I had just turned eighteen, and I thought I was ready to be out on my own. My folks were worried about me moving so far away to go to college, but I'd scored the scholarship and they really couldn't say much about it. It wasn't every day that you got a chance to move to another city and get out of your parents' house.
Oh, it hadn't been so bad, but there was no privacy. It made it hard to have a steady girlfriend, or at least steady pussy, when your door had no lock and your mom or dad walked in on you all the time. I'd had a few girls in the back seat of my dad's car, but they were few and far between. I was looking forward to having an apartment where I could have a little freedom.
Sure, it meant having a roommate -- the scholarship wasn't paying that much for housing -- but at least it wasn't a regulated dorm. I figured I could work things out with whoever I rented with, and have my privacy.
That's where I was so wrong. I didn't know jack or shit about how things could be, and I didn't know that there were guys out there just waiting for an opportunity like me to come along. A young man, alone, far from home, naïve and vulnerable... that was me; a victim waiting to happen. That's how Sam found me.
Sam was an older guy who was looking for a roommate. The place wasn't too far from the college and the apartment was huge -- the biggest I'd seen the whole time I was looking. He seemed nice, too. He worked late hours at an office building in town, so we'd hardly ever see each other. I signed the lease about an hour after I saw the place, and my stuff was moved in that night.
The first few days were fine. Sam was always out, working or at the bar with his buddies or something. I settled into my classes all right, started meeting people. It only started getting weird towards the end of the week. Sam was around a little more, kept asking me how things were going, if I was making friends and meeting people.
He was somehow always there when I was getting out of the shower, wearing only a towel. I thought it was odd that he kept looking at me; most guys would have gotten embarrassed and looked away.
Oh, man, if I had only known then what I know now!
I mean, I knew I was all right to look at. I didn't get an athletic scholarship by being out of shape; hell, I was cut. I guess the tan didn't hurt, either. My face was kind of plain, I suppose, but I tried to keep my hair nice. Sam did everything but lick his lips, watching me coming out of the bathroom dripping wet.
I had planned on going to a "welcome to school" party that Friday night; maybe hang out with some people that weekend. I didn't have any Friday classes, so I woke up late that morning and had my shower. Sam was nowhere to be found; I figured he had work that day. He left me some orange juice in the fridge, which I thought was nice of him. I don't know what he put in it, but I think I passed out about ten minutes after I drank it.
When I woke up, I knew I was in some serious trouble. I couldn't see, and my head felt tight. It didn't take a college degree to figure out it was a blindfold. That went with the fact that my arms were up high and tight over my head and my legs were wide apart. I was blindfolded and tied down on my back on something soft. It didn't quite feel like a bed. It smelled musty and dank, and I was cold all over. No clothes -- I'd been stripped while I was unconscious.
My moving must have let Sam know I was awake. I felt a hand on my knee, but there was nothing I could do to get away from it.
"What... what the fuck?" I yelled. "Let me go! Who are you? What the FUCK is going on?"
"Oh, Jim, you know it's me," said Sam. "Go ahead and yell a little louder. No one can hear you here."
His hand moved from my knee to my inner thigh, and this was super bad. I'd heard about guys doing it with other guys -- hell, who hasn't, these days?
But I never figured anything like that would ever happen to me. The way his fingertips sent tingles all the way through me, though... that was weird and bad all at the same time. I didn't like that it was making my cock swell, either.
"Yeah, you like this... I knew you would," he said, as his hand slid higher. No doubt he could see my cock getting stiff as he teased me.
"No! Don't touch me! Stop this... come on, stop, please?"
Here's the thing -- I wanted to tell him that I would kill him if he kept on going. Two things stopped me, though. One; I was tied down and blindfolded. He could have had a knife or a gun or a harpoon or something, just waiting to fuck me up if I got too uppity. I was helpless and I was scared.
Two; it was starting to feel really good, and I was confused.
Then his fingers were caressing my scrotum, and I moaned. "Yeah, that's it. You're all like this. You yell and scream and when I get my hands down there, you can't get enough."
He was gently scratching his fingernails across my ballsack and slowly rolling my nuts around, and it felt fucking awesome. The strain in my arms and legs kind of faded as he played with my balls, nice and slow, like no chick had ever touched me.
"Sam, please, don't do this," I said. "I'm not like this; I don't do it with guys. Come on, please, stop..."
Then his other hand was wrapping around my hardening cock, and he was stroking me and playing with my nuts. Oh, fuck, it was slow... so slow.
"Sure, Jim, I'll stop," he said. "In a minute, I'll stop. If you don't start fucking my hand, I'll stop and let you go right away, in just a minute."
"No, don't," I said, but he just kept up that hot, slow stroking. He gripped it just tight enough that the skin would slide back and forth in his hand and the pad of his thumb was teasing that sensitive spot right beneath the head of my dick.
