The Telemachus Story Archive

Raping Jamie
By Hooder

I've only recently got turned onto wet jeans, but yesterday I incorporated it in a session I had with one of my regular boys. His name's Jamie, he's 19, blond and hunky, and he visits often because we both share a slightly unusual and interesting turn-on which I've christened 'Hand-Rape'. The idea's very simple, and takes the form of a contest: I have to make him cum in his jeans, and he has to stop me. He's been into jeans for a long time, and knows that tight, clinging, bulging faded jeans are one of my biggest fetishes.

It began as it always does - he arrived, and I made some tea. We sat in the living room, facing each other, and chatted. As usual, the talk started off about very general things, and an observer would have had no idea that there was a subtext to the scene at all. He was wearing a tight tee-shirt, bike boots (like me, he's a biker), and tight, well-worn, faded stretch jeans with the knees out. I knew the only thing he'd got on underneath them was a cock ring, and the bulge between his legs was mouth-watering. As he sat there, he occasionally played with his crotch, lightly running his fingers over the cock-bulge and his thighs. It seemed an unconscious activity, but we both knew exactly what he was doing.

I love being prickteased. There are very few things that turn me on more than a hunky guy who knows my incapacitating weakness for tight, bulging jeans, and uses them to press my buttons and get me horny. Jamie is a past master at this. As we chatted, he'd slowly open his knees wide, stretching the jeans tight along the insides of his thighs, and then slowly close them until his thighs were squeezed together, pushing his cock-bulge up between his legs and making little creases run into the sides of his crotch, accentuating his bulge even more. At this point he'd often scratch a single fingernail lightly across the tip of his cock, knowing that my own cock is hypersensitive at the end, and that I would be imagining what it felt like as I watched him do it. The bastard would even make his cock jerk under his jeans.

While this was going on, we'd be chatting about anything and everything - but gradually he'd steer the conversation round to tight jeans. He'd tell me about a friend he'd given a lift to on the bike, and who'd reached round his waist and tossed him off in his jeans while they were travelling along - or about a new pair of skintight Levis he bought yesterday - etc. But whatever it was about, there would be detailed, colourful descriptions of tight jeans, what the denim felt like rubbing across his cock, how he loved to make himself cream his tightest jeans while standing in front of a mirror - about a boy in the tightest jeans he'd ever seen, who was down at the bike club yesterday - you get the idea.

All this was very carefully planned. While he sat there drinking tea, talking about my biggest fetish, and prickteasing me with his tight, sexy jeans while I watched, he knew I was helplessly getting harder and harder by the minute. He knew exacly what he was doing to me, and it was completely intentional. He could see that I was already having difficulty keeping my hands off him, and upped the stakes immediately.

Until now, his prickteasing had been unmentioned, nonchalent, sort of running parallel to our conversation - but now he dropped all pretence and went in for the kill. He used both hands, running his fingers up and down his thighs, across his balls, framing the bulge between his thumbs and fingers, and squeezing so that the steel-hard rod of his cock stretched the elastic denim out into a clearly-outlined sausage-shaped protuberance which stood out from his body so far that if I'd gripped it, my fingers would almost have met behind it. He pointed out the darker blue spot of precum on the tip, and smiled sexily as he teasingly dragged a fingernail back and forth across the spot, telling me how good that felt and how close to creaming his jeans he was.

As he'd intended, this was too much for me. There was just one thing on my mind at that point - I wanted to punish the bastard for using my biggest weakness against me like that - I wanted to make him cum in his jeans. I jumped up and told him to follow me upstairs. By the unspoken rules of our game he had to obey, and I led the way into my bondage room.

I gagged him (another of his fetishes), then pushed him down onto the large vinyl-covered mattress, face up, in a spread-eagle position. I quickly strapped leather cuffs onto his wrists and clipped them to the 3 ft chain which was fastened to the wall beyond his head. That was the only restraint I was going to put him in - I wanted him to be able to struggle as he tried to stop me milking him. Again, as per our 'rules', he put up no resistance until I'd got him tied up. Once I'd done that, however, we both knew there were no more rules - I was going to do to him whatever was necessary to force him to cum in his jeans, and he was going to stop me tossing him off. The contest of wills had begun.

Normally, I would have blindfolded him as well, as being unable to see exactly where I was or where my hands were makes it much more difficult for him to resist - but this time I'd got something different planned for him and I wanted him to see the results. (In fact I'd placed mirrors in strategic positions so he'd have a good view from lots of angles). The mattress is covered with black vinyl, and the bondage room floor is rubber - and is totally watertight - so I had no worries about my next actions.

I'd previously hidden three two-gallon cans of cold water in the room, and now I got them out. His expression when he saw them was one of confusion - but that soon changed as I removed his bike boots and then emptied the first can over him. Using two of the cans, I soaked his jeans and teeshirt from top to bottom. There was water everywhere, and he was lying in a big pool of it, where it had gathered in the depression in the mattress. the day had been hot, and so he wasn't going to catch a chill, and the feeling of the cold water on his jeans got him steel-hard again in seconds. He looked around, first in one mirror then another (there's a mirror on the ceiling as well), and I could see that the sight of his skin-tight jeans, now wet and shiny and clinging tighter than they had ever done, was turning him on like crazy. I smiled wickedly at him, knowing he was so horny now that it was going to be much more difficult than usual for him to hold out against me. His expression told me that he understood that perfectly, but that there was still no way I was gonna make him cum against his will.

