Permanent Bondage [m/m] (Warning: dark)

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there is no sam
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Permanent Bondage [m/m] (Warning: dark)

Post by there is no sam »

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MISSING SINCE JULY: Dillon


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Dillon let out a sigh as he fiddled with the dials on his car stereo, finally settling on some nondescript indie song. He reclined back into the driver's seat, trying to get comfortable. It was going to be a long night. It was only his second week working for the car service, but already the monotony of the part-time job routine had begun to sink in.

A few evenings a week he would park by the college campus near his house, and wait for his phone to buzz. College students--usually drunk ones--would open an app and request a ride. Their location would push through to Dillon's phone, and he'd drive over and pick them up. It was a simple concept... a taxi service for the modern age. At 24 years old, it wasn't exactly how Dillon pictured his life, but this--like all things--was only temporary.

He had dropped out of college a couple years earlier. Some people just aren't cut out for the "traditional" route, and in Dillon's case that became apparent very quickly. This estranged him from his parents, who had rather lofty ambitions for their son's career. Nonetheless, Dillon now knew that his future didn't lie behind a desk in some office--no, something in his heart called him towards adventure. The plan (such as it was) would have him do anything and everything to save up cash, and fast. Right now, he might be stuck driving drunk college kids from tailgate to frat party, but 6 months from now he'd be halfway across the world. Nothing but a map in hand and a backpack slung over his shoulder. Yeah, "traditional" wasn't the life he had in mind.

He was handsome, but not intimidatingly so. Tall, broad shouldered but lanky. Bright, sparkling green eyes and small black gauges in each ear. He had dark hair with a gentle wave, which tonight he kept under a black Supreme snapback. He wore a simple grey v-neck under a black hoodie and black leather jacket. His dark blue skinny jeans were just a bit too short, showing off the black vans old skool high tops on his feet.

BZZZZZT

Dillon jerked forward in his seat--how long was I out? he thought. Either way, it was showtime... first customer of the night. The drive was short, only a few blocks away at one of the many small dive bars in the area. As he pulled up to the curb, Dillon could just make out his pick-up: a short, thin black teen. Maybe 19 or 20 years old. He raised an arm, flagging Dillon down as he approached. Doesn't seem too drunk yet, but it's still early...

Dillon rolled down the passenger side window.

"Terrel?"
"Yeah, that's right," the teen entered the car and sat down.
"So, where you headed to tonight?"
"Not far... just a couple blocks down that way," he gestured to a quiet residential area, near a big city park that closed in the evenings.

The drive was mostly silent... eerily so, with Dillon feeling compelled to drive the conversation. Terrel responded mostly in nods or short, terse grunts of acknowledgement. He was calm, peaceful, but there was something about his demeanor that betrayed tension and unease.

"Yeah, right up there's good," Terrel pointed a short distance down the street, "turn in here."
"I think it's closed-"
"It's cool," he snapped.

Dillon pulled off the main road, taking them into a throughway through the park. It was dark, and uncharacteristically creepy at this time of night. The only signs of life were the occasional rustling of the tall, densely packed trees that towered all around them.

SLAM

Two dark figures piled into the backseat.

"Wha-" Dillon's reaction was cut violently short by a gloved hand from the backseat, clamping firmly over his mouth.

Dillon glanced over at Terrel helplessly. The teen's expression was one not of surprise, but menace. And in his hand, a matte black handgun of sorts, pointed in Dillon's direction.

"Now you shut your mouth. Don't make me have to use this."

A fourth figure, clad in all black and a face mask leaned in through the driver's side window, and snapped cold metal handcuffs on each of Dillon's wrists. The middle chain was looped through one of the spokes on the steering wheel, binding him to it as the sound of duct tape unspooling off the roll echoed from the backseat.

The hand released Dillon's mouth. He exhaled sharply, just as shiny grey tape was thrust around his jaw and the back of the headrest. The first few rolls, his mouth was open, forcing the tape between his teeth. Eventually, the layers began to take hold, sealing his lips tightly together and muffling his grunts. By the time the process was over, Dillon had half a roll of duct tape securing his head to the seat, and--as Terrel ordered--forcing his mouth shut.

