Jack Mills and the Tomb of Baldur Bjornson (M+/M+) [conclusion posted 4-11-21]
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Muscle-Flex
- Forum Contributer
- Posts: 61
- Joined: 3 years ago
- Location: USA
Who doesn’t love a good adventure tale? Jack Mills suits me just fine. Interesting twists with the mysterious villains from Oz (loved the pink van!) and Jack’s connection to an ancient Babylonian goddess. Looking forward to how that comes into play. And now for their delectable, I mean, detestable, enslavement by a group of off-the-grid eccentrics! Can’t wait to see what happens next. Oh, and the connection to your story “A Viking’s Prize” has me intrigued. I am now reading that so I know about the character whose tomb has been found.
It's been a while (life has a way of interrupting plans), but here is the next chapter.
Part 5 – Enslaved
The trial was a complete farce. I pretty much expected it to be, though. The “charges” were read, but we were given no chances to defend ourselves. As soon as I tried to protest our innocence, someone grabbed me by the hair and pulled my head back, stuffing a dirty rag in my mouth and tying it behind my head. Jack was gagged, too, for good measure, even though he didn’t say anything.
After or unanimous “conviction,” our clothes were cut off us with bowie knives while we hung in the stocks. Exposed and vulnerable, we were left there for the residents to gawk at for a while. Being hung out on display was humiliating enough, but doing so completely naked was even worse. After an hour or two of shame, we were grabbed and released from the stocks, but held tight as collars were buckled around our necks and locked with metal padlocks. I could feel small prongs sticking into my neck. Shock collars. Of course. Ratty flannel pants and worn-out shoes were tossed in our directions.
As soon as I was released, I grabbed them and dressed, seeking any way to cover my nakedness. Jack seemed more nonplussed. Nothing seemed to phase him, apparently. Maybe this, too, was something he’d experienced before. Besides, he had little to be embarrassed about, if you catch my meaning. Once dressed, we were shoved towards a rock pile and told to get to work. I started to remove the gag, but got a whack from a billy club for my troubles. “Leave that in until told otherwise, slave,” I was told. With no other options, I got to work.
I’m hardly a physical powerhouse, so the rest of the day was agonizing and long. Jack seemed to have little trouble. But of course he didn’t. He had an odd expression on his face the whole day, but being gagged as we were, I had no ability to ask him about it. The gag soaked up all the moisture in my mouth as the day went on, leaving my throat painfully dry all day. And we didn’t get any water breaks as we worked. When the sun eventually went down and we were finally released from labor, we were finally allowed to take the gags out. But there was no time to talk as all the slaves were herded together and marched into a sturdy building with no windows. This was apparently the slave barracks. We were shoved inside and heard the heavy lock being closed from the outside. My entire body ached from the strain of the day’s work.
I was exhausted, so Jack found an unclaimed bunk and told me to get some sleep. He went over to a man about his age who was standing near a boy a year or two younger than me. They started talking, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. My guess was that Jack was getting the rundown of our situation and learning the “rules.” Filled with dread, I laid down on the stiff bunk and immediately drifted off to sleep.
It was hot. And extremely humid. But it wasn’t supposed to be. Not in the climate and season we were in. I sat up in bed as sweat cascaded off my forehead. I didn’t recognize the room. It wasn’t the wooden stockade building I went to sleep in, but instead had stone walls. The bunks were gone and I was laying on a straw mat on the floor. I didn’t see Jack anywhere. Did they move us in the night while I was out? But why the temperature change? What was going on?
I sat up in the darkness and looked around. As my eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light and I could see better, I realized that I didn’t recognize any of the other men in the room. I looked down at myself and saw a now-familiar brand on my broad bare chest. I was in Jack’s dream-body again. Once the disorientation faded I started looking around and listening. At first all I heard was the sleeping and moaning of the other prisoners, but then I heard the sound of soft voices nearby.
Outside the cell door I heard two men approaching and talking. It was in a language I couldn’t place, but then I felt a slight buzzing in my head and their speech became clear to me. I could understand them completely! Was this how Nishaba’s gift worked? I stealthily crept up to the door and listened through the crack at the bottom.
“Are we sure that he is the one?”
“Yes, he sent a picture. It’s a perfect match.”
“And how much money is the American sending for him?”
“That I do not know. But it’s sizeable. Enough to fund our revolution for some time to come.”
“Excellent. Let’s get him secured and ready for delivery. From what I hear the American is quite impatient.”
I heard the jangling of keys in the door lock. At that point I felt myself losing control of my body again. My movements seemed to be on autopilot as I grabbed a chamber pot and slunk into the corner, crouching in the shadows near the door. When the door opened, I would be behind it, hidden from the guards’ view. With baited breath, I waited for them to enter the room and close the door behind them.
As soon as both were in the room, I lept from the shadows like a tiger. I raised the pot and brought it down hard on the head of the first guard. Ceramic shards (among other things) rained down as the guard slumped to the floor unconscious. Before the second guard could make a sound I was on him. He tried to grab his gun, but I swatted it away. Stirred by the sound of combat, the other prisoners were slowly awakening.
The lone guard tried to shout for help, but I dove at him and tackled him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. As we struggled, I saw some of the other prisoners descend on the unconscious guard nearby. They grabbed the handcuffs from his belt and secured him with them. One took the sweaty rag from around the man’s neck and gagged him with it while another recovered his gun. Other prisoners joined me in the fray and within a few seconds we had grabbed the other guard, holding him tightly with hands clamped over his mouth to prevent him from crying out for aid.
I stood up and dusted myself off, rubbing my face. The guard had landed a good blow that would leave a nice shiner. Prisoners swarmed me, patting me on the back and congratulating me. I saw one of them searching the man’s pockets and retrieving the keys to the cell door.
“Wait,” I said in Jack’s rich baritone. “We’ll need those uniforms.” The crowd quickly gagged the captive guard with another sweatrag and began stripping him, as well as his unconscious partner. Just then I felt a slight vibration in the air. The scene began to spin and drift out of focus. My head reeled and an instant later I was back in the wooden barracks, but the scene was quite different from when I went to sleep.
Jack was happily patting me on the back as the man he was speaking to before held one of the Sovereign Citizens in a tight armlock. The younger man with him was gagging the captive with a Confederate flag bandana fished out of the man’s back jeans pocket. A short distance away, a group of prisoners was holding down another of our captors.
“You did good job,” Jack congratulated. “But, then again, I knew you would.”
I looked around in amazement. “I did this?” I said, incredulous.
“Yeah,” the younger man said after he finished gagging the guard. “When the door opened you jumped out of bed from a dead sleep like a ninja and kicked both of their asses! I never saw anything like it!” He fished the keys out of the guard’s pocket and undid the shock collar from his throat. Then he passed the keys to Jack, who removed his collar before passing them to me. The other guard’s keys were being passed around the rest of the group.
After removing my collar, I rubbed my face, feeling the tender skin where a bruise was forming. “I… I heard them talking about…”
“About how they were getting paid for handing me over to someone?” Jack said. “Yeah, we heard it, too.” He indicated the man holding the conscious guard. “Anthony and I were going to try something, but you beat us to the punch.” Jack chuckled at the pun. I tried to roll my eyes, but it hurt too much.
“So now what do we do?” I asked.
“There’s a truck in the yard,” Jack said. “I saw it while we were in the stocks. It should be able to hold all of us.”
Anthony, the man Jack had been talking to before, said, “At this time of night, only two guards are awake inside, plus the two in the tower. If we’re quiet, we can get everyone loaded without waking up the rest of the compound. We’ve got these two under control. We just need someone to take out the two upstairs and open the gate and then we’re home free.”
Jack looked at me “I think that’s be a job for you and Zach over here.” He indicated the younger man from the previous night. “You’re the right size to fit in the guard’s clothes. In the dark, no one would be able to tell the difference. Do you think you can handle it?”
Zach grinned. “Shit yeah,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to stick it to these sick redneck fucks.”
“I… I think so,” I said.
“You two will be on your own,” Jack said. “My attention will be focused on getting everyone in here to safety so I won’t be able to ‘help’ you, if you catch my drift. But I think I’ve shown you enough already to get the job done.”
“I understand,” I said. “Yeah. We can do it.”
“Great!” Jack said. He addressed the other prisoners in a stage whisper. “We need to get these two stripped and secured. We need them out of the way and silent so they can’t alert the others until we’re gone. Zack and Sean will get the gate open while we all get into the truck. Once they’re successful, we’re outta here.”
There were excited whispers as the group descended on the two captive guards. They were quickly stripped bare and dragged over to the central support pole of the room. Each was shoved with his back against the pole and his hands were secured behind it with heavy-duty cable ties. Then each was gagged with their own underwear. Two of the shock collars were tightly buckled around their necks. “How do you like it, you redneck assholes?” Anthony taunted, holding his finger tantalizingly over the button on the confiscated control unit.
With a devilish grin, he tapped the button, sending a jolt through the collars. The two guard convulsed a little before Anthony released the button. “From what you two have done to me and mine, I should fry you both,” he grunted. “But I’m not an animal like you. Let that serve as a warning. If I hear a peep out of either of you I turn the juice up to 11. You got it?” The guards grunted and nodded. They would be no more trouble to us.
While that was going on, Zach and I got dressed in the guard’s clothes. They fit fine, but I felt like a fool in them. I was wearing dirty work boots, jeans with a white ring worn through the fabric of the back pocket, a black t-shirt with some sort of obnoxious redneck graphic on it (I didn’t care to take a closer inspection) and an unbuttoned sleeveless red flannel shirt over it. Zach was dressed similarly. I shook my head, but Jack just chuckled and said, “Yee haw, it’s dem Duke Boys!” Anthony and Zach laughed, but I just winced.
“Can we just get this overwith?” I groaned.
Jack patted me on the back again and then went over to the captive guards. “That ought to hold them,” Jack said, inspecting the bindings. “Now it’s all up to you two.”
I looked at myself. Dirty jeans and flannels were definitely not my usual style, but it would have to do. I put a beat-up camo baseball cap on my head and lowered the brim over my eyes to hide my face. “We got this,” I said, “don’t worry. As soon as you see the gate open, you gun it.”
Jack nodded solemnly. “You got it,” he said. He had an odd look on his face. Like he was impressed that I was taking charge. I felt a surge of confidence.
Anthony went over to Zack and gave him a hug. “You be careful, too.”
“I will, dad,” Anthony said. “Besides, I’m going with the ninja! We’ll be fine.”
Anthony didn’t seem too convinced, but nodded and let his son go. Our former captors squirmed and grunted from their positions against the pole. Several prisoners had been looming over them with broken chair legs and other blunt objects. Anthony ran over to diffuse the situation.
“I know everyone wants payback for what they’ve done to us, but there isn’t time for that,” he said. “We gotta move if we’re going to get out of here. Now here’s the plan…” Anthony guided the group away from the writing guards. Jack looked at me and nodded, then Zack and I slipped out the door and made our way across the yard to the guard tower.
Coming Soon: Part 6 – The Daring Escape
Part 5 – Enslaved
The trial was a complete farce. I pretty much expected it to be, though. The “charges” were read, but we were given no chances to defend ourselves. As soon as I tried to protest our innocence, someone grabbed me by the hair and pulled my head back, stuffing a dirty rag in my mouth and tying it behind my head. Jack was gagged, too, for good measure, even though he didn’t say anything.
After or unanimous “conviction,” our clothes were cut off us with bowie knives while we hung in the stocks. Exposed and vulnerable, we were left there for the residents to gawk at for a while. Being hung out on display was humiliating enough, but doing so completely naked was even worse. After an hour or two of shame, we were grabbed and released from the stocks, but held tight as collars were buckled around our necks and locked with metal padlocks. I could feel small prongs sticking into my neck. Shock collars. Of course. Ratty flannel pants and worn-out shoes were tossed in our directions.
As soon as I was released, I grabbed them and dressed, seeking any way to cover my nakedness. Jack seemed more nonplussed. Nothing seemed to phase him, apparently. Maybe this, too, was something he’d experienced before. Besides, he had little to be embarrassed about, if you catch my meaning. Once dressed, we were shoved towards a rock pile and told to get to work. I started to remove the gag, but got a whack from a billy club for my troubles. “Leave that in until told otherwise, slave,” I was told. With no other options, I got to work.
I’m hardly a physical powerhouse, so the rest of the day was agonizing and long. Jack seemed to have little trouble. But of course he didn’t. He had an odd expression on his face the whole day, but being gagged as we were, I had no ability to ask him about it. The gag soaked up all the moisture in my mouth as the day went on, leaving my throat painfully dry all day. And we didn’t get any water breaks as we worked. When the sun eventually went down and we were finally released from labor, we were finally allowed to take the gags out. But there was no time to talk as all the slaves were herded together and marched into a sturdy building with no windows. This was apparently the slave barracks. We were shoved inside and heard the heavy lock being closed from the outside. My entire body ached from the strain of the day’s work.
I was exhausted, so Jack found an unclaimed bunk and told me to get some sleep. He went over to a man about his age who was standing near a boy a year or two younger than me. They started talking, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. My guess was that Jack was getting the rundown of our situation and learning the “rules.” Filled with dread, I laid down on the stiff bunk and immediately drifted off to sleep.
It was hot. And extremely humid. But it wasn’t supposed to be. Not in the climate and season we were in. I sat up in bed as sweat cascaded off my forehead. I didn’t recognize the room. It wasn’t the wooden stockade building I went to sleep in, but instead had stone walls. The bunks were gone and I was laying on a straw mat on the floor. I didn’t see Jack anywhere. Did they move us in the night while I was out? But why the temperature change? What was going on?
I sat up in the darkness and looked around. As my eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light and I could see better, I realized that I didn’t recognize any of the other men in the room. I looked down at myself and saw a now-familiar brand on my broad bare chest. I was in Jack’s dream-body again. Once the disorientation faded I started looking around and listening. At first all I heard was the sleeping and moaning of the other prisoners, but then I heard the sound of soft voices nearby.
Outside the cell door I heard two men approaching and talking. It was in a language I couldn’t place, but then I felt a slight buzzing in my head and their speech became clear to me. I could understand them completely! Was this how Nishaba’s gift worked? I stealthily crept up to the door and listened through the crack at the bottom.
“Are we sure that he is the one?”
“Yes, he sent a picture. It’s a perfect match.”
“And how much money is the American sending for him?”
“That I do not know. But it’s sizeable. Enough to fund our revolution for some time to come.”
“Excellent. Let’s get him secured and ready for delivery. From what I hear the American is quite impatient.”
I heard the jangling of keys in the door lock. At that point I felt myself losing control of my body again. My movements seemed to be on autopilot as I grabbed a chamber pot and slunk into the corner, crouching in the shadows near the door. When the door opened, I would be behind it, hidden from the guards’ view. With baited breath, I waited for them to enter the room and close the door behind them.
As soon as both were in the room, I lept from the shadows like a tiger. I raised the pot and brought it down hard on the head of the first guard. Ceramic shards (among other things) rained down as the guard slumped to the floor unconscious. Before the second guard could make a sound I was on him. He tried to grab his gun, but I swatted it away. Stirred by the sound of combat, the other prisoners were slowly awakening.
The lone guard tried to shout for help, but I dove at him and tackled him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. As we struggled, I saw some of the other prisoners descend on the unconscious guard nearby. They grabbed the handcuffs from his belt and secured him with them. One took the sweaty rag from around the man’s neck and gagged him with it while another recovered his gun. Other prisoners joined me in the fray and within a few seconds we had grabbed the other guard, holding him tightly with hands clamped over his mouth to prevent him from crying out for aid.
I stood up and dusted myself off, rubbing my face. The guard had landed a good blow that would leave a nice shiner. Prisoners swarmed me, patting me on the back and congratulating me. I saw one of them searching the man’s pockets and retrieving the keys to the cell door.
“Wait,” I said in Jack’s rich baritone. “We’ll need those uniforms.” The crowd quickly gagged the captive guard with another sweatrag and began stripping him, as well as his unconscious partner. Just then I felt a slight vibration in the air. The scene began to spin and drift out of focus. My head reeled and an instant later I was back in the wooden barracks, but the scene was quite different from when I went to sleep.
Jack was happily patting me on the back as the man he was speaking to before held one of the Sovereign Citizens in a tight armlock. The younger man with him was gagging the captive with a Confederate flag bandana fished out of the man’s back jeans pocket. A short distance away, a group of prisoners was holding down another of our captors.
“You did good job,” Jack congratulated. “But, then again, I knew you would.”
I looked around in amazement. “I did this?” I said, incredulous.
“Yeah,” the younger man said after he finished gagging the guard. “When the door opened you jumped out of bed from a dead sleep like a ninja and kicked both of their asses! I never saw anything like it!” He fished the keys out of the guard’s pocket and undid the shock collar from his throat. Then he passed the keys to Jack, who removed his collar before passing them to me. The other guard’s keys were being passed around the rest of the group.
