence I didn't feel. What I did feel was a deep, erotic thrill. I was worried to lose because I honestly didn't think I could bear Ben's taunting mockery if I did. And I knew he'd never let me live it down. But I was also very excited at the prospect of losing this game. I strongly suspected Ben had proposed it knowing it would turn me on. Growing up, our sexual experimentation together had never involved sex, per se, so I was always curious why he was so interested. But he had always shown a fascination with my queer sexuality.

Ben responded by taking off his shirt. This caught me off guard a little. Not that we had never been naked around each other, I have just always been uncertain about when others will see it as awkward or inappropriate.

"I don't want to ruin your shirt," he said in response to my unspoken query. "Or mine." I actually liked the shirt I was wearing quite a bit, and since I'm always happy to strip down, I took my shirt off, too. The thought of wrestling with him skin-on-skin raised the stakes of the whole thing in my mind.

I stepped into the 'ring' feeling excited and nervous.

"One more thing," Ben said, heading into his bedroom. Where was he going with this now, I wondered? He quickly returned with what looked like a tiny strip of royal blue cloth bunched up in his fist. He tossed me the fabric, which failed to make it all the way to me and landed at my feet on the carpet. As I picked it up, I saw at once that it was a thong and that the material was almost entirely spandex. I looked up at him, blushing and questioning.

"Consider it an early birthday present," he clarified. He knew that my exhibitionist self loved erotic, embarrassingly revealing underwear and that I was always expanding my personal collection.

"Thanks," I said, still blushing. My birthday was coming up in a week but I wasn't looking forward to it. I had taken a couple extra years to finish college and was now 4 years into a PhD program, so despite turning 30 in a week I was still in school and had yet to start a career. The disconnect between my age and what I felt an "adult" should have accomplished by now was rather depressing. Long story short, I really appreciated this silly levity with regards to what was shaping up to be a downer moment.

"But in return you have to wear it under your shorts while we wrestle."

"Oh yeah?" I looked at him curiously, trying to figure out if there was some devious intent behind the request. "I mean, that's fair," I conceded, deciding it was impolite to look a gift horse in the mouth. And to be honest I was really excited to try them on.

I headed to the bathroom and closed the door. I checked out my shirtless body in the mirror. Being an exhibitionist, seeing myself partially or completely undressed in a mirror was always an interesting experience. Mirrors allowed me to see myself the way others saw me, and when it came to my bare body that inevitably triggered the erotic arousal that was so powerfully linked in my twisted, kinky mind to the embarrassment of having my body on display.

I liked my body. At the very least I felt it had the right combination of good looks (my exhibitionist excitement only worked if I believed those looking enjoyed the view) and vulnerability. Thanks to regular pushups and lucky genes, my pecs and shoulders were rather nicely defined. My nipples, though, were unusually large and sensitive; they frequently attracted looks and had on numerous occasions that I could remember drawn comments as well. Every time I went shirtless or less, I knew that people would be looking at my nipples and it invariably triggered that delicious combination of embarrassment, humiliation, and erotic vulnerability.

Further down, my midsection was rather flat and trim, which gave me confidence while shirtless. But on the other hand I thought my belly button was rather prominent. For whatever reason, seeing someone's belly button outside of a context where that was normal, like the beach, felt bizarrely intimate--like I shouldn't be seeing it but as a result wanted to look all the more. I felt that my belly button prompted this reaction more than most, but maybe that was just me being sensitive about my own body.

In any case, I unbuttoned my shorts and pulled them down, revealing my long, slender legs and red briefs. These I removed as well. My penis was already partially erect at the thought of putting on the thong Ben had given me, as well as the impending shirtless wrestling match. I picked up the new underwear and examined it. It was basically all straps with a tiny, popout pouch for my dick and balls. Even though Ben couldn't see me, I blushed again and felt my erection grow firmer. I looked at my penis in the mirror, then the pouch of the thong.

I might not fit in this at all, I worried. After a moment figuring out which straps to put my legs through, I quickly pulled on the thong before my penis got even harder. The strap between my ass cheeks found its home quite naturally as I pulled the waist straps up to my hips. I loved the feeling as the ass strap slid into place against my anus. It took some manual navigating, however, to get my junk into the pouch. When I finally did, I looked in the mirror again and nearly died of embarrassment. Two royal blue straps hugged my hips while, in the center, my cock and balls were sticking out from my body, encased in a tight spandex hammock. Everywhere else it was just fields of bare skin. Wearing this ridiculously erotic underwear, I noticed that my large, soft nipples and prominent belly button looked particularly obvious and vulnerable. My erection kept growing but, restrained in its hammock, had nowhere to go. I could feel the skin of my penis pulling against the spandex fabric of the thong. It felt really nice.

"You gonna finish up anytime soon?" Ben's voice called mockingly from the other room. I blushed again and hurriedly pulled my shorts back on. The bulge vaguely showed through my shorts. As I opened the door and walked back to the living room, I felt oddly exposed. Even though my thong was hidden under my shorts, I knew Ben knew I was wearing it, and judging from his gaze was imagining it on me.

"You ready to wrestle?"

"I'm gonna own you, bitch," he replied.

We both stepped into the 'ring' and it was off.

Honestly, I didn't know what I was doing at all. I certainly knew my way around ropes, having learned to tie as part of feeling safe letting others tie me, but wrestling was absolutely not part of my education. Still, I intuitively knew it meant using weight and position to pin an opponent, and sensed that my longer arms and legs and extra body weight would be to my advantage.

