One summer afternoon at the ball field I called him a little weasel. Without warning he leaped at me and wrestled me to the ground. I wasn’t prepared. In a matter of seconds he trapped me in a head-scissors with his legs. He held me there for a very long time while all my friends watched. I could not move and he was hurting me.
In his little girly voice he said, “Who’s a little weasel now?”
When he finally let me up my friends were incredulous. They wanted me to kick his ass. But I was afraid of him suddenly. The muscles in his thighs were as hard as bricks. Humiliation at the hands of Little Billy was a hard pill to swallow. But the worst part of it was my dick– I got a hard-on whenever I thought about it.
I did not leave my house for days after that. I was afraid to show my face. I hung out in my basement, a cool room with a carpeted floor and a TV. One day I answered a knock at the basement door to find Little Billy standing there. He walked right in. He was wearing a tee-shirt with the sleeves cut away. Right away I noticed the muscles in his arms. I never knew Billy had muscles. They weren’t big and thick — they were lean ropes with thick blue veins.
When he saw me looking at his arms he came up to me and squeezed the softness in my upper arm. Rather foolishly he said, “I can take you.”
He lunged at me and we grappled. On the floor I did all I could to fend him off. He was like an octopus with a dozen arms and legs. I managed to hold him off until my arms weakened. At that point he took complete control. He spun around behind me and put me in a fierce full-nelson. It was hopeless. When I groaned he said, “Had enough?” I don’t know why I didn’t give up right away- maybe it had to do with the strange exotic sensations I felt as he held me there, the weird tingling in my groin. “Suit yourself,” he said, “I have all day.” Then he cranked up the pressure.
After I submitted we stood regarding one another awkwardly. He said, “You started out alright but I’m just too strong for you.” He flexed his muscled arm and said, “Feel how hard that is.” I felt it. It was like a chunk of wood. When I pressed my fingertips into the arm he tightened it even harder. I had an erection and he knew it.
My heart was pounding and my knees were wobbly. He looked at the bulge in my pants and smiled. He put a hand up on my shoulder to nudge me down. When I got to my knees his pants were around his ankles and a long thick hard-on was staring me in the face. My heart was still pounding and I thought, oh well, he beat me fair and square. This will be the spoils of his victory.
The size of his dick seemed wrong somehow. Why was it so big? It seemed wrong for such a big cock to belong to the neighborhood pushover who, as it turned out, could easily take me. It stood up straight and proud like a soldier at attention. And it was hairless; well almost hairless. There was a little bit of peach-fuzz around the base– he was only sixteen. The shaft was thick and white, criss-crossed with with a series of thick blue veins. The head was a shiny red dome. It looked like a rocket set to launch. I was glad when he told me what to do.
I stroked it and licked it. He helped me by telling me what he liked. The blue veins thickened as I licked them. You could see the blood pumping through them. It was great to feel the head of his cock in my mouth when it began to swell and grow– it was proof that I was doing a good job.
Billy would not moan, but from time to time his body stiffened which told me that I was pleasing him. This made my own erection go crazy. At one point I looked up and saw that his eyes were closed. This made me so happy that I began to swirl my tongue madly over and around that swollen red head.
It took a very long time for Little Billy to finish. He grabbed my ears in his little fists and began to thrust that thick cock into me. With his firm hairless balls cradled in my palm, I gave them soft feathery strokes. I could tell that he liked it and I remember thinking that I would try that on myself afterward. He wasn’t rough at all. His thrusts were gentle. I loved the way the tip of his dick teased the back of my throat. After I swallowed his load and licked him clean he buttoned up and left without a word.
He returned the next day but did not want to wrestle. Instead he insisted on tests-of-strength. We locked fingers together for the first test. He bent my fingers back painfully until I winced and went down on one knee. “You need to work on your wrists,” he said.
Then we arm-wrestled on the floor. I could not budge him. I watched his upper arm bunch up dramatically with a thick vein threatening to burst. By the time my hand hit the floor I had a raging erection. Going for broke, I closed my eyes and rolled over on my back, knowing that my condition was obvious. In a matter of seconds I felt his fingers fumbling at my fly.
With my jeans pulled down he said, “Holy crap! You have a big dick too! Yours is almost as big as mine!” While he stroked me he said, “I bet we have the two biggest dicks in town!” His fingers were a dream. I was lying on my back with my eyes closed.