After removing my collar, I rubbed my face, feeling the tender skin where a bruise was forming. “I… I heard them talking about…”
“About how they were getting paid for handing me over to someone?” Jack said. “Yeah, we heard it, too.” He indicated the man holding the conscious guard. “Anthony and I were going to try something, but you beat us to the punch.” Jack chuckled at the pun. I tried to roll my eyes, but it hurt too much.
“So now what do we do?” I asked.
“There’s a truck in the yard,” Jack said. “I saw it while we were in the stocks. It should be able to hold all of us.”
Anthony, the man Jack had been talking to before, said, “At this time of night, only two guards are awake inside, plus the two in the tower. If we’re quiet, we can get everyone loaded without waking up the rest of the compound. We’ve got these two under control. We just need someone to take out the two upstairs and open the gate and then we’re home free.”
Jack looked at me “I think that’s be a job for you and Zach over here.” He indicated the younger man from the previous night. “You’re the right size to fit in the guard’s clothes. In the dark, no one would be able to tell the difference. Do you think you can handle it?”
Zach grinned. “Shit yeah,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to stick it to these sick redneck fucks.”
“I… I think so,” I said.
“You two will be on your own,” Jack said. “My attention will be focused on getting everyone in here to safety so I won’t be able to ‘help’ you, if you catch my drift. But I think I’ve shown you enough already to get the job done.”
“I understand,” I said. “Yeah. We can do it.”
“Great!” Jack said. He addressed the other prisoners in a stage whisper. “We need to get these two stripped and secured. We need them out of the way and silent so they can’t alert the others until we’re gone. Zack and Sean will get the gate open while we all get into the truck. Once they’re successful, we’re outta here.”
There were excited whispers as the group descended on the two captive guards. They were quickly stripped bare and dragged over to the central support pole of the room. Each was shoved with his back against the pole and his hands were secured behind it with heavy-duty cable ties. Then each was gagged with their own underwear. Two of the shock collars were tightly buckled around their necks. “How do you like it, you redneck assholes?” Anthony taunted, holding his finger tantalizingly over the button on the confiscated control unit.
With a devilish grin, he tapped the button, sending a jolt through the collars. The two guard convulsed a little before Anthony released the button. “From what you two have done to me and mine, I should fry you both,” he grunted. “But I’m not an animal like you. Let that serve as a warning. If I hear a peep out of either of you I turn the juice up to 11. You got it?” The guards grunted and nodded. They would be no more trouble to us.
While that was going on, Zach and I got dressed in the guard’s clothes. They fit fine, but I felt like a fool in them. I was wearing dirty work boots, jeans with a white ring worn through the fabric of the back pocket, a black t-shirt with some sort of obnoxious redneck graphic on it (I didn’t care to take a closer inspection) and an unbuttoned sleeveless red flannel shirt over it. Zach was dressed similarly. I shook my head, but Jack just chuckled and said, “Yee haw, it’s dem Duke Boys!” Anthony and Zach laughed, but I just winced.
“Can we just get this overwith?” I groaned.
Jack patted me on the back again and then went over to the captive guards. “That ought to hold them,” Jack said, inspecting the bindings. “Now it’s all up to you two.”
I looked at myself. Dirty jeans and flannels were definitely not my usual style, but it would have to do. I put a beat-up camo baseball cap on my head and lowered the brim over my eyes to hide my face. “We got this,” I said, “don’t worry. As soon as you see the gate open, you gun it.”
Jack nodded solemnly. “You got it,” he said. He had an odd look on his face. Like he was impressed that I was taking charge. I felt a surge of confidence.
Anthony went over to Zack and gave him a hug. “You be careful, too.”
“I will, dad,” Anthony said. “Besides, I’m going with the ninja! We’ll be fine.”
Anthony didn’t seem too convinced, but nodded and let his son go. Our former captors squirmed and grunted from their positions against the pole. Several prisoners had been looming over them with broken chair legs and other blunt objects. Anthony ran over to diffuse the situation.
“I know everyone wants payback for what they’ve done to us, but there isn’t time for that,” he said. “We gotta move if we’re going to get out of here. Now here’s the plan…” Anthony guided the group away from the writing guards. Jack looked at me and nodded, then Zack and I slipped out the door and made our way across the yard to the guard tower.
Coming Soon: Part 6 – The Daring Escape
Oooh, that was really cool! I wonder if Jack intentionally possessed Sean or if there's some magic shenanigans at work here... either way, I'm excited!
Part 6 – The Daring Escape
I kept checking over my shoulder as we moved through the darkened square towards the tower. Zack kept assuring me that no one else was awake at this hour, but I was totally out of my league here and was filled with all kinds of paranoid delusions of armed rednecks swarming us from the cabins at any moment. Jack was trusting me to get this done, though, and I couldn’t let him down, so I steeled myself and kept moving. It was tough trying to act casual as we walked towards the tower. But it was necessary. If one of the sentries happened to look down and see us, we had to pretend that we were our captive guards and not arouse their suspicions.
Behind us, Jack moved through the darkness towards the truck. He silently undid the latch on the rear door and slowly slid it up, careful not to make any noise that would awaken anyone sleeping nearby. How did he remain so cool during all this? I was close to panic! Once the sliding door was opened, Jack signaled to Anthony and the other prisoners started to slip out of the barracks. Jack helped them one by one up into the rear of the truck. We had to hurry. There’s no telling what would happen to us if we were caught.
I thought I would feel some relief when we got to the tower, but it was exactly the opposite. Now we were committed. No turning back. The tower was a wooden structure about 20 feet tall. It was a single room on top of four sturdy support poles with a wooden ladder leading down to the ground. The ladder ended just outside the door on the wooden walkway that surrounded the perimeter of the wall. Access to the guard room was through a single sturdy door. The nerd in me thought that they must have cut down several 1,000-year-old trees to make that thing. Part of me seethed at that. But I couldn’t let it get to me. I had a mission to accomplish.
Zack got to the ladder first and started to climb, telling me to watch out for anyone randomly being awake before following him. When he was about halfway up, I started climbing. Zack was 19 and a sophomore in college. He and his dad had gone out for a father-son camping trip a few months back and had inadvertently set up their tent on the Sovereign Citizens’ territory. He said there were no signs labeling it as private property, but if this place relied on slave labor that was probably intentional. A way to justify capturing new slaves. He had retained a remarkably positive attitude during this whole ordeal, though. He joked that slavery was better than Calculus 101 any day and that he was getting better exercise here than he did from his gym membership. I was impressed that he could remain so chipper surrounded by all this madness.
When I reached the top of the ladder, Zack helped me up onto the platform. I noticed a slight change in myself. Before this week, a 20-foot ladder climb would have left me winded, but I felt energized. The adrenaline perhaps? Anyway, Zack whispered “OK ninja, we’re here. Now what?”
I thought for a second. “You’ve been here long enough to know their names, right?” I said. Zack nodded. “And you know their procedures?” He nodded again. “Is the door locked?”
“Depends on who’s on guard duty,” Zack said. “It’s always supposed to be, but some of them are lazy fucks and take shortcuts. There’s no bathroom in there, so they have to come out and piss over the side. Some of them leave the door unlocked, especially if they’ve been drinking. We can grab one when he comes out to piss.”
“No time for that,” I said, looking down and seeing the truck half loaded. “We’ll have to hit them hard and fast. I went into computation mode. “The door opens in and the observation window is directly across. They’ll be seated with their backs to us. If the door is locked, we kick it in and charge. The lock doesn’t look too sturdy. If it’s unlocked, we sneak in and hit them from behind. Got it?”
Zack nodded. “You go right, I go left,” I said. I slowly and silently tested the handle. It turned! The door was unlocked! With one last look at Zack, I shoved the door open and lept into the room, Zack right behind.
The two guards were drinking beer and having a conversation and were totally unprepared for us. I dove at my target and grabbed him, then slammed his face down on the table. The impact knocked him for a loop, but he didn’t go down. I cursed under my breath. I had done it exactly the way I had “seen” Jack do it, but I guess I just didn’t have enough strength to make it work. Still, my target was in a daze. Zack was far less elegant. He and his target were rolling around the floor of the room, punching and grabbing each other. He was a plucky kid, but he wouldn’t last long. I had to think fast.
While my target started to rise to his feet in a dizzy haze, I scanned the room for anything that would help. Bingo! A pair of hunting rifles were propped against the wall right near me. As my target started to come around, I snatched up a rifle and gave him a quick one-two with the butt. First in the stomach, then in the face. He went down immediately. I stood for a moment with a rapturous expression on my face. I did it!
“A little help here!” Zack cried, still locked up with his guard.
Snapping back to attention, I aimed the rifle and shouted “Get your hands off him you redneck asshole!” I hoped I was holding the rifle correctly. I had no experience with such things, after all. With a jolt, the man let go of Zack and slid back on his haunches. He slowly raised his hands in surrender. Zack rubbed his face as he got up. The guard had got a good lick in and he’d have quite a shiner tomorrow. After making sure Zack was OK, I looked at our two captives. The man I had taken down was about 40, thick and stocky with a bushy black beard. He looked pretty tough. I was double impressed that I took him down myself, without Jack’s “help.” The other one was young. Around my age. He was skinny, but scrappy. Clean-shaven with a buzzcut hairdo and several crudely done tattoos on his forearms.
I watched his eyes dart to a big red button on the counter under the window. Zack saw it, too, and immediately grabbed the other rifle and interposed himself between the prisoner and the button. “Don’t even think about it, Cletus,” he threatened.
“Is that really his name?” I asked.
“No,” Zack said. “This one’s Colby. But he looks like a Cletus to me, hyuk hyuk.”
Scanning the room, I saw the gate release control nearby, as well as a roll of duct tape. “Well let’s jet Cletus and Jethro here tied up and out of our hair so we can get the hell out of here.” I put the rifle down and grabbed the tape. Zack pushed Colby down with his foot and covered him with the rifle while I got to work.
Now I had never been tied up in my life before this week, so I didn’t have a lot of experience doing this, but I drew on how I had been tied recently and did my best to recreate it. I put Colby’s wrists together behind his back with the backs of his hands touching and the palms out. I figured this would give him less mobility in his arms. I slapped one end of the tape on his wrist and started wrapping it around again and again. With each pass I made the tape band a little wider. I figured it would make it harder to break. After eight or nine passes around his wrists I tore the tape off and did the same to his combat-booted ankles.
“You’re gonna pay for this, slaves,” Colby threatened as he feebly struggled against the tape. “When we catch you you’re gonna get whipped for this! They might even take your balls as punishment!”
Colby’s rant was cut short as Zack backhanded across the mouth. “Shut it, cousinfucker,” Zack said. “Do his mouth, ninja man. I’m getting real tired of hearing his bullshit.”
Nodding, I plastered the tape over Colby’s mouth and encircled his head several times. His cursing and spitting soon turned into muffled grunts as his lips were sealed with the tape. When I was satisfied that he would stay silent, I nodded to Zack, who pushed Colby down onto the floor face-first. Then I went over to his unconscious partner and gave him the same tape treatment. I winced internally at the thought of the adhesive tape coating his beard when I gagged him. That would hurt like a bitch when removed. Whatever. It was no worse than his kind deserved.
While I was finishing up, Zack peeked out the door. “No one’s awake,” he said with relief. “Looks like no one heard the sounds of the fight up here. But it looks like the truck is loaded and ready. We gotta hurry.”
Nodding, I dragged the second guard over to Colby. I had Zack help me place them into a seated position back-to-back, and then used the entire remainder of the tape roll to secure them together. Colby was much smaller than his partner, so he would be able to wriggle out if I didn’t make is doubly secure. When I was done, both of them were wrapped from collarbone to waist in silver tape. Not a centimeter of clothing or skin showed between the sticky bands.
I headed for the gate release and slapped the button with my palm. With a heavy rumble, the gate started to slide sideways in its track. It was making far too much noise. It was going to wake up the entire compound at this rate! I heard the truck start up and thunder to life. Then I heard the shouting. Colby chuckled through his gag, but Zack gave him a quick kick in the ribs to shut him up.
The truck accelerated to cruising speed and I heard dogs barking and angry shouts coming from the darkness all around. Then I heard a few gunshots.
“Shit!” Zack said. “What’re we gonna do? There’s no time to go back down the ladder and get in the truck. If they stop for us, they’ll get caught!”
“Think! Think!” I said in my head. “What would Jack do?” Then I got an idea.
“Cover your face,” I said to Zack as I grabbed a rifle. I aimed the gun at the window and shot. The glass observation window shattered, leaving an open avenue to the outside. I looked at Zack. “Get on the countertop,” I said. “We got one chance at this.”
Zack understood immediately. I slung the rifle over my shoulder and joined him on the table. Below us I could hear the truck rapidly approaching. As it passed under the tower, I grabbed Zach’s hand and said “Here goes nothing.”
We lept through the window together and landed square on the top of the truck with two heavy thuds. I landed square, but Zack didn’t and rolled towards the edge. Instinctively, I dove for him and grabbed his hand before he tumbled off the truck. With a strength I didn’t think possible, I dug in and pulled him back up on top with me.
“Holy shit!” Zack said, panting, as the truck shot through the forest. We had to stay fairly low to avoid branches. “You saved my life!”
I was beaming with pride, but my moment of glory was cut short by the sounds of gunfire and engines coming down the road after us. “We’re not safe yet,” I said, unslinging the rifle. “This is a box truck, not built for speed. They’ll catch up to us before we can get out of the woods.”
“Oh fuck,” Zack said. I could see the headlights from the pursuit vehicles poking through the woods.
“Just stay flat against the roof and keep your head down,” I said with authority. Wait. Was this me talking? Where the hell was THIS coming from? I got down on one knee and aimed the rifle back down the road as the first pursuit truck cleared the treeline. Zack hit the ground as I put the rifle scope to my eye.
“Come n’ get it!” I cried out.
Coming Soon: Part 7 – The Breaking of the Fellowship
I kept checking over my shoulder as we moved through the darkened square towards the tower. Zack kept assuring me that no one else was awake at this hour, but I was totally out of my league here and was filled with all kinds of paranoid delusions of armed rednecks swarming us from the cabins at any moment. Jack was trusting me to get this done, though, and I couldn’t let him down, so I steeled myself and kept moving. It was tough trying to act casual as we walked towards the tower. But it was necessary. If one of the sentries happened to look down and see us, we had to pretend that we were our captive guards and not arouse their suspicions.
Behind us, Jack moved through the darkness towards the truck. He silently undid the latch on the rear door and slowly slid it up, careful not to make any noise that would awaken anyone sleeping nearby. How did he remain so cool during all this? I was close to panic! Once the sliding door was opened, Jack signaled to Anthony and the other prisoners started to slip out of the barracks. Jack helped them one by one up into the rear of the truck. We had to hurry. There’s no telling what would happen to us if we were caught.
I thought I would feel some relief when we got to the tower, but it was exactly the opposite. Now we were committed. No turning back. The tower was a wooden structure about 20 feet tall. It was a single room on top of four sturdy support poles with a wooden ladder leading down to the ground. The ladder ended just outside the door on the wooden walkway that surrounded the perimeter of the wall. Access to the guard room was through a single sturdy door. The nerd in me thought that they must have cut down several 1,000-year-old trees to make that thing. Part of me seethed at that. But I couldn’t let it get to me. I had a mission to accomplish.
Zack got to the ladder first and started to climb, telling me to watch out for anyone randomly being awake before following him. When he was about halfway up, I started climbing. Zack was 19 and a sophomore in college. He and his dad had gone out for a father-son camping trip a few months back and had inadvertently set up their tent on the Sovereign Citizens’ territory. He said there were no signs labeling it as private property, but if this place relied on slave labor that was probably intentional. A way to justify capturing new slaves. He had retained a remarkably positive attitude during this whole ordeal, though. He joked that slavery was better than Calculus 101 any day and that he was getting better exercise here than he did from his gym membership. I was impressed that he could remain so chipper surrounded by all this madness.
When I reached the top of the ladder, Zack helped me up onto the platform. I noticed a slight change in myself. Before this week, a 20-foot ladder climb would have left me winded, but I felt energized. The adrenaline perhaps? Anyway, Zack whispered “OK ninja, we’re here. Now what?”
I thought for a second. “You’ve been here long enough to know their names, right?” I said. Zack nodded. “And you know their procedures?” He nodded again. “Is the door locked?”
“Depends on who’s on guard duty,” Zack said. “It’s always supposed to be, but some of them are lazy fucks and take shortcuts. There’s no bathroom in there, so they have to come out and piss over the side. Some of them leave the door unlocked, especially if they’ve been drinking. We can grab one when he comes out to piss.”