"hummm" Dillon offered pleadingly. But deep down he knew--even if he could talk, his cries would go unheeded.
"Phi Kappa Psi. Drive," Terell ordered.

Dillon knew the name. He knew the place. But could his captors really be frat boys? Hazing had been banned from the campus several years prior, due to the death of two pledges, but even still, Dillon wasn't pledging anywhere. He wasn't even a college student anymore! His mind raced anxiously as he tried to anticipate what possible reason anyone would have to kidnap him, and just what kind of trouble he was in.

They pulled up to the house--a large, two story building with a basement. All the lights were off. Are these guys even in this fraternity? Terrel shifted the car into park, and he and his boys mobilized immediately. Wordlessly, they went to work on Dillon's helpless body, preparing him for the transfer. They wrapped his handcuffed wrists together in duct tape before unlocking them, ensuring that he remained tightly bound. His ankles were similarly wrapped, and his legs were forced up into a bend. They secured him in this position by encasing the joints in tape, all around his knees in all directions. The same was done to his arms at the elbows, forcing them into a similar bent position. As a final measure, they wrapped a few layers of tape over his vans, keeping his feet tightly together.

Finally, one of the men took a knife and cut through the copious layers of tape that had kept Dillon gagged on the drive over. It stuck to his lips painfully as it was peeled off his face.

"P-please! Can I just ask one thi-"
"Nah, man," Terrel shoved the barrel of his gun into Dillon's open mouth. It felt strange... warm, and plastic-like.

A masked man pulled off two more long strips of tape, and handed them to Terrel. He carefully sealed them over Dillon's lips, but they both knew it wouldn't hold if Dillon were to really scream. It was a message--keep quiet, or die.

The largest of the masked men scooped Dillon up out of the driver's seat. It would be a ridiculous sight to anyone--a grown man cocooned in tape, carried helplessly like a baby. Dillon wondered what might happen if a neighbor saw... would they call the cops? Or just mistake the scene for another hazing prank? Either way, he didn't hold out much hope that anyone would come looking for him.

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This is a repost from the old site, I want to keep it around for when I am able to continue it!
Last edited by there is no sam 5 years ago, edited 1 time in total.
there is no sam
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Post by there is no sam »

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THE KIDNAPPER: Terrel


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Dillon's taped up body was dumped roughly into the middle of a darkened room towards the back of the house. With only the moonlight illuminating the space, Dillon could just make out the shadowed outlines of some furniture. A window, a door... the only things he'd need if he got the opportunity to run. Dark figures shifted around the edges--his captors were watching. Dillon's breathing grew heavy, labored as the desperation of his situation amplified. He wheezed against the tape sealing his mouth. He could break it if he tried. Should he scream for help?

He felt someone approach behind him. A sheath of cold metal brushed against Dillon's wrist, causing him to flinch. The figure grabbed his arm roughly in turn, holding him down. Dillon felt the tension release from his wrists--the figure was cutting him loose! Dillon brought his hands in front of him, rubbing his wrists gratefully. The figure continued on to his arms and legs, and within minutes, Dillon was completely free of his bonds. Gingerly, Dillon began to stand, but before he could--

A bright spotlight was thrust into his eyes.

"GET YOUR ASS DOWN. ON THE FLOOR, MAN. LET'S GO." Terrel charged toward Dillon from out of the shadows, his gun raised.

With scarcely a second to react, Dillon slipped backward onto the floor. He stared at the gun, wild-eyed as Terrel towered over him.

"DO YOU WANT TO DIE TONIGHT?" Dillon could only sputter in response. "SIMPLE FUCKING QUESTION, MAN. DO YOU WANT TO DIE?"

"N-no. No...pl-please no." It was all he could manage with a gun six inches from his face.