While he worked I reached up to stroke the muscles in his arms. Taking that cue he massaged my cock with the smooth underside of his forearm. A long sigh escaped from me. He put my dick against the inside of his elbow and tightened his arm around it. Again and again he flexed that hard biceps muscle against the head of my cock. I cried out when I came. I thought, so that’s what it’s all about!
I learned from Billy that he’d started lifting weights after growing tired of being abused. His older brother worked with him on wrestling moves and his father taught him how to throw a punch. Within a week he bloodied a guy’s nose and it was the last time Billy was ever messed with.
We became best friends. We went everywhere together. I was big, he was small but it was clear that Billy was top-dog and I the fawning sidekick. He knew I was obsessed with his arms; whenever he caught me ogling he would flex for my eager fingers. We tended to do whatever Billy wanted. We went where he wanted to go, watched whatever movies he wanted to see.
We spent a lot of time in my basement wrestling. I took pride in the minute or two that I held my own with him. But eventually I would tire and he would twist me like a pretzel into odd contortions, designed always for the big squeeze. I would wiggle and squirm helplessly while he teased me with little whispered insults. He would ask me if it was tight enough. “No?” he’d say, “Here, have some more.” It was a game in which we each played a role. Afterward we would give each other pleasure. I liked it lying down so I could fondle the muscles in his arms. He liked it standing up with me on my knees, probably because it mirrored our relationship.
One afternoon I was on my knees on the basement floor. He was kneeling behind me with both arms snaked tightly around my throat. I was completely spent as he worked me over. My arms hung limp at my sides. It was simply a matter of waiting for him to let me go. His arms felt like two-by- fours. At one point he pressed his lips against my ear and whispered, “I could snap you in two.”
When we heard footsteps on the stairs I thought he might give it up. But he only tightened his grip so that I gagged slightly. My father came into the room and gave us a curious look. We were lucky that he didn’t arrive when we were doing those other things. I wondered what he thought of his son being punished by someone smaller and younger; what he thought of my limp arms, my pinched red face. But all he said was, “Doing some wrestling, eh boys?”
My father grabbed some tools from his workbench and left. When we heard his truck drive away Billy released me. I remained on my knees as he stood up. His dick was especially thick and hard that day and I was especially wired. I outdid myself. I went ballistic on that big thing. I think I wanted to turn the tables on him, to take control. All summer long he’d been me tossing around my basement like a rag doll, making me moan at his pleasure. Now I wanted to make him moan for a change. Sure, I was on my knees but it would’ve been nice, just for a moment, to control him, to make him mine.
Of course it did not happen. I would never control Little Billy. I pushed my lips into his little patch of peach-fuzz. When I kissed him there it tickled my upper lip. I stroked him lightly while licking his balls. I ran my tongue all the way up the underside of his cock, stopping behind the head so I could press into that tender spot. I took that fat red dome into my mouth and sucked for all I was worth.
I saw his chest puff out with power and pride. His face gleamed with triumph. This time the thrusting began sooner than usual. He grabbed fistfuls of my hair in order gain optimum leverage. Once he got a rhythm going there was no stopping him. He really gave it to me. He had great staying power and it seemed to go on forever. I was proud of him.
That evening after dinner my father pulled me aside and said I was a thoughtful young man. He said it was very nice of me to let Little Billy win at wrestling.
Near the end of the summer Billy left town when his father accepted a job in Texas. I never saw him again. But I thought of him often. For old times sake I would go down into the basement. I would stretch out in my favorite spot and stroke myself with soft feathery fingers the way Billy did. I would challenge myself to see how long, thick and hard I could make it. With a little drop of pre-cum I would gently rub the sweet spot behind the swollen dome. In my mind’s eye I would be locked hopelessly in Billy’s iron clutches, squirming like a fly in a web while he taunted me. I would think of my cock in the crook of his arm as he tightened it, massaging it with those smooth ropes of muscle. That little memory worked every time. I would stiffen and moan. I would come in the loveliest of colors.
I’m married with kids now, and I have fond memories of those basement sessions. I know a few things now that I did not know then. I know that it was more than just a youthful homo-erotic experiment. It was about being held. Everybody wants to be held and Billy held me tighter than anyone else ever has. And I know that he was much more than a friend, more than a best friend. The truth is, I loved him.
Via: https://www.lushstories.com/stories/gay-male/down-in-the-basement