“No time for that,” I said, looking down and seeing the truck half loaded. “We’ll have to hit them hard and fast. I went into computation mode. “The door opens in and the observation window is directly across. They’ll be seated with their backs to us. If the door is locked, we kick it in and charge. The lock doesn’t look too sturdy. If it’s unlocked, we sneak in and hit them from behind. Got it?”
Zack nodded. “You go right, I go left,” I said. I slowly and silently tested the handle. It turned! The door was unlocked! With one last look at Zack, I shoved the door open and lept into the room, Zack right behind.
The two guards were drinking beer and having a conversation and were totally unprepared for us. I dove at my target and grabbed him, then slammed his face down on the table. The impact knocked him for a loop, but he didn’t go down. I cursed under my breath. I had done it exactly the way I had “seen” Jack do it, but I guess I just didn’t have enough strength to make it work. Still, my target was in a daze. Zack was far less elegant. He and his target were rolling around the floor of the room, punching and grabbing each other. He was a plucky kid, but he wouldn’t last long. I had to think fast.
While my target started to rise to his feet in a dizzy haze, I scanned the room for anything that would help. Bingo! A pair of hunting rifles were propped against the wall right near me. As my target started to come around, I snatched up a rifle and gave him a quick one-two with the butt. First in the stomach, then in the face. He went down immediately. I stood for a moment with a rapturous expression on my face. I did it!
“A little help here!” Zack cried, still locked up with his guard.
Snapping back to attention, I aimed the rifle and shouted “Get your hands off him you redneck asshole!” I hoped I was holding the rifle correctly. I had no experience with such things, after all. With a jolt, the man let go of Zack and slid back on his haunches. He slowly raised his hands in surrender. Zack rubbed his face as he got up. The guard had got a good lick in and he’d have quite a shiner tomorrow. After making sure Zack was OK, I looked at our two captives. The man I had taken down was about 40, thick and stocky with a bushy black beard. He looked pretty tough. I was double impressed that I took him down myself, without Jack’s “help.” The other one was young. Around my age. He was skinny, but scrappy. Clean-shaven with a buzzcut hairdo and several crudely done tattoos on his forearms.
I watched his eyes dart to a big red button on the counter under the window. Zack saw it, too, and immediately grabbed the other rifle and interposed himself between the prisoner and the button. “Don’t even think about it, Cletus,” he threatened.
“Is that really his name?” I asked.
“No,” Zack said. “This one’s Colby. But he looks like a Cletus to me, hyuk hyuk.”
Scanning the room, I saw the gate release control nearby, as well as a roll of duct tape. “Well let’s jet Cletus and Jethro here tied up and out of our hair so we can get the hell out of here.” I put the rifle down and grabbed the tape. Zack pushed Colby down with his foot and covered him with the rifle while I got to work.
Now I had never been tied up in my life before this week, so I didn’t have a lot of experience doing this, but I drew on how I had been tied recently and did my best to recreate it. I put Colby’s wrists together behind his back with the backs of his hands touching and the palms out. I figured this would give him less mobility in his arms. I slapped one end of the tape on his wrist and started wrapping it around again and again. With each pass I made the tape band a little wider. I figured it would make it harder to break. After eight or nine passes around his wrists I tore the tape off and did the same to his combat-booted ankles.
“You’re gonna pay for this, slaves,” Colby threatened as he feebly struggled against the tape. “When we catch you you’re gonna get whipped for this! They might even take your balls as punishment!”
Colby’s rant was cut short as Zack backhanded across the mouth. “Shut it, cousinfucker,” Zack said. “Do his mouth, ninja man. I’m getting real tired of hearing his bullshit.”
Nodding, I plastered the tape over Colby’s mouth and encircled his head several times. His cursing and spitting soon turned into muffled grunts as his lips were sealed with the tape. When I was satisfied that he would stay silent, I nodded to Zack, who pushed Colby down onto the floor face-first. Then I went over to his unconscious partner and gave him the same tape treatment. I winced internally at the thought of the adhesive tape coating his beard when I gagged him. That would hurt like a bitch when removed. Whatever. It was no worse than his kind deserved.
While I was finishing up, Zack peeked out the door. “No one’s awake,” he said with relief. “Looks like no one heard the sounds of the fight up here. But it looks like the truck is loaded and ready. We gotta hurry.”
Nodding, I dragged the second guard over to Colby. I had Zack help me place them into a seated position back-to-back, and then used the entire remainder of the tape roll to secure them together. Colby was much smaller than his partner, so he would be able to wriggle out if I didn’t make is doubly secure. When I was done, both of them were wrapped from collarbone to waist in silver tape. Not a centimeter of clothing or skin showed between the sticky bands.
I headed for the gate release and slapped the button with my palm. With a heavy rumble, the gate started to slide sideways in its track. It was making far too much noise. It was going to wake up the entire compound at this rate! I heard the truck start up and thunder to life. Then I heard the shouting. Colby chuckled through his gag, but Zack gave him a quick kick in the ribs to shut him up.
The truck accelerated to cruising speed and I heard dogs barking and angry shouts coming from the darkness all around. Then I heard a few gunshots.
“Shit!” Zack said. “What’re we gonna do? There’s no time to go back down the ladder and get in the truck. If they stop for us, they’ll get caught!”
“Think! Think!” I said in my head. “What would Jack do?” Then I got an idea.
“Cover your face,” I said to Zack as I grabbed a rifle. I aimed the gun at the window and shot. The glass observation window shattered, leaving an open avenue to the outside. I looked at Zack. “Get on the countertop,” I said. “We got one chance at this.”
Zack understood immediately. I slung the rifle over my shoulder and joined him on the table. Below us I could hear the truck rapidly approaching. As it passed under the tower, I grabbed Zach’s hand and said “Here goes nothing.”
We lept through the window together and landed square on the top of the truck with two heavy thuds. I landed square, but Zack didn’t and rolled towards the edge. Instinctively, I dove for him and grabbed his hand before he tumbled off the truck. With a strength I didn’t think possible, I dug in and pulled him back up on top with me.
“Holy shit!” Zack said, panting, as the truck shot through the forest. We had to stay fairly low to avoid branches. “You saved my life!”
I was beaming with pride, but my moment of glory was cut short by the sounds of gunfire and engines coming down the road after us. “We’re not safe yet,” I said, unslinging the rifle. “This is a box truck, not built for speed. They’ll catch up to us before we can get out of the woods.”
“Oh fuck,” Zack said. I could see the headlights from the pursuit vehicles poking through the woods.
“Just stay flat against the roof and keep your head down,” I said with authority. Wait. Was this me talking? Where the hell was THIS coming from? I got down on one knee and aimed the rifle back down the road as the first pursuit truck cleared the treeline. Zack hit the ground as I put the rifle scope to my eye.
“Come n’ get it!” I cried out.
Coming Soon: Part 7 – The Breaking of the Fellowship
[mention]wataru14[/mention] I never know what to expect from a new entry of one of your stories, but it always seems to be something new and exciting! Is Sean maintaining some of the qualities from his semi-possession by Jack? Perhaps he possessed them all along...
Can't wait to see what's next!
Can't wait to see what's next!
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george_bound
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 330
- Joined: 3 years ago
- Location: Ontario, Canada
Well that was fun... nothing like restraining some captives with an exorbitant amount of duct tape, just in case haha 
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KidnappedCowboy
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 971
- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: USA
- Contact:
Just love the big and little "Indiana Jones"-like qualities to this tale! 
Thank you, [mention]wataru14[/mention]
Thank you, [mention]wataru14[/mention]
Part 7 – The Breaking of the Fellowship
As the first truck emerged from the tree cover I took aim and fired. A bullet struck the driver’s side tire and the vehicle skidded off the dirt road into the underbrush. I wondered for a second how I managed to do that. I couldn’t even shoot straight in Call of Duty, let a lone a real gun (which I had never even touched before 10 minutes ago). My reflection was cut short as shots from our pursuers buzzed past my head, snapping me back into focus.
I took aim again. My vision became a series of computations and angles. The physics of the matter became crystal clear. Setting up another shot, I destroyed a tire on the lead vehicle, which spun out, causing the one behind to crash into it. This caused a roadblock that made it impossible for the other vehicles to make it any farther in their pursuit. I dropped prone to avoid the last-minute desperation shots fired at me, and within seconds, our escape vehicle had made it to an access road. The GPS clicked on and we were soon on a straight path to the highway.
Once we were clear of the woods, Jack pulled over and he and Anthony hopped out and helped Zack and me off the roof. “I saw what happened in the rearview mirror,” Jack said, patting me on the back. “Good shootin’, Tex.” I grinned as he ruffled my hair. We all climbed into the truck cab and continued down the road.
“There’s a town nearby,” Anthony said, checking the GPS, “but we shouldn’t stop there. We don’t know if they’re affiliated with the compound in any way. There’s a small city an hour away. We’ll stop there and go to the police.”
Jack agreed. “Drop us off before you get there, though,” he said. “Sean and I have an appointment to keep and police entanglements will only complicate things. The important thing is getting you and everyone else back to your families. Our involvement doesn’t need to be mentioned.”
“Understood,” Anthony said.
After an hour of driving, it was approaching sunrise. We had cleared the city limits and were approaching downtown. “Drop us off here,” Jack said. “We’ll make our own way.”
Anthony pulled over near an alley between two stores. We hopped out and quickly got off the street. Jack wrote down a phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to Anthony. “This is my backup cell phone,” he said. “If you ever need us, just call.” Anthony took it, and after a series of hugs and handshakes, he and Zach got back in the truck and drove off.
Jack and I retreated into the alley. “We have some time before the stores open,” he said. “I need some clothes.” I looked at him, standing half-naked and barefoot on the asphalt. Part of me wanted to say, “Nah, you’re good the way you are,” but I didn’t. “Check the pockets of your pants,” Jack said. “See if there’s a wallet.”
I fished around in the pockets. In the back pocket was an oversized wallet with a Confederate flag embossed on it. I rolled my eyes as I opened it. “There’s some cash in here,” I said. “And a credit card.”
“Good,” Jack said. “They’ll be too busy to worry about cancelling their cards right now. When the stores open, go in and buy us both a change of clothes. Something that will allow us to blend in while I make arrangements.”
We hid behind a dumpster for a few hours until the businesses opened. When it was time I walked around the corner and into the secondhand clothing store nearby. The thought that I was using a technically stolen credit card drifted through my mind as I approached the counter with the goods. A week ago, that would have given me an anxiety attack, but now it didn’t phase me. I guess my experiences were hardening me. Besides, I had just escaped a lifetime of servitude and shady men with shady plans were after us. There were worse things to be worried about.
With bags in hand, I disappeared back into the alley and Jack and I dressed quickly. I got Jack a pair of used cowboy boots and another for myself. Jack had no shoes and the boots I was currently wearing were filthy and stank to high heaven. I also didn’t realize when I bought them that the jeans were going to be slim cut, so they were pretty tight when we both put them on. I got Jack a Metro City Cosmopolitans t-shirt (his favorite team) and a Carhart work jacket, while I grabbed a Diesel t-shirt (my favorite superhero) and a flannel jacket to wear over it. I passed Jack a baseball cap with a fishing company logo and grabbed a black knit cap for myself. No one would look at us twice in a blue-collar town like this.
Satisfied with our disguises, Jack took the credit card and started off down the street. We found a motel and he rented a room with two beds. “I have to pick up some things,” he said. “Stay inside and don’t open the door for anyone but me.” He gave me a coded knock that he would use and headed off across the parking lot. I dropped down on the bed and turned on the TV. I was going to kick the boots off, but they took so long to get into I left them on. I flipped through the channels, finally stopping on a movie channel where a WWII movie from Brute Squad Films was showing. I let it play in the background and laid back on the bed.
I tried to get some rest, but I couldn’t sleep. I was too busy thinking about our mission and what was to come. Every child knew the basics of Baldur Bjornsson. He was a hero. A legend. He had amassed a personal fortune from his raids and fathered many children. My own grandmother used to say her great-great-great whatever was a descendant of his. But half the people in Scandinavia claimed that ancestry, so I took that with a grain of salt. His fortune was lost when he died, and was never recovered. Maybe that’s why these guys were after the tomb? They thought there would be gold and jewels inside? Bjornsson had many secondary wives, but his chief wife was unknown to history, even her name. She was said to be pampered and spoiled and never left the house. I was hoping there would be some information about her in the tomb. Finding a lost piece of history was far more alluring to me than a horde of riches.
I then began to think about how my situation was shaping up to be a sort of echo of Bjornsson’s. Starting off unassuming and ordinary. Being swept up in an adventure that he didn’t choose. Being captured and enslaved but winning his freedom. The big burly father figure who trained him in the arts of… wait a minute. Something was going on here. This was all too convenient. If I noticed this, then I was positive Jack did, too. Was this his plan? Was he setting all this up? No. He’s a college professor, not Batman. Swashbuckling and Babylonian powers aside, he’s just a regular guy. But then again… Every time he “showed me” something I came out of it more confident and with skills and fortitude I didn’t know I possessed. Was he trying to unlock something inside me by doing all this?
My musings were cut short when the secret knock rapped against the door. I sprung up and let Jack in. He was carrying some burgers and a bag from a hardware store. “Here,” he said, tossing me some food. “Eat up. After you’re done there’s something we need to do.”
I hadn’t eaten since before going to his house a few days before and devoured the burger in three or four bites. Jack smiled as he ate. When we were done I looked at the bag. “So what did you pick up at the store, teach?” I said, feeling more relaxed and comfortable.
“Well, I had to arrange a change in our flight,” Jack said. “We can’t use that airport anymore. They’ll be waiting for us there. I switched us to a new flight and contacted my friends in Norway to alert them to the change.” I nodded in agreement. Then he picked up the bag. “Based on what we’ve experienced and what we’re likely to experience in the coming days,” Jack said, “I think there’s a set of skills we need to develop for you. You’ve had to use them already with my ‘help,’ but you need to do it on your own.”
I was puzzled. “What do you mean?” I asked. “What skills?”
Jack just turned the bag over and dumped the contents out on the table. I looked down and saw several bales of clothesline, a few rolls of duct tape, a pack of bandanas, and several heavy-duty cable ties.
“If these guys are after us, we need to teach you escape techniques in case we’re captured again,” he said. “If they manage to get us and then separate us, I might be too far away to ‘help’ you. The range is limited and I need to know that you can handle yourself in case the worst should happen,” Jack said.
“I understand,” I replied. “That’s good thinking. So, I guess we should get started.”
“Good boy,” Jack said. “Well start with the tape.”
Jack made me stand up and told me to hold my hands in front of me. He took the roll of tape in hand. “The first thing you need to know is that you need to give yourself as much slack as possible. If they tell you to put your hands together, don’t cross your wrists. Put them side by side and ball your fists. That will flex your forearm muscles and give you more room to maneuver when you relax them.” I nodded and did as he instructed.
“Like this?” I asked.
“Yes, perfect.” He began to wrap the tape around my wrists. Tightly. “Now relax. Feel how there’s some slack? Good. Now to escape you can burst the tape. Pull your arms down and out in a fast, jerking motion. If you do it right, you should generate enough force to burst the tape. Try it.”
I raised my arms and attempted it, but it didn’t work. “Not bad,” Jack said. “You’re on the right track, but you need more force. Try it again.” On the second attempt the tape snapped clean apart.
“I did it!” I exclaimed.
“Wonderful!” Jack said, patting me on the back. “The theory is the same if your hands are behind, it’s just a little harder. We’ll do a few more in front and then try it behind.”
The rest of the tape tutorial went swimmingly. I was able to burst the tape both in front and behind with relative ease. Then we moved on to rope. Jack showed me how to puff out my chest if they were going to wrap rope around it as a means of making myself bigger to create extra slack. Similar to the flexing the hands trick. He showed me how to bend and wriggle to slip out of ropes, whether my wrists were tied together or separately. He showed me how to slide gags and blindfolds off by rubbing against my shoulder.
“For blindfolds,” he instructed, “Always go up, not down. It’s easier to get it up onto your forehead than it is down over your nose.”
The cable ties were a bit tougher. “The cheap ones you can burst like the duct tape, but the heavy-duty ones don’t work that way,” Jack said. “You can pick the lock with a pin, but we don’t have time to teach that. An easier way is to use your shoelaces for a friction saw. The boots you have on don’t have laces, so I picked up the right kind. Always keep one tucked into your shoe.”
Jack then hogtied me with the cable ties and stuffed a thick corded shoelace into the boot. He showed me how to retrieve it, thread the lace around the tie, and use friction to cut through. That took forever. I kept dropping the lace before I could thread it through the cuffs, but after a while I managed to get into a rhythm and was able to do it reliably. Soon a pile of cut cable ties joined the strips of used tape in the trash.