A moment of silence followed, seemingly infinite for all the dread it held. Dillon felt certain the trigger had been pulled, and his brain had yet to process it. But then, all the malice drained from Terrel's face--his expression softening for the first time that evening. He pulled back from Dillon, seeming to mean him no harm. He let out a hearty laugh, pointing at Dillon as if they had just shared a joke among friends.

"You... you should see your face right now," Terrel sputtered, between laughing fits, "man, I think you was about ready to shit yourself."

Someone flicked a switch, and light filled the room. Dillon looked around at all the laughing faces of young men surrounding him. A few were clad in black--his captors--but most appeared to be entirely ordinary college students. Dillon was dumbstruck, trying to process the events of the past 5 minutes. Terrel gestured broadly to the gun in his hand before pulling the trigger in Dillon's face.

A liquid began to dribble slowly down his forehead. Holly shit! Is that blood? Dillon touched a tentative finger to the "wound"... it was tequila.

"Wh... s-so this... I, um," Dillon let out a small chuckle under his breath--a mixture of relief and exasperation.

"It's a prank, man. Just a joke!" Terrel grinned from ear to ear, milking reactions from the crowded room. "Your boy set this up. Yo he a sick fuck, huh?"

"My... boy? What do you me-?"

"Yeah, you know your friend. What's his name again?" Terrel offered a hand to help him to his feet, but Dillon only eyed it warily.

CLINK

Dillon's eyes shot over to the far corner of the room. In his excitement, a member of the crowd had just dropped his athletic bag, inadvertently revealing the lengths of chains and assorted restraints inside.

"Ohhh, yeah that's right," Terrel remembered in theatrical fashion, "you don't got any.

With no time to formulate an escape plan, Dillon grabbed the first thing within reach--Terrel's hand--and used it to propel himself onto his feet. Terrel was thrust headfirst into the floor, but Dillon couldn't spare a second to look back. He had to reach the doorway.

He bolted through the threshold and into the hallway--the front door was now in sight. All he had to do was just-

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT

A sharp tingling sensation shot up Dillon's spine. The world around him blurred, and he began thrusting violently. He lost all control of his motor functions--another step would've been an impossible task. As he fell to the floor, he lost all feeling of dread and panic. All feeling of anything, really. He drifted gently out of consciousness. It wouldn't be until much later that Dillon would learn he was tazered.

The boys slowly trickled into the hallway to witness what had become of their captive. They watched as two of their brood grabbed Dillon's ankles, dragging his limp body back to the very room from which he had just escaped moments before. Terrel surveyed the scene intently.

"We're your friends now, bitch."

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there is no sam
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Post by there is no sam »

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THE RIGHT HAND MAN: Damian


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"Yo, hand me that chain over there."
...
"Needa get this nikka under control, man. This shit can't be happening again."
...
"So what you wanna gag his mouth with?"
...


Dillon slowly pried an eye open, squinting groggily into the bright light as consciousness returned to him. If he had momentarily forgotten his current plight, reality began to sink in as the harsh sting of cold metal nipped at his wrists. He made a tentative attempt to lift his hand, but found his wrists bound by cuffs and a short chain. His feet were similarly restrained by a pair of light shackles, with only three links of chain between them. They weren't taking any chances on another escape attempt. A padlock looped through the middle of both chains secured his hands tightly to his feet, forcing him to hunch over his curled up legs.

"Mmmwha...?" Dillon grunted.

"Oh look, he's waking up," Terrel smiled, "I gotta be honest with you, man. You... you startin' to piss me off."

"I- Please... what is thi-?" Dillon's pleas were cut short by a firm hand pressed across his mouth from behind. It was one of the larger boys from before--Damian. His tall, broad-shouldered frame would intimidate a linebacker.

"Now, now, did I say you could speak? You needa watch yo mouth around me." Terrel obviously relished his new found power.

Dillon averted his eyes like a scolded puppy. He shifted uncomfortably in Damian's tight grasp. Terrel's attention turned to Damian.