He was lying straight, his legs bent at the knees, the soles of his feet flat on the mattress. I knelt down, my waders and thick rubber jeans protecting me from the water, and grabbed his cock through his jeans with my right hand. I got a good few strokes in, the soaking denim squishing and squelching under my fingers, before he threw himself away from me, lying on his left side and curling up into a ball so I couldn't get to his horny teenage dick. Immediately I followed him, stroking and teasing the insides of his thighs from behind and running my other hand over his shiny, denim covered arse. He flipped over to face me and kicked out with his legs, but I was ready for him. As his legs straightened, I got them between mine and locked my ankles. I forced my right hand between his thighs, just above the knees, and slowly moved it upwards towards his crotch. He squeezed his eyes shut with the effort of trying to press his legs together tight enough to stop my hand from moving, but it is a happy fact that this is impossible to do. My hand slid slowly up between his soaking wet thighs, heading for his cock, which was stretching the front of the shiny jeans out like a flagpole. I could have easily gripped it with my free hand and milked him there and then - and there would have been nothing he could have done about it - but I wanted him to be much hornier than this before I brought him off.

The fingers of my right hand were now touching his perineum, and I moved them up until they were tickling his balls. His violent reaction reminded me that he is excruciatingly ticklish - and especially so at the very tops of his thighs, at the sides of his balls. This was too good an opportunity to miss, so I pushed my fingers deep into the crevices there and tickled him mercilessly. He convulsed, laughing hysterically through the gag, his body no longer under his control, and as my fingers squeezed his upper thigh and tickled at the side and behind his balls it was all I could do to hold him down. He was shaking his head from side to side and desperately trying to get my hand out from between his legs. Then, with one superhuman effort, he managed to kick so violently that my ankles came unlocked and he got away from me. I chuckled - he wasn't going far.

I reached around him and clamped my hand over his eyes, blindfolding him and immobilising his head, then found the shaft of his cock with my free hand and started tossing him off again. I could feel his dick throbbing and jerking under my hand, sliding around inside his wet jeans as I rubbed the end of it. He pushed himself backwards and fell half on top of me, straining to get away from my fingers. Very slowly, he was managing to slide sideways away from me, but during the time it took for him to slide out of my reach, my right hand was working on his cock, getting him nearer and nearer to orgasm.

I decided he needed more water to get him hornier. I got the final can - it had a tap at the bottom, to which was connected a long rubber tube. I hung the can from an overhead chain. Jamie was lying face up, his knees wide apart, watching me. I dived on him and, before he could stop me, pushed the end of the tube down the waistband of his jeans. The tightness of his jeans held the tube firmly in place, and I turned on the tap. Now there was nothing he could do to stop the cold water running out directly onto his cock and balls. The denim began to shine and glisten as the water soaked through, and I grabbed his cock again, jerking him off. He fell sideways, struggling like crazy - but I had him. My left hand was already on his cock, and now I forced my right hand between his thighs from behind and onto his balls. He instantly clamped his thighs together, but it was too late - there was no way he could get my hands off him. He struggled and threw himself about, and I let him - following him wherever he moved, tossing him off all the time. My hands slid over the slippery denim, the water lubricating the jeans on the inside as well, and now I had a really good grip on his cock. I played with it mercilessly - teasing it and tickling his wet balls at the same time.

I knew from my own experience wearing soaking wet, tight jeans exactly what they were doing to him - how the cold, slippery, shiny denim was clinging wetly to his thighs, how the water felt running down inside over his balls and cock, and how fingers felt, gripping and jerking that horny cock off through the tight jeans. I knew he couldn't last much longer. He fought with all his strength, determined not to let me win, but wherever he moved the water followed him, running down between his legs, and my fingers rubbed up and down the shaft of his cock, getting him closer and closer to the point of no return. It was a real wrestling match - but his arms were tied over his head, making him helpless to protect himself as my hands slid over the wet jeans, tossing him off. A line from 'Star Trek' came to my mind, when the Borg said 'resisitance is useless...' - and it was. He did everything he possibly could to stop me making him cum, but I was raping that boy in his skin-tight, soaking wet jeans and there was othing he could do to stop me.

With a scream of frustration, he arched his back and his cock began to jerk rhythmically under the denim. With a smile of victory I felt a new warmth and slipperyness beneath my fingers as his hot spunk squirted out helplessly into his jeans. There was no question - I would have easily made him cum eventually anyway, but those tight, clinging wet jeans had made it impossible for him to hold out as long as he otherwise would have done. Between us, those jeans and I had raped that 19-year old boy and milked his spunk out of him in spite of everything he could do to stop us.

Afterwards, when I'd turned the tap off and removed the gag, and he lay there exhausted, with his spunk running down over his thighs and balls, he smiled at me and said, "you fucking bastard - you knew I wouldn't stand a chance against that."

I just nodded and smiled back - I was thinking of other ways to rape him next time.

I must fix restraint points on the bath.


The End