“You’re really taking to this,” Jack said, impressed. “You’re turning into a regular Houdini.” I grinned with pride at his praise. No one had ever congratulated me on accomplishing anything physical before. “But now is the final exam.”
Jack pulled one of the hotel chairs into the middle of the room and told me to sit. He started to collect the rope and then jumped on me with blinding speed. I was caught off-guard by the swiftness of his attack but I managed to concentrate enough to be able to implement the tricks he taught me.
Jack pulled my hands behind the back of the chair and held them together. He encircled my wrists with rope horizontally and vertically, looping the rope through itself several times, creating a thick and complex knot. He didn’t give me time to put my hands in the position he taught when he started tying me, but I did manage to flex as he instructed.
When my hands were fully secured, he grabbed more rope and wrapped it around my chest. I immediately took a deep breath, filling my lungs with air to make myself bigger. Around and around the rope went, tightening with each pass. He threaded it between my arms and ribcage, and also through the slats on the back of the chair. Pinning me tightly to the seat. Then he bound my knees together across my lap. I could barely wriggle, even an inch.
He grabbed my feet and tied my ankles together expertly, then pushed my feet backwards under the seat of the chair. He tied a rope around them, across the ankles, and then around my feet, threading them through the instep of the boots, as well. Then he pulled them back and up, off the floor. The other end of the rope was attached to the chair slats, forcing my feet off the floor and holding them suspended in the air under the seat. “Now you don’t have enough leverage to hop and move the chair around,” he said as he approached me with the bandanas. “So no breaking something and using it as a saw. You’re on your own.”
He folded one of the bandanas into a thick strip and covered my eyes with it, plunging me into complete darkness. Then I felt him force my mouth open and stuff two more, balled up into a thick wad, into my mouth. My mouth immediately dried out and I started to gag a little as the fabric brushed against the back of my throat. Then came the last of the duct tape. He wrapped it around my head eight or nine times, forming a tight and sturdy seal. I could make no sounds other than soft muffled mppgghhs, no matter how loud I tried to scream.
Jack stepped back and admired his handiwork. “That should be sufficient,” he said. “This is the way I was tied in Bosnia back in ’06 when I was sent to retrieve the sword of Tvrtko I for the Sarajevo museum. They left a time bomb in the room. Let’s see if you can escape before the bomb goes off. Go!”
At first, I started struggling like mad, but quickly calmed down. Doing that wasn’t going to help. And at worst, I could tip the chair over and get hurt. So I took a few deep breaths and focused. I started doing two things at once. After I relaxed my chest and forearm muscles, I started wriggling my wrists in the manner Jack had shown me, folding my thumbs as close to my palms as I could to make my wrists smaller and more likely to be able to slip through the ropes. While I twisted and pulled behind my back, I craned my head down and started rubbing the blindfold against my shoulder. After a few passes, I managed to dislodge it and slid it up onto my forehead, allowing me to see again. Across the room I saw Jack sitting in the other chair, checking the time on the table clock and nodding.
After a minute or two, I managed to slip one of my wrists loose! Once it was free from the ropes, the other one was easy to slip out. I reached down and tried to undo the knots holding my feet off the floor as my leg muscles were beginning to cramp. But I couldn’t quite reach. I needed to free my chest first. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to stretch down far enough.
I must have looked rather comical, stretching my arms (which were still bound to my sides) in order to reach the knots securing the ropes around my chest. It took longer than I wanted, but I eventually got to them and undid them with my fingers as Jack had taught me. The ropes unraveled and slid off me. With my upper body free, I reached up for the gag. I used whatever moisture I could generate in my mouth to wet my tongue and use it to dissolve the adhesive on the tape. When it was weak enough, I pulled the tape down, letting it hang around my neck, and spat out the wadded-up bandanas, while at the same time undoing the rope around my knees. “Whew!” I exclaimed in relief. Jack just kept looking at the clock.
Once my mouth was free, I twisted around and undid the knot holding my feet off the floor. As soon as I got it and leaned down to undo the last of the ropes around my ankles and feet, Jack looked at me and said “BOOM!”
“Shit!” I exclaimed and slumped back in the chair.
“You were doing really well for most of it,” Jack said as he knelt down and removed the rope from my booted feet. “Your screwup was the gag. You can do that last. If you had done your feet first, you would have been home free and could have removed the gag after you escaped from the room.”
“Yeah yeah,” I said, disappointed in myself. I ripped the tape from my neck and tossed it in the trash.
“Well, now you know,” Jack said. “And I’m proud of you. You picked that up extremely quickly and did remarkably well for your first test. We’ll try it again when we get to Norway and I’ll teach you some advanced tricks.”
My face lit up. “OK!” I said, happy from the encouragement. Just then, both if us turned as an envelope was slid into the room under the door.
The envelope was hot pink and Jack’s name was written on the front in glitter pen. Jack furrowed his brow and opened it. My jaw dropped.
Inside was a printed 8x10 photograph. It showed Zack and Anthony, tightly bound and gagged, being menaced by several men. The men were dressed exactly like the ones who captured us in Jack’s house a few days ago. Complete with the ornate eye symbol on their ski masks.
A note clipped to the photo said, “You two should both be dears and come out into the parking lot with your hands up. Or else I add two new virile specimens to my harem and the hotel (along with you and everyone else in it) gets blown to pieces. See ya soon. QE”
Coming Soon – Part 8: Special Guest Star
As the first truck emerged from the tree cover I took aim and fired. A bullet struck the driver’s side tire and the vehicle skidded off the dirt road into the underbrush. I wondered for a second how I managed to do that. I couldn’t even shoot straight in Call of Duty, let a lone a real gun (which I had never even touched before 10 minutes ago). My reflection was cut short as shots from our pursuers buzzed past my head, snapping me back into focus.
I took aim again. My vision became a series of computations and angles. The physics of the matter became crystal clear. Setting up another shot, I destroyed a tire on the lead vehicle, which spun out, causing the one behind to crash into it. This caused a roadblock that made it impossible for the other vehicles to make it any farther in their pursuit. I dropped prone to avoid the last-minute desperation shots fired at me, and within seconds, our escape vehicle had made it to an access road. The GPS clicked on and we were soon on a straight path to the highway.
Once we were clear of the woods, Jack pulled over and he and Anthony hopped out and helped Zack and me off the roof. “I saw what happened in the rearview mirror,” Jack said, patting me on the back. “Good shootin’, Tex.” I grinned as he ruffled my hair. We all climbed into the truck cab and continued down the road.
“There’s a town nearby,” Anthony said, checking the GPS, “but we shouldn’t stop there. We don’t know if they’re affiliated with the compound in any way. There’s a small city an hour away. We’ll stop there and go to the police.”
Jack agreed. “Drop us off before you get there, though,” he said. “Sean and I have an appointment to keep and police entanglements will only complicate things. The important thing is getting you and everyone else back to your families. Our involvement doesn’t need to be mentioned.”
“Understood,” Anthony said.
After an hour of driving, it was approaching sunrise. We had cleared the city limits and were approaching downtown. “Drop us off here,” Jack said. “We’ll make our own way.”
Anthony pulled over near an alley between two stores. We hopped out and quickly got off the street. Jack wrote down a phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to Anthony. “This is my backup cell phone,” he said. “If you ever need us, just call.” Anthony took it, and after a series of hugs and handshakes, he and Zach got back in the truck and drove off.
Jack and I retreated into the alley. “We have some time before the stores open,” he said. “I need some clothes.” I looked at him, standing half-naked and barefoot on the asphalt. Part of me wanted to say, “Nah, you’re good the way you are,” but I didn’t. “Check the pockets of your pants,” Jack said. “See if there’s a wallet.”
I fished around in the pockets. In the back pocket was an oversized wallet with a Confederate flag embossed on it. I rolled my eyes as I opened it. “There’s some cash in here,” I said. “And a credit card.”
“Good,” Jack said. “They’ll be too busy to worry about cancelling their cards right now. When the stores open, go in and buy us both a change of clothes. Something that will allow us to blend in while I make arrangements.”
We hid behind a dumpster for a few hours until the businesses opened. When it was time I walked around the corner and into the secondhand clothing store nearby. The thought that I was using a technically stolen credit card drifted through my mind as I approached the counter with the goods. A week ago, that would have given me an anxiety attack, but now it didn’t phase me. I guess my experiences were hardening me. Besides, I had just escaped a lifetime of servitude and shady men with shady plans were after us. There were worse things to be worried about.
With bags in hand, I disappeared back into the alley and Jack and I dressed quickly. I got Jack a pair of used cowboy boots and another for myself. Jack had no shoes and the boots I was currently wearing were filthy and stank to high heaven. I also didn’t realize when I bought them that the jeans were going to be slim cut, so they were pretty tight when we both put them on. I got Jack a Metro City Cosmopolitans t-shirt (his favorite team) and a Carhart work jacket, while I grabbed a Diesel t-shirt (my favorite superhero) and a flannel jacket to wear over it. I passed Jack a baseball cap with a fishing company logo and grabbed a black knit cap for myself. No one would look at us twice in a blue-collar town like this.
Satisfied with our disguises, Jack took the credit card and started off down the street. We found a motel and he rented a room with two beds. “I have to pick up some things,” he said. “Stay inside and don’t open the door for anyone but me.” He gave me a coded knock that he would use and headed off across the parking lot. I dropped down on the bed and turned on the TV. I was going to kick the boots off, but they took so long to get into I left them on. I flipped through the channels, finally stopping on a movie channel where a WWII movie from Brute Squad Films was showing. I let it play in the background and laid back on the bed.
I tried to get some rest, but I couldn’t sleep. I was too busy thinking about our mission and what was to come. Every child knew the basics of Baldur Bjornsson. He was a hero. A legend. He had amassed a personal fortune from his raids and fathered many children. My own grandmother used to say her great-great-great whatever was a descendant of his. But half the people in Scandinavia claimed that ancestry, so I took that with a grain of salt. His fortune was lost when he died, and was never recovered. Maybe that’s why these guys were after the tomb? They thought there would be gold and jewels inside? Bjornsson had many secondary wives, but his chief wife was unknown to history, even her name. She was said to be pampered and spoiled and never left the house. I was hoping there would be some information about her in the tomb. Finding a lost piece of history was far more alluring to me than a horde of riches.
I then began to think about how my situation was shaping up to be a sort of echo of Bjornsson’s. Starting off unassuming and ordinary. Being swept up in an adventure that he didn’t choose. Being captured and enslaved but winning his freedom. The big burly father figure who trained him in the arts of… wait a minute. Something was going on here. This was all too convenient. If I noticed this, then I was positive Jack did, too. Was this his plan? Was he setting all this up? No. He’s a college professor, not Batman. Swashbuckling and Babylonian powers aside, he’s just a regular guy. But then again… Every time he “showed me” something I came out of it more confident and with skills and fortitude I didn’t know I possessed. Was he trying to unlock something inside me by doing all this?
My musings were cut short when the secret knock rapped against the door. I sprung up and let Jack in. He was carrying some burgers and a bag from a hardware store. “Here,” he said, tossing me some food. “Eat up. After you’re done there’s something we need to do.”
I hadn’t eaten since before going to his house a few days before and devoured the burger in three or four bites. Jack smiled as he ate. When we were done I looked at the bag. “So what did you pick up at the store, teach?” I said, feeling more relaxed and comfortable.
“Well, I had to arrange a change in our flight,” Jack said. “We can’t use that airport anymore. They’ll be waiting for us there. I switched us to a new flight and contacted my friends in Norway to alert them to the change.” I nodded in agreement. Then he picked up the bag. “Based on what we’ve experienced and what we’re likely to experience in the coming days,” Jack said, “I think there’s a set of skills we need to develop for you. You’ve had to use them already with my ‘help,’ but you need to do it on your own.”
I was puzzled. “What do you mean?” I asked. “What skills?”
Jack just turned the bag over and dumped the contents out on the table. I looked down and saw several bales of clothesline, a few rolls of duct tape, a pack of bandanas, and several heavy-duty cable ties.
“If these guys are after us, we need to teach you escape techniques in case we’re captured again,” he said. “If they manage to get us and then separate us, I might be too far away to ‘help’ you. The range is limited and I need to know that you can handle yourself in case the worst should happen,” Jack said.
“I understand,” I replied. “That’s good thinking. So, I guess we should get started.”
“Good boy,” Jack said. “Well start with the tape.”
Jack made me stand up and told me to hold my hands in front of me. He took the roll of tape in hand. “The first thing you need to know is that you need to give yourself as much slack as possible. If they tell you to put your hands together, don’t cross your wrists. Put them side by side and ball your fists. That will flex your forearm muscles and give you more room to maneuver when you relax them.” I nodded and did as he instructed.
“Like this?” I asked.
“Yes, perfect.” He began to wrap the tape around my wrists. Tightly. “Now relax. Feel how there’s some slack? Good. Now to escape you can burst the tape. Pull your arms down and out in a fast, jerking motion. If you do it right, you should generate enough force to burst the tape. Try it.”
I raised my arms and attempted it, but it didn’t work. “Not bad,” Jack said. “You’re on the right track, but you need more force. Try it again.” On the second attempt the tape snapped clean apart.
“I did it!” I exclaimed.
“Wonderful!” Jack said, patting me on the back. “The theory is the same if your hands are behind, it’s just a little harder. We’ll do a few more in front and then try it behind.”
The rest of the tape tutorial went swimmingly. I was able to burst the tape both in front and behind with relative ease. Then we moved on to rope. Jack showed me how to puff out my chest if they were going to wrap rope around it as a means of making myself bigger to create extra slack. Similar to the flexing the hands trick. He showed me how to bend and wriggle to slip out of ropes, whether my wrists were tied together or separately. He showed me how to slide gags and blindfolds off by rubbing against my shoulder.
“For blindfolds,” he instructed, “Always go up, not down. It’s easier to get it up onto your forehead than it is down over your nose.”
The cable ties were a bit tougher. “The cheap ones you can burst like the duct tape, but the heavy-duty ones don’t work that way,” Jack said. “You can pick the lock with a pin, but we don’t have time to teach that. An easier way is to use your shoelaces for a friction saw. The boots you have on don’t have laces, so I picked up the right kind. Always keep one tucked into your shoe.”
Jack then hogtied me with the cable ties and stuffed a thick corded shoelace into the boot. He showed me how to retrieve it, thread the lace around the tie, and use friction to cut through. That took forever. I kept dropping the lace before I could thread it through the cuffs, but after a while I managed to get into a rhythm and was able to do it reliably. Soon a pile of cut cable ties joined the strips of used tape in the trash.
“You’re really taking to this,” Jack said, impressed. “You’re turning into a regular Houdini.” I grinned with pride at his praise. No one had ever congratulated me on accomplishing anything physical before. “But now is the final exam.”
Jack pulled one of the hotel chairs into the middle of the room and told me to sit. He started to collect the rope and then jumped on me with blinding speed. I was caught off-guard by the swiftness of his attack but I managed to concentrate enough to be able to implement the tricks he taught me.
Jack pulled my hands behind the back of the chair and held them together. He encircled my wrists with rope horizontally and vertically, looping the rope through itself several times, creating a thick and complex knot. He didn’t give me time to put my hands in the position he taught when he started tying me, but I did manage to flex as he instructed.
When my hands were fully secured, he grabbed more rope and wrapped it around my chest. I immediately took a deep breath, filling my lungs with air to make myself bigger. Around and around the rope went, tightening with each pass. He threaded it between my arms and ribcage, and also through the slats on the back of the chair. Pinning me tightly to the seat. Then he bound my knees together across my lap. I could barely wriggle, even an inch.
He grabbed my feet and tied my ankles together expertly, then pushed my feet backwards under the seat of the chair. He tied a rope around them, across the ankles, and then around my feet, threading them through the instep of the boots, as well. Then he pulled them back and up, off the floor. The other end of the rope was attached to the chair slats, forcing my feet off the floor and holding them suspended in the air under the seat. “Now you don’t have enough leverage to hop and move the chair around,” he said as he approached me with the bandanas. “So no breaking something and using it as a saw. You’re on your own.”
He folded one of the bandanas into a thick strip and covered my eyes with it, plunging me into complete darkness. Then I felt him force my mouth open and stuff two more, balled up into a thick wad, into my mouth. My mouth immediately dried out and I started to gag a little as the fabric brushed against the back of my throat. Then came the last of the duct tape. He wrapped it around my head eight or nine times, forming a tight and sturdy seal. I could make no sounds other than soft muffled mppgghhs, no matter how loud I tried to scream.