"Go get me something that can shut this fool up for good." Damian nodded and left the room, leaving Terrel and DIllon alone.

"Look... something you needa understand. You ain't leaving here again. Ever. No amount of pleading or bargaining is gonna change that. Okay?"

"I just... don't understand. Why?" Dillon looked up at Terrel pleadingly, hoping to appeal to his sense of humanity.

Terrel's face contorted with rage. He flew at Dillon, knocking him onto his back and landing on top of him. He pulled off his navy blue Converse All Star low top and shoved it roughly into Dillon's mouth lengthwise, wedging it between his teeth and forcing his tongue down. Dillon choked and sputtered as the sneaker gagged him. Terrel reached for the duct tape, and began wrapping it around Dillon's head and the shoegag, cocooning it firmly inside his mouth. All Dillon could do was wheeze and moan helplessly, as his voice was once again taken away from him.

"You think this was an accident? You don't think there's a reason why you tied up here? Chained up like a dog with another man's Chuck Taylor shoved into yo mouth? You were chosen. We've been watching you, we know you ain't got no ties to nobody. Who's gonna miss you if you never come back?"

Dillon mmphed into his gag, futilely squirming against his chains. What did they have planned for him? He feared for his life.

Terrel reaches inside Dillon's jacket pocket and retrieves his iPhone. He shoves it into Dillon's bound hands.

"Now you gonna make a call. Tell yo momma that you good, and you gon take that long ass trip you been talking about. Don't know when you'll be back."

Dillon's throat tightened. They knew... everything. He considered the sea of faces that surrounded him earlier that evening. So many were... familiar somehow. The college students he'd been driving around since he started working for the car service. He had been targeted. Tracked. They learned everything they could about him, until they were sure he was "the one" that they needed.

He fumbled with his phone's unlock screen, finding it difficult to maneuver around the touchscreen with the restraints keeping him pinned. He eyed Terrel warily, unsure of how closely he was watching. One thing was for sure--this could be his last chance, and he had to do something. Cautiously, he swiped the "Emergency" tab on the lock screen. Within two swipes, it would automatically call 9-1-1. He couldn't provide much information in his current state, but he knew the call and GPS data would be more than enough to prompt a police visit.

It began to ring. A silent call for help.

"Man, what the fuck's taking so long?" Terrel reached for the phone, frustrated.

Hurriedly, Dillon hung up the call, unsure if it had even gone through. Terrel took a knife and slid the tape off Dillon's mouth. It hung around his neck like a loose bandana, with the shoe still precariously hanging from it. Terrel demanded the unlock code, and Dillon acquiesced, praying that help would soon arrive.

"It's ringing," Terrel thrust the phone up to Dillon's mouth, as a call to his mom went through.

"Hello?" A woman's voice rang out through the speakerphone.

"M-mom? It's... me. Dillon." He paused, looking up at Terrel, "Listen, I... uh, I'm going away for a while."

"Going away? What do you mean?"

"I'm, uh, going to take that backpacking trip I told you about." Dillon looked down at a notebook Terrel had thrust into his chest. He had written Dillon some "lines".

"I-I'm taking the 6am flight to Honduras and you... you won't hear from me again for a long time." Dillon recited, hanging his head in defeat.

Dillon's voice began to waver as despair welled up inside him. A tear rolled down his cheek.

"Dillon, honey are you alright? This seems rather sudden-"

"Y-yes. Yeah, I'm... I'll talk to you soo-" Terrel hung up the phone, and placed it gently on the floor. He smiled cryptically at Dillon before bringing his foot down hard on the phone, smashing it beyond repair.

He grimaced as he dangled the busted phone in front of Dillon's face, taunting him with his last remaining connection to the outside world. Then, he thrust the phone against the wall.

Damian returned, carrying several lengths of heavy chain and a translucent white goop in a ziploc bag--it resembled a more viscous form of play-doh. He knelt down and unlocked the padlock binding Dillon's handcuffs to his shackles. They stood him up, helping him to remain balanced as his shackled feet found footing.