What I didn't expect was Ben's sudden quickness and intense strength. The first several seconds were spent circling each other, testing each other's reactions and looking for a way to get the other on the carpet. Feeling unsure at this stage, I decided to just get the show on the road and went low, grabbing Ben by the waist and legs and tackling him bodily. We ended up on the floor, alright, but he managed to keep his legs from getting pinned under me. When I got up on all fours to try and pin him more fully beneath me, he scampered with surprising quickness onto my back.

I'm going to make him pay for this move, I thought, pushing off with my arms and throwing my weight back. I naively assumed that pressing my opponent to the ground was the goal in wrestling, whether I was facing up or down. I quickly realized my mistake. Even though Ben was pinned under my weight, I was in front of him where he could make good use of his arms and legs. Since mine couldn't bend backward, they were of little use to me.

And speaking of bending backward, as soon as we both hit the ground (me lying on top of Ben but facing toward the ceiling), I felt his arms snake between my forearms and my back, forcing my arms back and thrusting my chest out.

Shit, shit, shit! I thought to myself, and began to grunt as I struggled to free my arms. He was bear hugging them to his chest, however, and in my awkward position his grapple was much stronger.

"Ung! Rrmm!" I twisted and squirmed and thrashed with my legs, but couldn't shake him off. I heard him chuckle darkly.

Then I felt rope slide loosely around my upper arms. He was holding my forearms pinned to his chest with one of his and looping a rope around them with the other. Panicking, I started pushing hard with my legs to move as much as I could to disrupt his efforts.

"Oh, no you don't!" Ben cried. I felt him slip his legs along the inside of mine, which were spread out trying to get traction to rock back and forth. Then he spread his legs wide and, to my surprise, managed to sweep my legs wide open. I tried to resist, but quickly realized that my leg muscles were stronger at spreading wide than coming together. My weaker muscles were pitted against his stronger ones, and the result was quite predictable. My legs were now held so far apart that they were useless to me.

I could hardly do anything at all at this point. And it was right about then that I felt a rope cinch tight, pulling my upper arms painfully toward each other.

"Unng!" I grunted. I felt a delightful surge of humiliation from the kinkiest corners of my mind. Fuck, he's tying me up! How did I let this happen? But oh, do I want it to happen some more.

"Hehehe," Ben cackled. I wiggled and twisted, but the next several seconds went by without much effective struggle on my part. I felt him loop more rope around my arms and imagined him tying it off in a knot. Of course, given where it was there was no way I could pick at it.

"You're mine, bitch," Ben taunted.

"Not yet!" I bellowed back.

Ben suddenly dropped the outward pressure against the inside of my legs and slid to one side underneath me. Thinking this was a chance to escape the grapple he had so cleverly put me in, I surged to the other side, desperate to get my legs under me again and figure out how to avoid getting tied up any further. I managed to get on my knees, but with my upper arms bound behind my back, I had to use my forehead as a third point of contact with the ground as I rolled over. Before I could pull my knees under me and get my torso upright, I felt Ben's quick, lithe weight fall heavily on top of me.

"No you don't," he breathed at me, his face inches from my ear. "You're my little captive slut."

Humiliated by his taunts, I bucked with my hips as hard as I could, but my arms could barely help at all and without them it wasn't enough. With insane alacrity, I felt Ben flip around on top of me, such that he was now facing my rear with his ass right on my shoulder blades.

"Ooomph!" I grunted as his butt landed on my chest, knocking some air out of my lungs. Then to my horror I felt him grab my arms--which were trying, T-rex style, to push off from the carpet--and pull them together behind my back.

This is it, I thought. I'm fucked!

I felt Ben grasp both my wrists with one of his hands and knew he was grabbing for another rope with the other. As I felt the rope looping around my wrists I struggled, desperate to keep him from pulling it tight.

"You're a squirmy little slut, aren't you?" Ben laughed. Then he pulled his thighs together on my back, pinning my arms between them and greatly limiting my ability to move. A moment later, I felt the loop slip over both wrists and cinch tight.

"Arrnng!" I roared in frustration, but it was no use. I felt Ben quickly and deftly loope the rope around a couple more times, then felt the binds tighten substantially as he looped between my bound hands, perpendicular to the original direction.

"Fuck!" I yelled, bucking and squirming like a worm, but without the use of my arms at all his weight was enough to keep me down. A few moments later Ben finished tying off his knots and I felt his weight shift toward my head as he straightened up.

It was over.

"Fuck you!" I repeated, feeling the frustration and humiliation well up within me. Of course, part of me was enjoying my defeat a great deal, but my pride was definitely wounded at this point.

"Hmm," Ben mused, leaning forward to lightly pat me on the butt. "I think I'm more likely to be fucking you at the moment."

Still unwilling to admit defeat and submit to my friend entirely, I struggled and flailed as hard as I could for a while, but succeeded only in thrashing my legs about harmlessly. Ben sat still, patiently waiting for me to work out the remaining fight within me. Eventually I gave up and lay still, panting heavily.

"You done?"

"Rrrrr," I growled helplessly.

I didn't have long to wallow in frustration, however, because Ben grabbed my shorts by the pockets and yanked them down to my thighs in one powerful stroke.

"Hey!" I yelled, totally taken by surprise and horrified at what was happening. I response, Ben scooted his center of mass down to the small of my back, sitting right above my bound hands, and with another stroke pulled my shorts down past my knees.