Jack stepped back and admired his handiwork. “That should be sufficient,” he said. “This is the way I was tied in Bosnia back in ’06 when I was sent to retrieve the sword of Tvrtko I for the Sarajevo museum. They left a time bomb in the room. Let’s see if you can escape before the bomb goes off. Go!”
At first, I started struggling like mad, but quickly calmed down. Doing that wasn’t going to help. And at worst, I could tip the chair over and get hurt. So I took a few deep breaths and focused. I started doing two things at once. After I relaxed my chest and forearm muscles, I started wriggling my wrists in the manner Jack had shown me, folding my thumbs as close to my palms as I could to make my wrists smaller and more likely to be able to slip through the ropes. While I twisted and pulled behind my back, I craned my head down and started rubbing the blindfold against my shoulder. After a few passes, I managed to dislodge it and slid it up onto my forehead, allowing me to see again. Across the room I saw Jack sitting in the other chair, checking the time on the table clock and nodding.
After a minute or two, I managed to slip one of my wrists loose! Once it was free from the ropes, the other one was easy to slip out. I reached down and tried to undo the knots holding my feet off the floor as my leg muscles were beginning to cramp. But I couldn’t quite reach. I needed to free my chest first. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to stretch down far enough.
I must have looked rather comical, stretching my arms (which were still bound to my sides) in order to reach the knots securing the ropes around my chest. It took longer than I wanted, but I eventually got to them and undid them with my fingers as Jack had taught me. The ropes unraveled and slid off me. With my upper body free, I reached up for the gag. I used whatever moisture I could generate in my mouth to wet my tongue and use it to dissolve the adhesive on the tape. When it was weak enough, I pulled the tape down, letting it hang around my neck, and spat out the wadded-up bandanas, while at the same time undoing the rope around my knees. “Whew!” I exclaimed in relief. Jack just kept looking at the clock.
Once my mouth was free, I twisted around and undid the knot holding my feet off the floor. As soon as I got it and leaned down to undo the last of the ropes around my ankles and feet, Jack looked at me and said “BOOM!”
“Shit!” I exclaimed and slumped back in the chair.
“You were doing really well for most of it,” Jack said as he knelt down and removed the rope from my booted feet. “Your screwup was the gag. You can do that last. If you had done your feet first, you would have been home free and could have removed the gag after you escaped from the room.”
“Yeah yeah,” I said, disappointed in myself. I ripped the tape from my neck and tossed it in the trash.
“Well, now you know,” Jack said. “And I’m proud of you. You picked that up extremely quickly and did remarkably well for your first test. We’ll try it again when we get to Norway and I’ll teach you some advanced tricks.”
My face lit up. “OK!” I said, happy from the encouragement. Just then, both if us turned as an envelope was slid into the room under the door.
The envelope was hot pink and Jack’s name was written on the front in glitter pen. Jack furrowed his brow and opened it. My jaw dropped.
Inside was a printed 8x10 photograph. It showed Zack and Anthony, tightly bound and gagged, being menaced by several men. The men were dressed exactly like the ones who captured us in Jack’s house a few days ago. Complete with the ornate eye symbol on their ski masks.
A note clipped to the photo said, “You two should both be dears and come out into the parking lot with your hands up. Or else I add two new virile specimens to my harem and the hotel (along with you and everyone else in it) gets blown to pieces. See ya soon. QE”
Coming Soon – Part 8: Special Guest Star
I absolutely love the references and the awesome escape training session between hunky teacher and student! Also, Queer Eye has such bombastic taste; I love it! ...is it wrong of me to kind of want everyone to get added to his harem? I know he'd definitely put them through their paces! 
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KidnappedCowboy
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 971
- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: USA
- Contact:
[mention]wataru14[/mention], love the tutorials, but I adore the menacing ultimatum at the end from Queer Eye...unconditional surrender or else all goes boom and the two hunks get hidden away in Queer Eye's harem! Pure evil! 
This story is so well crafted, and I love the connections and *tie ins* to your other works! I cannot wait to see what Queer Eye has in store for them! Although part of me wouldn't be mad if got to spend some time with his harem!
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george_bound
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 330
- Joined: 3 years ago
- Location: Ontario, Canada
Fun tutorials... you should always be prepared... but not too prepared because we do want to see him in future peril for as long as possible without escape 
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privateandrews
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 174
- Joined: 4 years ago
I am enjoying this adventure and the twists and turns it takes.
Part 8: Special Guest Star
“QE?” I said. “Who the hell is QE?”
Jack balled his fists. “Someone who’s been a thorn in my side for years,” he said. “He’s the one who sent those goons to my house the other day.”
“So what do we do?” I asked.
“Exactly what he says,” Jack replied. “He has Anthony and Zack. If we don’t follow his orders, he will hypnotize them into being his sex slaves. The bomb threat is fake. That’s not how he operates. But the other threat is VERY real. We have no choice.”
I was dumbfounded. “That’s it?” I said. “No grand escape plan? Nothing?”
“Not at the moment,” Jack said. “We have to play his game for now and figure out a strategy once we know the others are safe.”
Jack walked towards the door and opened it, holding his hands high. Seeing no other alternative, I followed him, doing the same. In the parking lot, just outside the door, stood the strangest being I have ever seen. He was dressed in a lime green designer suit with an ascot and matching feather boa. His skin was bright pink. He had no hair and had one giant eye in the middle of his forehead that took up half his face. Around his right upper arm was a black band that read “Dr. Calamity: Never Forgotten.”
“Jack Mills!” he said in a simpering tenor voice that gave me chills down my spine. “How good of you to accept my invitation. It’s not just a party without you!” He did a few air kisses, but Jack just stood still with a scowl on his face.
“Where are they, Queer Eye?” he said. Wait! Queer Eye? As in “The Head of the Villains’ Guild” Queer Eye???? Holy shit!
“Oh don’t worry your handsome stubbled face about it,” Queer Eye said. “They’ll be running along home to mommy just as soon as we’re in the air. We have tickets to Norway and I want to make sure you’re on your best behavior until we land. I can’t stand it when people bring fussy toddlers on long flights.”
With a sweeping gesture, he indicated the hot pink semi-truck parked a short distance away. A gangplank had been lowered, allowing ramp access to the back of the trailer. Jack slowly began walking towards it, hands still raised in surrender, and I followed. Several armed guards flanked the ramp and at least two were inside the truck waiting for us.
We were shoved from behind and trudged up the ramp single-file. The inside of the truck was as tricked-out as the van had been the other day, but there were two features that immediately caught my eye. In the middle of the room were two crates. Each was about 6 and a half feet long and about three feet wide on the inside. They were lined with blood-red silk padding. Oh my god, they were for us!!!
While I stood agape, a henchman immediately descended on me. He grabbed my hands from their raised position and wrenched them behind my back. I felt the cold touch of steel and heard the ratcheting clank of handcuffs being tightened. It had to be handcuffs. Jack didn’t teach me anything about escaping from those!
“Didn’t have time for that lesson, eh boy?” I heard Queer Eye whisper in my ear. “I saw everything that went on in that room. X-Ray vision, you know.” I felt his hand caress my crotch through my now-uncomfortably tight jeans. “Even the things you didn’t want seen. But don’t worry. If this kind of thing excites you, you’ll have plenty of fun once you’re completely mine.”
I froze as he came around in front and looked me straight in the eyes. I tried to avert my gaze, but he snapped his fingers and a henchman grabbed my head and forced me to look. Time and space began to dilate as I was drawn in. All I could focus on was his eye. His big, beautiful eye. My limbs turned to jelly and I went numb all over. In my peripheral vision I saw Jack in a similar state. I guess the villain had paid him a visit before turning his attention to me.
Unable to move, I couldn’t resist as more chains were applied to my body. My ankles were secured together with short-chained hobbling manacles. Then I heard a familiar sound. Duct tape being pulled off a roll. I vaguely felt the end of the tape being pressed against my cowboy-booted ankles, just above the leg cuffs. In a half-dream, I stood perfectly still as the tape was wound slowly and snugly around my legs, inching higher and higher with each pass around. Soon my legs were completely encased in tape all the way up to my mid-thighs.
Queer Eye stopped the henchmen as they prepared a second roll. He leaned down and undid the button fly of my jeans. I wasn’t wearing any underwear, so when released from its denim prison, my cock expanded to full attention. “Impressive,” Queer Eye cooed, “but inappropriate for what I have planned.” He stared straight into my eye. “Soft,” he said. My body instantly obeyed his command.
When I had gone completely flaccid, Queer Eye produced a plastic device from his sparkly pink day bag. It was a chastity cage! I watched, helplessly immobile, as the pink monstrosity slipped the ring over my balls and pulled them through. I was unable to resist as he slid the sheath on and snapped it shut. I screamed internally as the lock was secured, unable to verbalize it due to Queer Eye’s hypnotic powers.
Queer Eye looked down at my caged genitals and gave them a playful flick with his finger. “That will keep you docile for a while,” he cackled. “One of the many presents bequeathed to me by my late bestie. Diesel himself couldn’t break out of that, so there’s no hope for you, baseline.” He patted the star-and-D logo on my t-shirt for emphasis. Then he pinched my cheeks in a mocking manor and did my jeans back up. “Finish wrapping him up, boys,” he said to the henchmen. “I want to give the REAL prize some personalized attention.”
He flounced over to Jack as the henchmen resumed taping me. In a manner of minutes I was completely encased in a cocoon of tape from ankles to collarbone. I felt its snug tightness all across my body, pressing my arms flat against my sides. When the last bit of tape was pressed down I felt myself able to move again. But the tape was tight and sturdy. All I could do was wriggle like a worm, much to the henchmen’s delight. One of them shoved a leather plug gag into my mouth and tightly buckled it behind my head. No way I was going to be able to slip that off! The rubber stuffing felt weird in my mouth. I used my tongue to explore it and found that it was shaped like the head of a cock. I winced at the implications. Helplessly cuffed, mummified, and silenced, I feebly turned my eyes over to where Jack stood motionless a few feet away.
Jack had not been handcuffed, but was instead being buckled into a shiny black leather straightjacket. His arms were folded across his chest and held in place by leather straps. The sleeves were being fastened behind his back by henchmen. Queer Eye produced another device from his bag as he advanced on Jack. But this one wasn’t a chastity device like mine. It was some sort of belt with a tube attached. The pink villain undid Jack’s jeans and I saw his manhood tumble free. I had seen Jack shirtless many times, working on cars during the summer months, but I had never gotten a chance to see his equipment like this. We were naked in the stocks at the compound, of course, but there was too much going on at the time for sightseeing. I was dumbfounded by his endowment.
Queer Eye was equally impressed. “Just as I remember it,” he said, clapping his hands. “Ah, nostalgia! It’s been far too long since I’ve tasted that beautiful monster, but I’m afraid there isn’t time for such niceties right now.” With a chuckle, he slid the tube over Jack’s cock and fastened the belt behind. I saw the tube change shape and conform to Jack’s anatomy. Queer Eye pressed a button on a remote control device and I heard a soft hum. Jack’s eyes rolled back in his head.
“Another gift from the Professor,” Queer Eye said. “Designed to give the ultimate in sublime stimulation, but shut off before release and secrete a numbing agent. It’s quite maddening, I understand.” Jack grunted and howled as his pants were done back up. Queer Eye personally affixed the leather straps to Jack’s legs, knees, and ankles, cruelly locking them in place. When he was done, Jack was writhing in exquisite agony, encased from head to toe in leather bonds. Queer Eye finished up by locking a plug gag like mine into Jack’s moaning mouth and securing it.
“There we go,” he said with a smile. “Pretty as a picture. Which reminds me!” He took out his phone and snapped several selfies with Jack and me. “The Contessa has been hounding me for pics. I swear that woman is insatiable!” He put his phone away and snapped his fingers. Immediately, two henchmen grabbed me, one around the chest, and one around the legs. They lifted my squirming body up and carried me over to one of the crates. I fought like mad, but being mummified as I was, there was no hope of escape. My kicking and bucking body was lowered into the crate onto the soft silk cushions. The henchmen let me go and I watched in horror as the lid was placed over the top and clamped shut. There were plenty of air holes, and it was comfortable and warm inside, but still I screamed through my gag.
From outside the crate I heard Queer Eye’s voice. “Are you both OK in there? Comfy? Good. It’s a long flight to Norway and the freight hold isn’t known for its First-Class amenities. I could have had you both fly coach, but that’s too much of an indignity, even for you. This is much more dignified, don’t you think?” I heard two knocks on the cover of my crate. “Nothing to say? Hmmfff. You’re no fun. Anyway, sit back and relax, gentleman. We’ll be in the land of Baldur Bjornsson soon enough.”
I heard his footsteps move towards the cab as the truck engine ignited and we started moving. From inside the cab of the truck, I heard the opening strains of the Wandavision theme on a television set. “Oh Agnes,” Queer Eye said. “You’re such a kook! What kind of mischief do you have in store this week?”
Coming Soon: Part 9 – The Frozen North
“QE?” I said. “Who the hell is QE?”
Jack balled his fists. “Someone who’s been a thorn in my side for years,” he said. “He’s the one who sent those goons to my house the other day.”
“So what do we do?” I asked.
“Exactly what he says,” Jack replied. “He has Anthony and Zack. If we don’t follow his orders, he will hypnotize them into being his sex slaves. The bomb threat is fake. That’s not how he operates. But the other threat is VERY real. We have no choice.”
I was dumbfounded. “That’s it?” I said. “No grand escape plan? Nothing?”
“Not at the moment,” Jack said. “We have to play his game for now and figure out a strategy once we know the others are safe.”
Jack walked towards the door and opened it, holding his hands high. Seeing no other alternative, I followed him, doing the same. In the parking lot, just outside the door, stood the strangest being I have ever seen. He was dressed in a lime green designer suit with an ascot and matching feather boa. His skin was bright pink. He had no hair and had one giant eye in the middle of his forehead that took up half his face. Around his right upper arm was a black band that read “Dr. Calamity: Never Forgotten.”
“Jack Mills!” he said in a simpering tenor voice that gave me chills down my spine. “How good of you to accept my invitation. It’s not just a party without you!” He did a few air kisses, but Jack just stood still with a scowl on his face.
“Where are they, Queer Eye?” he said. Wait! Queer Eye? As in “The Head of the Villains’ Guild” Queer Eye???? Holy shit!
“Oh don’t worry your handsome stubbled face about it,” Queer Eye said. “They’ll be running along home to mommy just as soon as we’re in the air. We have tickets to Norway and I want to make sure you’re on your best behavior until we land. I can’t stand it when people bring fussy toddlers on long flights.”
With a sweeping gesture, he indicated the hot pink semi-truck parked a short distance away. A gangplank had been lowered, allowing ramp access to the back of the trailer. Jack slowly began walking towards it, hands still raised in surrender, and I followed. Several armed guards flanked the ramp and at least two were inside the truck waiting for us.
We were shoved from behind and trudged up the ramp single-file. The inside of the truck was as tricked-out as the van had been the other day, but there were two features that immediately caught my eye. In the middle of the room were two crates. Each was about 6 and a half feet long and about three feet wide on the inside. They were lined with blood-red silk padding. Oh my god, they were for us!!!
While I stood agape, a henchman immediately descended on me. He grabbed my hands from their raised position and wrenched them behind my back. I felt the cold touch of steel and heard the ratcheting clank of handcuffs being tightened. It had to be handcuffs. Jack didn’t teach me anything about escaping from those!
“Didn’t have time for that lesson, eh boy?” I heard Queer Eye whisper in my ear. “I saw everything that went on in that room. X-Ray vision, you know.” I felt his hand caress my crotch through my now-uncomfortably tight jeans. “Even the things you didn’t want seen. But don’t worry. If this kind of thing excites you, you’ll have plenty of fun once you’re completely mine.”
I froze as he came around in front and looked me straight in the eyes. I tried to avert my gaze, but he snapped his fingers and a henchman grabbed my head and forced me to look. Time and space began to dilate as I was drawn in. All I could focus on was his eye. His big, beautiful eye. My limbs turned to jelly and I went numb all over. In my peripheral vision I saw Jack in a similar state. I guess the villain had paid him a visit before turning his attention to me.
Unable to move, I couldn’t resist as more chains were applied to my body. My ankles were secured together with short-chained hobbling manacles. Then I heard a familiar sound. Duct tape being pulled off a roll. I vaguely felt the end of the tape being pressed against my cowboy-booted ankles, just above the leg cuffs. In a half-dream, I stood perfectly still as the tape was wound slowly and snugly around my legs, inching higher and higher with each pass around. Soon my legs were completely encased in tape all the way up to my mid-thighs.
Queer Eye stopped the henchmen as they prepared a second roll. He leaned down and undid the button fly of my jeans. I wasn’t wearing any underwear, so when released from its denim prison, my cock expanded to full attention. “Impressive,” Queer Eye cooed, “but inappropriate for what I have planned.” He stared straight into my eye. “Soft,” he said. My body instantly obeyed his command.
When I had gone completely flaccid, Queer Eye produced a plastic device from his sparkly pink day bag. It was a chastity cage! I watched, helplessly immobile, as the pink monstrosity slipped the ring over my balls and pulled them through. I was unable to resist as he slid the sheath on and snapped it shut. I screamed internally as the lock was secured, unable to verbalize it due to Queer Eye’s hypnotic powers.
Queer Eye looked down at my caged genitals and gave them a playful flick with his finger. “That will keep you docile for a while,” he cackled. “One of the many presents bequeathed to me by my late bestie. Diesel himself couldn’t break out of that, so there’s no hope for you, baseline.” He patted the star-and-D logo on my t-shirt for emphasis. Then he pinched my cheeks in a mocking manor and did my jeans back up. “Finish wrapping him up, boys,” he said to the henchmen. “I want to give the REAL prize some personalized attention.”
He flounced over to Jack as the henchmen resumed taping me. In a manner of minutes I was completely encased in a cocoon of tape from ankles to collarbone. I felt its snug tightness all across my body, pressing my arms flat against my sides. When the last bit of tape was pressed down I felt myself able to move again. But the tape was tight and sturdy. All I could do was wriggle like a worm, much to the henchmen’s delight. One of them shoved a leather plug gag into my mouth and tightly buckled it behind my head. No way I was going to be able to slip that off! The rubber stuffing felt weird in my mouth. I used my tongue to explore it and found that it was shaped like the head of a cock. I winced at the implications. Helplessly cuffed, mummified, and silenced, I feebly turned my eyes over to where Jack stood motionless a few feet away.
Jack had not been handcuffed, but was instead being buckled into a shiny black leather straightjacket. His arms were folded across his chest and held in place by leather straps. The sleeves were being fastened behind his back by henchmen. Queer Eye produced another device from his bag as he advanced on Jack. But this one wasn’t a chastity device like mine. It was some sort of belt with a tube attached. The pink villain undid Jack’s jeans and I saw his manhood tumble free. I had seen Jack shirtless many times, working on cars during the summer months, but I had never gotten a chance to see his equipment like this. We were naked in the stocks at the compound, of course, but there was too much going on at the time for sightseeing. I was dumbfounded by his endowment.
Queer Eye was equally impressed. “Just as I remember it,” he said, clapping his hands. “Ah, nostalgia! It’s been far too long since I’ve tasted that beautiful monster, but I’m afraid there isn’t time for such niceties right now.” With a chuckle, he slid the tube over Jack’s cock and fastened the belt behind. I saw the tube change shape and conform to Jack’s anatomy. Queer Eye pressed a button on a remote control device and I heard a soft hum. Jack’s eyes rolled back in his head.
“Another gift from the Professor,” Queer Eye said. “Designed to give the ultimate in sublime stimulation, but shut off before release and secrete a numbing agent. It’s quite maddening, I understand.” Jack grunted and howled as his pants were done back up. Queer Eye personally affixed the leather straps to Jack’s legs, knees, and ankles, cruelly locking them in place. When he was done, Jack was writhing in exquisite agony, encased from head to toe in leather bonds. Queer Eye finished up by locking a plug gag like mine into Jack’s moaning mouth and securing it.
“There we go,” he said with a smile. “Pretty as a picture. Which reminds me!” He took out his phone and snapped several selfies with Jack and me. “The Contessa has been hounding me for pics. I swear that woman is insatiable!” He put his phone away and snapped his fingers. Immediately, two henchmen grabbed me, one around the chest, and one around the legs. They lifted my squirming body up and carried me over to one of the crates. I fought like mad, but being mummified as I was, there was no hope of escape. My kicking and bucking body was lowered into the crate onto the soft silk cushions. The henchmen let me go and I watched in horror as the lid was placed over the top and clamped shut. There were plenty of air holes, and it was comfortable and warm inside, but still I screamed through my gag.
From outside the crate I heard Queer Eye’s voice. “Are you both OK in there? Comfy? Good. It’s a long flight to Norway and the freight hold isn’t known for its First-Class amenities. I could have had you both fly coach, but that’s too much of an indignity, even for you. This is much more dignified, don’t you think?” I heard two knocks on the cover of my crate. “Nothing to say? Hmmfff. You’re no fun. Anyway, sit back and relax, gentleman. We’ll be in the land of Baldur Bjornsson soon enough.”
I heard his footsteps move towards the cab as the truck engine ignited and we started moving. From inside the cab of the truck, I heard the opening strains of the Wandavision theme on a television set. “Oh Agnes,” Queer Eye said. “You’re such a kook! What kind of mischief do you have in store this week?”
Coming Soon: Part 9 – The Frozen North
Oh, dear Queer Eye! I love him! And I love how Jack is bound and tormented! A shame he didn't keep Zack and Anthony (for insurance, of course! ...and pleasure ) but I do respect that QE is following in the footsteps of the dear Doctor and playing it honorably. I just hope Sean (and us readers) get plenty more opportunities to see Jack all naked and bound and gagged!
) but I do respect that QE is following in the footsteps of the dear Doctor and playing it honorably. I just hope Sean (and us readers) get plenty more opportunities to see Jack all naked and bound and gagged!-
KidnappedCowboy
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Nicely done, [mention]wataru14 [/mention].
Love the in-flight stimulation the passengers will receive on their flight to Norway!
Love the in-flight stimulation the passengers will receive on their flight to Norway!
Another great chapter! Their bondage predicament is extremely hot to read! Can't wait to see what other devious bondage related plans QE has for them (and us)!
Part 9 – The Frozen North
I had no idea how long we were going to be in the crates. But it felt like ages. I had long since given up on trying to escape the tape I was encased in. There was no point. I didn’t have enough space to power out like Jack had taught me and it was too strongly adhered to wriggle free. And even if I did that, there was still the matter of the handcuffs. So I laid back and listened, trying to get an idea of where we were going.
The truck drove for a while and then stopped. I felt the crate being lifted and carried to a cart of some kind. Then I heard Jack’s crate being deposited next to mine. By the sound of the wind and the smell of exhaust, I could tell we were outside. A short trip on the cart led to the crates being lifted again and carried up an incline. I felt myself being deposited on the ground again.
“What’s in the boxes?” I heard a man’s voice ask.
“Some enemies of the boss’,” was the response. “He calls them ‘precious cargo.’ Don’t knock ‘em around. He wants them in good shape when you land.”
“Oh, so they’re the guides?”
“At first. Once the boss gets to the tomb and finds what he wants, he’s probably going to zap them good. Wipe their minds and add them to the stable. Look at the pictures. They’ll be pretty nice acquisitions.”
“Ooh, I like the young one. Maybe if I build up enough points I can trade them in for a night with him.”
“Maybe. But the boss has to break him in first. You know the rules.”
“Yeah yeah, I know. Still, the nerdy type really pushes my buttons.”
My stomach blanched as the voices trailed off into the distance. I heard the sounds of straps securing the crates to the wall of (what I guessed) was the plane. So that was his plan. Use us to find the tomb, then brainwash us into sex slavery. I had to think of something. And fast.
My planning was interrupted as the plane engines revved up and we took to the sky. The plane was slightly chilly, but flew smoothly. It would be a six-hour flight to Norway from what Jack had said the other day. I decided there was so sense in dwelling on it now, as I would need my strength and wits to enact any plans later. I decided to get some sleep.
As my mind cleared I felt the chill of the night air and the salty mist of the sea. I blinked a few times and found myself, again, in unfamiliar surroundings. I was standing on the prow of a small wooden ship, but I was not myself. Or even Jack. I was tall and heavily muscled. With long dark hair and beard, both shaved and braided in an ornate pattern. I was clad in thick furs and leather armor and carried an axe and wooden shield. My massive arms and chest were covered in brands and Runic tattoos.
It was the dead of night. Several other swarthy men dressed in a similar style were in the boat with me. Some rowing, some keeping lookout. In the distance I could see the shadowy outline of a castle with some dim lights in the yard.
“Yon castle approaches, Baldur,” one of the men said. He spoke his native language, but I understood it perfectly.
“Bamford Castle,” I said. “I never thought I would return here, Sven. But the cowardly dog must pay for what he did to me. To US.”
“Yes, my jarl,” Sven said. “And we will make him pay with interest.”
The boat approached the shore about a mile west of the castle. We moored it in a secluded spot and crept through the rising woodland towards the castle wall. The sounds of the night watch drifted lazily through the night air.
“Time for patrol,” a half-drunken English voice said from inside the wall.
“Bugger that!” came another.
“You! New recruit! What’s your name?”
“Uh, it’s Henry, Captain sir,” came a stammering response.
“Make yourself useful and go patrol the grounds outside the wall,” the captain said, followed by a loud belch that grew laughs from the guards. “And be quick about it!”
“Yes sir!” Henry said. A minute later, the guard door in the wall opened and a fair-haired youth of about 20 years emerged. He was garbed in chainmail and carried a pike and lantern. A sword was strapped to his waist, but he looked like he had no skill in using it. The door slammed shut behind him and he started walking across the lawn with a heavy sigh.
From our position in the brush, we watched him as he walked, scanning the grounds for intruders.
“One has broken off from the pack,” Sven said. “What are your orders?”
I contemplated for a while. “We will take him,” I said. “He might have keys or useful information.”
“Let me, my jarl,” Ulf said. He was Sven’s son and untested. He had only recently earned his first raidmark and his beard had just finished growing. He was skilled and eager to prove himself. “I will retrieve him for you.”
Smiling, I nodded. “As you wish, Ulf Svensson. But I want him alive and unharmed. He will be more willing to talk if he is whole.” I slapped Ulf on the back with approval. Nodding, he crept into the brush with catlike grace.
The young sentry looked this way and that, but heard nothing. When he was sure he was away from the viewport on the guard door, he sighed and sat down on the ground against a tree. He picked up a rock and glumly threw it back at the castle.
Ulf was completely undetected as he approached the tree from behind. The youth laid back and folded his arms behind his head, preparing himself for a short nap. He was completely unprepared when Ulf’s short sword emerged from the darkness and pressed against his throat.
“I have you now, Saxon pig,” Ulf said in broken English. “Cry out and your blood will water the trees.”
In terror, the youth dared not move. His eyes grew wide as Ulf slipped out of the shadows and stood before him. “Please,” he stammered. “I’m just a night guard. Just a fortnight on the job. I am no threat to you…”
“Silence, worm!” Ulf spat. “Your threat, and your use to us, are for the jarl to decide. Now stand and be quick.”
The guard awkwardly stood up and raised his hands in surrender. His pike and lantern laid on the ground a few feet away. Ulf gave him an appraising look and smiled. “Unlace your belt and drop your sword to the ground.” The terrified guard complied and awaited further orders. Ulf kicked the swordbelt away, then grabbed the youth and spun him around. He shoved him face-first against the tree and pressed him hard.
After giving a quick look to make sure they were unseen by the castle, Ulf took the youth’s hands and pulled them behind his chainmail-garbed back. Grabbing a coarse rope from his belt, he bound the guard’s hands with expert skill. The youth’s face grimaced with discomfort as the knots tightened around his wrists. When Ulf had finished binding him, the guard squirmed in his captivity, but found no flaw or slack to exploit. He was truly trapped and at the hulking Norseman’s mercy. Ulf grabbed a cloth from his belt and tied it around the guard’s mouth. It was more for effect than any practical use. The captive could easily scream for help if he wanted, but the presence of the gag made it clear that doing so would be most unwise. No words were needed to convey that message.
Ulf stepped away and collected the guard’s weapons and lantern. He blew out the flame and grabbed the captive guard by the shoulder. “March,” he threatened, and pushed the guard along into the tree cover. I saw them emerge through the brush a minute later.
“I have retrieved him unharmed as you ordered, my jarl,” Ulf said.
“Excellent work, Ulf,” I congratulated. “We heard nothing. You do your father proud.” Sven beamed with approval and put his arm around his son. “Now, I will have a talk with our guest.”
Ulf nodded and shoved the captive into a kneeling position in front of me. I sat down on a stump and lifted his head, pulling the gag out and letting in hang loosely around his neck.
“You know who I am, don’t you?” I said in English.
“Y…you’re Baldur Bjornsson,” he stammered. “Everyone knows who you are.”
“Glad to know my fame precedes me,” I laughed. “Good. Then you know how many men I have slain and how much destruction I have left in my wake.” The guard weakly nodded. “But you don’t have to count yourself among those slain if you are canny.” I removed his hauberk and looked him in the eye. His hair was honeyed gold and his eyes a warm green.
“Yes… sir,” he muttered.
“I wish to destroy a man, but you are not that man,” I said. “If you will aid me in this, I will spare your life. Refuse and you will be the first to taste my blade.” The guard broke out into sweats. “I know you have no love for the earl and his men. I heard how they spoke to you. I know how harsh it is to serve here. I was apprenticed here in my youth, as well.”
He looked up at me and I could tell from his gaze that my words were affecting him. I watched his eyes explore my body. At first, I thought he was simply trying to appraise my skill and strength, but then I saw the hunger in his eyes. He gazed at my arms and rugged face. What was stirring down there underneath his codpiece, I wondered? I got in close and grabbed his head. I pushed his face into my crotch and let him breathe in my warrior’s musk. “I can see you like to serve, but are wasted on the wrong master. If you prove useful, I can see that you receive a reward that will please you.”
The guard twisted in his bonds, vainly struggling, but I could tell from his body language that it was all for show. He was excited and aroused and he was now completely mine. “You will spare me, oh great warrior?” he said.
“I promise,” I said. “And Baldur Bjornsson never breaks his oath. As I have sworn vengeance against House Bamford, I swear you will live. And live well.”
“I have one request,” he said. I leveled my gaze and looked him in the eye. “Do what you want with the earl, but please spare the earlessa. She grieves daily for her fallen son and has always shown kindness to those who serve here. She does not deserve to share her husband’s fate.”
“That is reasonable,” I said. “The Lady Bamford will be spared. Now, I want to know the troop counts. Their movements and positions. Their skills and abilities. How many guards the earl has near his chambers and how able they are.”
Henry gave me detailed information about the workings of the night watch. Five men not counting him, and all would be drunk by the time we got to the guard door. His key would open the entrance and we could catch them all unawares. From there, there were three knights that attended the earl and one to the earlessa. They would be much more formidable. I grinned at the challenge.
When I was satisfied at the information Henry had given me, I called the men over. “Now, my brothers, here is our plan…”
After the men were briefed and ready, Ulf came to me. “What of the prisoner?” he said. “Shall I slay him?”
“By right he is yours to do with as you will,” I said. “But I promised him his life in exchange for his information. He is protected by my oath. If you wish to slay him, you must best me first. I did not mean to undercut you in this way, but we needed his knowledge.”
“I understand, my jarl,” Ulf said.
“Have you need of a thrall?” I asked.
Ulf considered. “I might. My first wife may need help when she becomes pregnant.”
“I could have use of this one,” I said. “I will buy your claim to him in exchange for a larger share of the plunder. We can get you your own thrall when you are sure you need one.”
“That is a fine deal,” Ulf grinned.
“Good, my brother,” I said, shaking his hand. “I can tell that my wife would be quite pleased with this one and will make good use of him at home.”
Ulf cackled. “I thought the same,” he said. “She will be very happy with this gift.”
“It is done,” I said. I grabbed Henry and pulled him towards the boat. When we reached the shore, I shoved him into the sand face-first and grabbed some ropes from the supplies. Descending on the lad, I skillfully bound his ankles and knees tightly and firmly. I then encircled his torso with ropes, helplessly securing him and making any hope of escape impossible. As a finishing touch, I drew his legs up and secured his ankles to his bound wrists, contorting him into a pleasing package. Taking some rags, I stuffed and gagged his mouth (even though he did not protest any of his treatment) and blindfolded his eyes.
When he was completely secured, I took the young thrall and scooped him up, placing him down into the boat. “Don’t try to escape from these ropes, thrall,” I said. “Many men have tried, but none have succeeded. You taught me well, didn’t you father?”
Bjorn looked over at my work and smiled. “My son is a skilled learner,” he said.
“Gunnar,” I said, addressing the oldest of the group. “You will remain here with the prisoner. We will signal you when the castle is taken and you can bring the boat to the gates using the river. There we will load the plunder.” Gunnar was at the age of retirement and this was to be his last raid. I brought him along at Bjorn’s instance and in deference to his high status, but he was long past the age for fighting. The elder warrior agreed and set up camp while the rest of us prepared for battle.
“Bjorn, Sven, Ulf, and Leif, to me. The House of Bamford falls tonight!”
Coming Soon: Part 10 – The Fall of the House of Bamford
I had no idea how long we were going to be in the crates. But it felt like ages. I had long since given up on trying to escape the tape I was encased in. There was no point. I didn’t have enough space to power out like Jack had taught me and it was too strongly adhered to wriggle free. And even if I did that, there was still the matter of the handcuffs. So I laid back and listened, trying to get an idea of where we were going.
The truck drove for a while and then stopped. I felt the crate being lifted and carried to a cart of some kind. Then I heard Jack’s crate being deposited next to mine. By the sound of the wind and the smell of exhaust, I could tell we were outside. A short trip on the cart led to the crates being lifted again and carried up an incline. I felt myself being deposited on the ground again.
“What’s in the boxes?” I heard a man’s voice ask.
“Some enemies of the boss’,” was the response. “He calls them ‘precious cargo.’ Don’t knock ‘em around. He wants them in good shape when you land.”
“Oh, so they’re the guides?”
“At first. Once the boss gets to the tomb and finds what he wants, he’s probably going to zap them good. Wipe their minds and add them to the stable. Look at the pictures. They’ll be pretty nice acquisitions.”
“Ooh, I like the young one. Maybe if I build up enough points I can trade them in for a night with him.”
“Maybe. But the boss has to break him in first. You know the rules.”
“Yeah yeah, I know. Still, the nerdy type really pushes my buttons.”
My stomach blanched as the voices trailed off into the distance. I heard the sounds of straps securing the crates to the wall of (what I guessed) was the plane. So that was his plan. Use us to find the tomb, then brainwash us into sex slavery. I had to think of something. And fast.
My planning was interrupted as the plane engines revved up and we took to the sky. The plane was slightly chilly, but flew smoothly. It would be a six-hour flight to Norway from what Jack had said the other day. I decided there was so sense in dwelling on it now, as I would need my strength and wits to enact any plans later. I decided to get some sleep.
As my mind cleared I felt the chill of the night air and the salty mist of the sea. I blinked a few times and found myself, again, in unfamiliar surroundings. I was standing on the prow of a small wooden ship, but I was not myself. Or even Jack. I was tall and heavily muscled. With long dark hair and beard, both shaved and braided in an ornate pattern. I was clad in thick furs and leather armor and carried an axe and wooden shield. My massive arms and chest were covered in brands and Runic tattoos.
It was the dead of night. Several other swarthy men dressed in a similar style were in the boat with me. Some rowing, some keeping lookout. In the distance I could see the shadowy outline of a castle with some dim lights in the yard.
“Yon castle approaches, Baldur,” one of the men said. He spoke his native language, but I understood it perfectly.
“Bamford Castle,” I said. “I never thought I would return here, Sven. But the cowardly dog must pay for what he did to me. To US.”
“Yes, my jarl,” Sven said. “And we will make him pay with interest.”
The boat approached the shore about a mile west of the castle. We moored it in a secluded spot and crept through the rising woodland towards the castle wall. The sounds of the night watch drifted lazily through the night air.
“Time for patrol,” a half-drunken English voice said from inside the wall.
“Bugger that!” came another.
“You! New recruit! What’s your name?”
“Uh, it’s Henry, Captain sir,” came a stammering response.
“Make yourself useful and go patrol the grounds outside the wall,” the captain said, followed by a loud belch that grew laughs from the guards. “And be quick about it!”
“Yes sir!” Henry said. A minute later, the guard door in the wall opened and a fair-haired youth of about 20 years emerged. He was garbed in chainmail and carried a pike and lantern. A sword was strapped to his waist, but he looked like he had no skill in using it. The door slammed shut behind him and he started walking across the lawn with a heavy sigh.
From our position in the brush, we watched him as he walked, scanning the grounds for intruders.
“One has broken off from the pack,” Sven said. “What are your orders?”
I contemplated for a while. “We will take him,” I said. “He might have keys or useful information.”
“Let me, my jarl,” Ulf said. He was Sven’s son and untested. He had only recently earned his first raidmark and his beard had just finished growing. He was skilled and eager to prove himself. “I will retrieve him for you.”
Smiling, I nodded. “As you wish, Ulf Svensson. But I want him alive and unharmed. He will be more willing to talk if he is whole.” I slapped Ulf on the back with approval. Nodding, he crept into the brush with catlike grace.
The young sentry looked this way and that, but heard nothing. When he was sure he was away from the viewport on the guard door, he sighed and sat down on the ground against a tree. He picked up a rock and glumly threw it back at the castle.
Ulf was completely undetected as he approached the tree from behind. The youth laid back and folded his arms behind his head, preparing himself for a short nap. He was completely unprepared when Ulf’s short sword emerged from the darkness and pressed against his throat.
“I have you now, Saxon pig,” Ulf said in broken English. “Cry out and your blood will water the trees.”
In terror, the youth dared not move. His eyes grew wide as Ulf slipped out of the shadows and stood before him. “Please,” he stammered. “I’m just a night guard. Just a fortnight on the job. I am no threat to you…”
“Silence, worm!” Ulf spat. “Your threat, and your use to us, are for the jarl to decide. Now stand and be quick.”
The guard awkwardly stood up and raised his hands in surrender. His pike and lantern laid on the ground a few feet away. Ulf gave him an appraising look and smiled. “Unlace your belt and drop your sword to the ground.” The terrified guard complied and awaited further orders. Ulf kicked the swordbelt away, then grabbed the youth and spun him around. He shoved him face-first against the tree and pressed him hard.
After giving a quick look to make sure they were unseen by the castle, Ulf took the youth’s hands and pulled them behind his chainmail-garbed back. Grabbing a coarse rope from his belt, he bound the guard’s hands with expert skill. The youth’s face grimaced with discomfort as the knots tightened around his wrists. When Ulf had finished binding him, the guard squirmed in his captivity, but found no flaw or slack to exploit. He was truly trapped and at the hulking Norseman’s mercy. Ulf grabbed a cloth from his belt and tied it around the guard’s mouth. It was more for effect than any practical use. The captive could easily scream for help if he wanted, but the presence of the gag made it clear that doing so would be most unwise. No words were needed to convey that message.
Ulf stepped away and collected the guard’s weapons and lantern. He blew out the flame and grabbed the captive guard by the shoulder. “March,” he threatened, and pushed the guard along into the tree cover. I saw them emerge through the brush a minute later.
“I have retrieved him unharmed as you ordered, my jarl,” Ulf said.
“Excellent work, Ulf,” I congratulated. “We heard nothing. You do your father proud.” Sven beamed with approval and put his arm around his son. “Now, I will have a talk with our guest.”
Ulf nodded and shoved the captive into a kneeling position in front of me. I sat down on a stump and lifted his head, pulling the gag out and letting in hang loosely around his neck.
“You know who I am, don’t you?” I said in English.
“Y…you’re Baldur Bjornsson,” he stammered. “Everyone knows who you are.”
“Glad to know my fame precedes me,” I laughed. “Good. Then you know how many men I have slain and how much destruction I have left in my wake.” The guard weakly nodded. “But you don’t have to count yourself among those slain if you are canny.” I removed his hauberk and looked him in the eye. His hair was honeyed gold and his eyes a warm green.
“Yes… sir,” he muttered.
“I wish to destroy a man, but you are not that man,” I said. “If you will aid me in this, I will spare your life. Refuse and you will be the first to taste my blade.” The guard broke out into sweats. “I know you have no love for the earl and his men. I heard how they spoke to you. I know how harsh it is to serve here. I was apprenticed here in my youth, as well.”
He looked up at me and I could tell from his gaze that my words were affecting him. I watched his eyes explore my body. At first, I thought he was simply trying to appraise my skill and strength, but then I saw the hunger in his eyes. He gazed at my arms and rugged face. What was stirring down there underneath his codpiece, I wondered? I got in close and grabbed his head. I pushed his face into my crotch and let him breathe in my warrior’s musk. “I can see you like to serve, but are wasted on the wrong master. If you prove useful, I can see that you receive a reward that will please you.”
The guard twisted in his bonds, vainly struggling, but I could tell from his body language that it was all for show. He was excited and aroused and he was now completely mine. “You will spare me, oh great warrior?” he said.
“I promise,” I said. “And Baldur Bjornsson never breaks his oath. As I have sworn vengeance against House Bamford, I swear you will live. And live well.”
“I have one request,” he said. I leveled my gaze and looked him in the eye. “Do what you want with the earl, but please spare the earlessa. She grieves daily for her fallen son and has always shown kindness to those who serve here. She does not deserve to share her husband’s fate.”
“That is reasonable,” I said. “The Lady Bamford will be spared. Now, I want to know the troop counts. Their movements and positions. Their skills and abilities. How many guards the earl has near his chambers and how able they are.”
Henry gave me detailed information about the workings of the night watch. Five men not counting him, and all would be drunk by the time we got to the guard door. His key would open the entrance and we could catch them all unawares. From there, there were three knights that attended the earl and one to the earlessa. They would be much more formidable. I grinned at the challenge.
When I was satisfied at the information Henry had given me, I called the men over. “Now, my brothers, here is our plan…”
After the men were briefed and ready, Ulf came to me. “What of the prisoner?” he said. “Shall I slay him?”
“By right he is yours to do with as you will,” I said. “But I promised him his life in exchange for his information. He is protected by my oath. If you wish to slay him, you must best me first. I did not mean to undercut you in this way, but we needed his knowledge.”
“I understand, my jarl,” Ulf said.
“Have you need of a thrall?” I asked.
Ulf considered. “I might. My first wife may need help when she becomes pregnant.”
“I could have use of this one,” I said. “I will buy your claim to him in exchange for a larger share of the plunder. We can get you your own thrall when you are sure you need one.”
“That is a fine deal,” Ulf grinned.
“Good, my brother,” I said, shaking his hand. “I can tell that my wife would be quite pleased with this one and will make good use of him at home.”
Ulf cackled. “I thought the same,” he said. “She will be very happy with this gift.”
“It is done,” I said. I grabbed Henry and pulled him towards the boat. When we reached the shore, I shoved him into the sand face-first and grabbed some ropes from the supplies. Descending on the lad, I skillfully bound his ankles and knees tightly and firmly. I then encircled his torso with ropes, helplessly securing him and making any hope of escape impossible. As a finishing touch, I drew his legs up and secured his ankles to his bound wrists, contorting him into a pleasing package. Taking some rags, I stuffed and gagged his mouth (even though he did not protest any of his treatment) and blindfolded his eyes.
When he was completely secured, I took the young thrall and scooped him up, placing him down into the boat. “Don’t try to escape from these ropes, thrall,” I said. “Many men have tried, but none have succeeded. You taught me well, didn’t you father?”
Bjorn looked over at my work and smiled. “My son is a skilled learner,” he said.
“Gunnar,” I said, addressing the oldest of the group. “You will remain here with the prisoner. We will signal you when the castle is taken and you can bring the boat to the gates using the river. There we will load the plunder.” Gunnar was at the age of retirement and this was to be his last raid. I brought him along at Bjorn’s instance and in deference to his high status, but he was long past the age for fighting. The elder warrior agreed and set up camp while the rest of us prepared for battle.
“Bjorn, Sven, Ulf, and Leif, to me. The House of Bamford falls tonight!”
Coming Soon: Part 10 – The Fall of the House of Bamford
I love getting to hear more of Baldur... and that the cute Henry is being taken to serve his "wife..."
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KidnappedCowboy
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Well, I hope this means that the men of the house are falling into bondage!“Bjorn, Sven, Ulf, and Leif, to me. The House of Bamford falls tonight!”
well done again and thank you, [mention]wataru14[/mention]!
Sounds interestimg so far
another great chapter. I still feel bad for for our captives, but I love QE and his henchmen! I really enjoy getting more flashbacks to Baldur. And oh my goodness I love Henry. He is so wonderfully submissive and I want to see more of him! Really loving every part of this story!
Part 10 – The Fall of the House of Bamford
The battle to take the castle was quick and decisive. The night watch were all either asleep or drunk when we stormed in through the guard port using Henry’s key. They were cut down in their beds before they could raise any alarm. From there, we followed Henry’s directions through the castle. I had never been inside here during my smithing days, so I had no frame of reference as to the castle’s layout. But Henry’s words rang true, and soon we were standing at the stairs leading to the family suites.
A lone armored knight stood sentry in the foyer at the top of the stairs. I had hoped to catch him unawares, but this man was battle-trained and loyal, not a drunken sellsword like the night watch. I was the first to reach the hall and when the guard saw me, my men trailing behind, he clanged is gauntlet against his shield, sounding an alarm for the other knights in the guardroom nearby.
As four knights emerged from the room, the sentry cried. “Viking raiders! Protect the earl! Protect the earlessa!” One knight ran to a door on the right side of the hall and disappeared behind it. That must have been the earlessa’s room. Which meant the room at the head of the hall was reserved for the earl alone.
I felt a pang of rage as I passed an empty bedchamber on the left. “That must have been his room,” I thought as I advanced on the knights, who drew their swords in response. With a howl of fury, I ran at them with full speed, my warriors at my heels.
The knights were well-trained and able, but too engrossed in the rules of chivalric and "proper" combat to deal with us. My men had no such compunctions and we had nearly twice their numbers. We routed them fully and soundly. One was cut down by Sven and Ulf, while Bjorn and I disarmed the other two, forcing them to yield. Leif ran to the earlessa’s room and kicked the door in. A woman’s scream was heard before the sound of clashing steel. Soon after, Leif gave a triumphant cry.
With the guards routed, I told the men to hold their positions. “The earl is mine,” I said. With a mighty kick, I caved in the oaken door to the earl’s suite. A crossbow bolt shot across the room, but I raised my shield in time to deflect it. The earl, in his smallclothes, was flush against the far wall near the open window. It seems the coward had thought to escape rather than face my warriors, but the height of his room stayed his hand. He begged and sniveled as I approached, but his pleas would do him no good. This was personal.
----------
The servants and house staff had been roused from their beds and now stood, dazed and shocked, in the great hall. The earlessa was among them, supported by maids. I stood facing them on the stairs with my men in a line on the floor below me. The two captive knights knelt at their feet. They had been stripped to their linens and were manacled in heavy chains. Their powerful arms were locked in irons behind their broad backs and their feet were similarly secured. The connecting chain on their wrist and ankle shackles were kept cruelly short to prevent any "heroic" acts of desperation. This caused their chests and arms to bulge from the strain. These men were built for strength and not flexibility and were unable to move their arms from behind them. Each knelt with a look of stoic defiance.
In front of me, I held the earl by the throat. He had been stripped bare by my hand. His hands had been bound tightly behind his back with the silken cords from his draperies. This prevented him from covering his shame as he balanced on his toes, naked as the day he was born for all to see. His genitals had been similarly tied by me. His balls were stretched away from his body and a short column of rope kept them in place, a most painful position that Roddy found pleasing. His father did not share that sentiment.
“Servants and retainers of House Bamford,” I bellowed in English. “By my deeds you must know who I am, so I will not waste time introducing myself. This man has committed many grave sins against me and mine and he must pay for his wrongdoing.”
The earlessa wept. “First you murder my son and now my husband!” she accused. “You heathen beast! I will see you drawn and quartered for this!”
“You are wrong, dear lady,” I said. “Your son lives.”
There was a gasp of surprise from the assembled crowd. “You lie!” the earlessa screamed. “I interred him myself! I visit his grave each morn!”
“The man you buried was not your son,” I explained. “His name was Samuel and he was a stableboy here. Orphan since birth. Not the type anyone would miss. Perfect as a sacrifice in your husband’s plan to remove the stain of his son’s shame from the house. Your husband threw that boy’s life away. And the lives of several others. All in an attempt to murder your son and keep his own hands clean.”
I clamped down on the earl’s throat for emphasis. The earlessa screamed in despair. She knew my words to be true. “You are innocent of this, my dear lady, I can see that,” I said. “A mother’s grief and a body with a mangled face both cast you blameless. But THIS one… must pay.”
There were murmurs of assent from several members of the staff. Those who knew the fallen and called them friends. “You are all free to go,” I said to the crowd. “The earlessa will surely be welcomed at court and live out her life in the household of another lord. When your other sons return from Jerusalem, they will find service with the king, no doubt. The rest of you can make new lives for yourselves as you see fit. But the House of Bamford ends here! Now go. None of you need witness this.”
Sensing the finality of my words, the crowd began to disburse through the main doors. The earlessa was helped into a carriage and departed. Left alone with our three prisoners, I cast the earl down. He tumbled down the stairs and landed in a quivering heap on the floor beside his chained knights. Then I walked down and faced the two kneeling captive warriors. “You have served your liege well,” I said. “I will give you a quick, honorable death, unlike the one that awaits the earl. May you both be welcomed into Valhalla.”
With a flick of my axe, I executed the knight captain. As I turned to the other, Bjorn stayed my hand. “Wait, my son,” he said. “This one pleases me.” He signaled to Leif and Ulf and bade them to stand the grimacing prisoner up. He struggled mightily in their grip, but all in vain with his arms chained behind him. Bjorn looked him over, feeling his chest and arms, both forced into an agonizing flexed position from the chains that held him. Bjorn admired his face. Rugged and square of jaw, with the body of a Greek statue, the man was indeed a beauty. Bjorn callously tore off the man’s linens and let his ample manhood tumble free. The captive knight endured his shame with gritty resolve. “Whoa-ho!” Bjorn said, a twinkle in his eye. “Quite a prize! Listen, my son. Since you and your wife have moved out to your own lodge, I have been lonely in the night. I am getting older and can use a strong thrall to serve me in my later years. I put a claim on this one.”
The man spat and fiercely thrashed, but Ulf and Leif held him fast. “I will never serve you, barbarian pig!” he shouted.
“Such spirit!” Bjorn said. “I haven’t had the pleasure of breaking a prize bull like this in many a year. The challenge will give joy to my idle nights.” He reached down and clamped the knight’s balls in his meaty hand, giving them a powerful squeeze. The knight howled in pain and debasement and ceased his protestations. I smiled.
“Are you sure you want him?” I asked. “He will be a handful.”
“Aye he is!” Bjorn laughed, giving another squeeze. “But I am sure.”
“Then he is yours,” I said. “Bind him tightly for transport.”
Bjorn laughed as he retrieved the ropes from his belt. “You will wear my collar, boy,” he said in the knight’s ear. “And you will wear it well.” Leif and Ulf brought the struggling man down to the stone floor on his face and held him fast. He struggled valiantly as Bjorn used his ropes to lash the man’s knees and torso impossibly tightly. The ropes were cruelly tight against his muscled flesh and left deep indentations. Then Bjorn drew the man’s legs up and bound him in what would later become known as a hogtie. He stuffed the knight’s cursing and protesting mouth with a rag and sealed it in place with another, then placed his fur-booted foot on his newly-acquired prize’s back in triumph.
-----
An hour later, after Gunnar had arrived, the men and I had loaded the treasures of House Bamford into our boat. The still-thrashing knight was placed next to the happily bound Henry. He soon tired himself out and laid still, quivering and drenched in sweat. The young guard, however, had resigned himself to his fate and had a calm and even pleased expression on his gagged face. We placed the knights’ armor and shields in crates and loaded them on, as well as the gold and jewels from the treasury, several paintings and statues, and books and documents from the earl’s study. I put the earl's signet ring in my pouch. It would be a gift for my beloved.
The earl himself stood lashed to a support pole in the Great Hall. Ropes secured his wrists, keeping them pinned behind the rough post. They were so tight, his hands were turning purple. More ropes held his chest, waist, knees, and ankles and pinned him, immobile, to the heavy wooden beam. His mouth was ungagged so I could hear his moans and whimpering. I stood before him, holding two objects: the Ancestral Sword and Family Crest of House Bamford.
“These should both go to Roddy, by right,” I said, inches from the earl’s face. “And they shall. They will hang in our lodge over the mantel as a symbol of our ultimate victory over you and your treachery.” The earl just moaned in response. “For your crimes against kith and kin, I sentence you to death, former Earl of Bamford. History will forget your name and the stones of your castle will bleach in the sun. I now consign your unworthy soul to the depths of Muspelheim.”
Without looking back I strode for the door. Bjorn and Sven placed their torches against other support beams, coated in thick black pitch. Most of the room had been similarly coated. The fire began to spread as we boarded the boat and sailed back upstream to the waiting longship.
History records that the fire burned for a full day. The support beams collapsed and the castle walls caved in after about two hours. By the time the flames had burned out, the castle was a pile of charred rubble. For centuries after, the brave and the curious would explore the ruins, seeking some stray treasure or trinket left behind in the ashes and debris, but none ever stayed a full night on the grounds. Locals considered the place to be haunted and told tales of a pale man, shrouded in spectral fire, that would wander among the stones at night. He would sometimes be reported to whisper the name “Roderick,” but none could stay for sure.
I awoke with a start. I was disoriented at first, but the sticky pull of the tape against my body quickly snapped me back to reality. I was amazed! That was the first time I had experienced a vision of someone other than Jack! But not only that, I had lived a scene in the life of Baldur Bjornsson himself! But I was left with several questions. First: how was that possible? Jack couldn’t have done it. Second: It was known that Bjornsson had destroyed the House of Bamford, but history says that it was because of his maltreatment as a youth and his forced suicide mission at the hands of the earl. But what was the part concerning Roderick about?
History says that Roderick Bamford was slain by Vikings in a raid on a coastal village when he was 20 years old. He serves as a footnote in Bjornsson’s story, as he was the leader of the troop that Bjornsson was assigned to before he was taken as a thrall. Roderick was interred on the Bamford estate and his grave had been untouched by the fire that claimed the castle. There had always been unsubstantiated legends that a fake was buried there and that Roderick had somehow survived the attack, but no concrete evidence. What was Bjornsson talking about? Was the “Roddy” he mentioned Roderick Bamford? Did he really survive? And if so, what was his connection to Bjornsson? I felt a burning sensation in my chest, under the tape and my clothes. But there was no way I could investigate that any further, being mummified, handcuffed, and crated as I was.
“Yes…” I heard in my head. I shook with surprise. I recognized the voice as that of Queer Eye, my nefarious captor. But how was he in my head? “Who IS Roderick Bamford?”
Coming Soon – Part 11: A Shocking Revelation
The battle to take the castle was quick and decisive. The night watch were all either asleep or drunk when we stormed in through the guard port using Henry’s key. They were cut down in their beds before they could raise any alarm. From there, we followed Henry’s directions through the castle. I had never been inside here during my smithing days, so I had no frame of reference as to the castle’s layout. But Henry’s words rang true, and soon we were standing at the stairs leading to the family suites.
A lone armored knight stood sentry in the foyer at the top of the stairs. I had hoped to catch him unawares, but this man was battle-trained and loyal, not a drunken sellsword like the night watch. I was the first to reach the hall and when the guard saw me, my men trailing behind, he clanged is gauntlet against his shield, sounding an alarm for the other knights in the guardroom nearby.
As four knights emerged from the room, the sentry cried. “Viking raiders! Protect the earl! Protect the earlessa!” One knight ran to a door on the right side of the hall and disappeared behind it. That must have been the earlessa’s room. Which meant the room at the head of the hall was reserved for the earl alone.
I felt a pang of rage as I passed an empty bedchamber on the left. “That must have been his room,” I thought as I advanced on the knights, who drew their swords in response. With a howl of fury, I ran at them with full speed, my warriors at my heels.
The knights were well-trained and able, but too engrossed in the rules of chivalric and "proper" combat to deal with us. My men had no such compunctions and we had nearly twice their numbers. We routed them fully and soundly. One was cut down by Sven and Ulf, while Bjorn and I disarmed the other two, forcing them to yield. Leif ran to the earlessa’s room and kicked the door in. A woman’s scream was heard before the sound of clashing steel. Soon after, Leif gave a triumphant cry.
With the guards routed, I told the men to hold their positions. “The earl is mine,” I said. With a mighty kick, I caved in the oaken door to the earl’s suite. A crossbow bolt shot across the room, but I raised my shield in time to deflect it. The earl, in his smallclothes, was flush against the far wall near the open window. It seems the coward had thought to escape rather than face my warriors, but the height of his room stayed his hand. He begged and sniveled as I approached, but his pleas would do him no good. This was personal.
----------
The servants and house staff had been roused from their beds and now stood, dazed and shocked, in the great hall. The earlessa was among them, supported by maids. I stood facing them on the stairs with my men in a line on the floor below me. The two captive knights knelt at their feet. They had been stripped to their linens and were manacled in heavy chains. Their powerful arms were locked in irons behind their broad backs and their feet were similarly secured. The connecting chain on their wrist and ankle shackles were kept cruelly short to prevent any "heroic" acts of desperation. This caused their chests and arms to bulge from the strain. These men were built for strength and not flexibility and were unable to move their arms from behind them. Each knelt with a look of stoic defiance.
In front of me, I held the earl by the throat. He had been stripped bare by my hand. His hands had been bound tightly behind his back with the silken cords from his draperies. This prevented him from covering his shame as he balanced on his toes, naked as the day he was born for all to see. His genitals had been similarly tied by me. His balls were stretched away from his body and a short column of rope kept them in place, a most painful position that Roddy found pleasing. His father did not share that sentiment.
“Servants and retainers of House Bamford,” I bellowed in English. “By my deeds you must know who I am, so I will not waste time introducing myself. This man has committed many grave sins against me and mine and he must pay for his wrongdoing.”
The earlessa wept. “First you murder my son and now my husband!” she accused. “You heathen beast! I will see you drawn and quartered for this!”
“You are wrong, dear lady,” I said. “Your son lives.”
There was a gasp of surprise from the assembled crowd. “You lie!” the earlessa screamed. “I interred him myself! I visit his grave each morn!”
“The man you buried was not your son,” I explained. “His name was Samuel and he was a stableboy here. Orphan since birth. Not the type anyone would miss. Perfect as a sacrifice in your husband’s plan to remove the stain of his son’s shame from the house. Your husband threw that boy’s life away. And the lives of several others. All in an attempt to murder your son and keep his own hands clean.”
I clamped down on the earl’s throat for emphasis. The earlessa screamed in despair. She knew my words to be true. “You are innocent of this, my dear lady, I can see that,” I said. “A mother’s grief and a body with a mangled face both cast you blameless. But THIS one… must pay.”
There were murmurs of assent from several members of the staff. Those who knew the fallen and called them friends. “You are all free to go,” I said to the crowd. “The earlessa will surely be welcomed at court and live out her life in the household of another lord. When your other sons return from Jerusalem, they will find service with the king, no doubt. The rest of you can make new lives for yourselves as you see fit. But the House of Bamford ends here! Now go. None of you need witness this.”
Sensing the finality of my words, the crowd began to disburse through the main doors. The earlessa was helped into a carriage and departed. Left alone with our three prisoners, I cast the earl down. He tumbled down the stairs and landed in a quivering heap on the floor beside his chained knights. Then I walked down and faced the two kneeling captive warriors. “You have served your liege well,” I said. “I will give you a quick, honorable death, unlike the one that awaits the earl. May you both be welcomed into Valhalla.”
With a flick of my axe, I executed the knight captain. As I turned to the other, Bjorn stayed my hand. “Wait, my son,” he said. “This one pleases me.” He signaled to Leif and Ulf and bade them to stand the grimacing prisoner up. He struggled mightily in their grip, but all in vain with his arms chained behind him. Bjorn looked him over, feeling his chest and arms, both forced into an agonizing flexed position from the chains that held him. Bjorn admired his face. Rugged and square of jaw, with the body of a Greek statue, the man was indeed a beauty. Bjorn callously tore off the man’s linens and let his ample manhood tumble free. The captive knight endured his shame with gritty resolve. “Whoa-ho!” Bjorn said, a twinkle in his eye. “Quite a prize! Listen, my son. Since you and your wife have moved out to your own lodge, I have been lonely in the night. I am getting older and can use a strong thrall to serve me in my later years. I put a claim on this one.”
The man spat and fiercely thrashed, but Ulf and Leif held him fast. “I will never serve you, barbarian pig!” he shouted.
“Such spirit!” Bjorn said. “I haven’t had the pleasure of breaking a prize bull like this in many a year. The challenge will give joy to my idle nights.” He reached down and clamped the knight’s balls in his meaty hand, giving them a powerful squeeze. The knight howled in pain and debasement and ceased his protestations. I smiled.
“Are you sure you want him?” I asked. “He will be a handful.”
“Aye he is!” Bjorn laughed, giving another squeeze. “But I am sure.”
“Then he is yours,” I said. “Bind him tightly for transport.”
Bjorn laughed as he retrieved the ropes from his belt. “You will wear my collar, boy,” he said in the knight’s ear. “And you will wear it well.” Leif and Ulf brought the struggling man down to the stone floor on his face and held him fast. He struggled valiantly as Bjorn used his ropes to lash the man’s knees and torso impossibly tightly. The ropes were cruelly tight against his muscled flesh and left deep indentations. Then Bjorn drew the man’s legs up and bound him in what would later become known as a hogtie. He stuffed the knight’s cursing and protesting mouth with a rag and sealed it in place with another, then placed his fur-booted foot on his newly-acquired prize’s back in triumph.
-----
An hour later, after Gunnar had arrived, the men and I had loaded the treasures of House Bamford into our boat. The still-thrashing knight was placed next to the happily bound Henry. He soon tired himself out and laid still, quivering and drenched in sweat. The young guard, however, had resigned himself to his fate and had a calm and even pleased expression on his gagged face. We placed the knights’ armor and shields in crates and loaded them on, as well as the gold and jewels from the treasury, several paintings and statues, and books and documents from the earl’s study. I put the earl's signet ring in my pouch. It would be a gift for my beloved.
The earl himself stood lashed to a support pole in the Great Hall. Ropes secured his wrists, keeping them pinned behind the rough post. They were so tight, his hands were turning purple. More ropes held his chest, waist, knees, and ankles and pinned him, immobile, to the heavy wooden beam. His mouth was ungagged so I could hear his moans and whimpering. I stood before him, holding two objects: the Ancestral Sword and Family Crest of House Bamford.
“These should both go to Roddy, by right,” I said, inches from the earl’s face. “And they shall. They will hang in our lodge over the mantel as a symbol of our ultimate victory over you and your treachery.” The earl just moaned in response. “For your crimes against kith and kin, I sentence you to death, former Earl of Bamford. History will forget your name and the stones of your castle will bleach in the sun. I now consign your unworthy soul to the depths of Muspelheim.”
Without looking back I strode for the door. Bjorn and Sven placed their torches against other support beams, coated in thick black pitch. Most of the room had been similarly coated. The fire began to spread as we boarded the boat and sailed back upstream to the waiting longship.
History records that the fire burned for a full day. The support beams collapsed and the castle walls caved in after about two hours. By the time the flames had burned out, the castle was a pile of charred rubble. For centuries after, the brave and the curious would explore the ruins, seeking some stray treasure or trinket left behind in the ashes and debris, but none ever stayed a full night on the grounds. Locals considered the place to be haunted and told tales of a pale man, shrouded in spectral fire, that would wander among the stones at night. He would sometimes be reported to whisper the name “Roderick,” but none could stay for sure.
I awoke with a start. I was disoriented at first, but the sticky pull of the tape against my body quickly snapped me back to reality. I was amazed! That was the first time I had experienced a vision of someone other than Jack! But not only that, I had lived a scene in the life of Baldur Bjornsson himself! But I was left with several questions. First: how was that possible? Jack couldn’t have done it. Second: It was known that Bjornsson had destroyed the House of Bamford, but history says that it was because of his maltreatment as a youth and his forced suicide mission at the hands of the earl. But what was the part concerning Roderick about?
History says that Roderick Bamford was slain by Vikings in a raid on a coastal village when he was 20 years old. He serves as a footnote in Bjornsson’s story, as he was the leader of the troop that Bjornsson was assigned to before he was taken as a thrall. Roderick was interred on the Bamford estate and his grave had been untouched by the fire that claimed the castle. There had always been unsubstantiated legends that a fake was buried there and that Roderick had somehow survived the attack, but no concrete evidence. What was Bjornsson talking about? Was the “Roddy” he mentioned Roderick Bamford? Did he really survive? And if so, what was his connection to Bjornsson? I felt a burning sensation in my chest, under the tape and my clothes. But there was no way I could investigate that any further, being mummified, handcuffed, and crated as I was.
“Yes…” I heard in my head. I shook with surprise. I recognized the voice as that of Queer Eye, my nefarious captor. But how was he in my head? “Who IS Roderick Bamford?”
Coming Soon – Part 11: A Shocking Revelation
I'm sooooo excited to see another chapter! So much to talk about!
First of all, so glad Baldur got revenge for him and Roddy. And that Bjorn was able to secure himself a new thrall. Especially one so hunky!
Secondly... (spoiler message for speculation on plot points)
In any case, I love seeing this, and I can't wait to find out! Also the villain in me is still kinda rooting for Queer Eye to take these hunky men into his harem. (And maybe send me your cast offs, oh Pink Pearl of Perniciousness!)
First of all, so glad Baldur got revenge for him and Roddy. And that Bjorn was able to secure himself a new thrall. Especially one so hunky!
Secondly... (spoiler message for speculation on plot points)
► Show Spoiler
He mightily approves of this monicker.
But I will say you've touched on some important points. We'll see which theories are correct in coming issues.