A long, heavy chain several feet long was then padlocked onto his shackles by one end. Damian wound the metal bind tightly around Dillon's legs, reaching above his knees until only chain was visible from his feet up. That was secured with another padlock, tying his legs tightly together. A thin chain attached to a large plastic box was secured around his waist, and his cuffed wrists were placed inside the box. These resembled the regulation prisoner transport restraints, and they forced Dillon's hands to remain in front of him at waist-level. His upper body was then wrapped in another length of long, thick chain, binding his arms tightly to his sides. Damian and Terrel each grabbed an arm, and helped DIllon to lay flat on his back on the floor. They were ready to put on the finishing touch.

"This shit right here," Terrel held up the ziploc bag of white goop, "it's enough to keep your--"

Suddenly, there was a loud pounding at the door. Terrel and Damian froze, like deer in the headlights.

Within moments, a short, pudgy 20 year old was standing in the doorway, panting.

"Who's outside?" Terrel snapped.

"The police..."

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THE DECOY: Cristian


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The muffled sounds of harried shuffling could be heard from downstairs, as a handful of would-be kidnappers rushed to hide all traces of their victim. They could throw the unused chains in the crawlspace, the bag of assorted gags into the dryer, and the copious pile of rope could convincingly pass as innocuous if thrown into the tool shed -- but as for the bound young man upstairs... that would call for a more elegant solution.

There, in the middle of an unused corner bedroom, Dillon lay flat on his back, hopelessly tied in various chains, cuffs, shackles and padlocks. It was the kind of predicament from which there was no simple escape -- in fact, short of keys or a bolt cutter, his bondage situation was uncomfortably permanent.

BANG
BANG
BANG

More pounding at the front door.

"Terrel!" A voice shouted out anxiously from below.

But he remained cool. Collected. At ease under pressure.

"Five more minutes, man!" he shouted back, "just need five more minutes and we good."

Dillon wanted desperately to call out, but Terrel had planted his navy chuck taylor-clad foot firmly over Dillon's throat, thoroughly restricting its function. Terrel reached for the bag of white goop, stoic and focused as he moved quickly to silence his prisoner. He pinched Dillon's nose, forcing the breath out of his body. Dillon resisted for as long as he could, to the point his vision blurred. His faint, tentative groans did little to attract attention. When he finally relented, Terrel poured the entire contents of the ziploc bag into Dillon's gasping mouth. He swiftly thrust both hands over Dillon's mouth and jaw, attempting to force his lips together as the viscous substance rolled around inside.

"Don't swallow it."

Dillon heeded this ominous warning, and soon found a curious sensation filling the insides of his mouth. He could feel the liquid swishing around his orifice, seeping into every gap within it. Between teeth, around his tongue, sealing and binding the void as it began to rapidly thicken. Within 60 seconds, Dillon's mouth had hardened shut from the inside out, his teeth stuck together and his tongue firmly planted to the floor of his mouth by this dense, rubbery foam. He moaned meekly in horror, unsure of what had just happened to him, or if it could ever be reversed. Later, he would come to learn that this substance was a particularly potent variety of dental cement -- the quantity and application of which was far outside of the recommended usage. Dillon's breathing grew rapid and wheezy as he struggled to adjust to breathing through his nose alone.

Terrel produced a small bottle of industrial grade superglue out of his back pocket, and began applying it generously to Dillon's lips. Overkill, no doubt, but there was a faint glimmer of desperation in Terrel's manner now. A single strip of duct tape placed over top ensured the drying process would take effect. To glance at him now, you would see only a light tape gag, unaware of the horrors that lay beneath. In a final blaze of glory act, Terrel made the split second decision to pour super glue into the many locks and keyholes that adorned Dillon's bonds. This would take hours, even days to extricate him from later, but in the event things went south, Terrel had only one concern -- to ensure that Dillon would never be freed. That he would lay bound, gagged and forgotten for the rest of his life.

Just then, a small latino teen with diamond studs rushed in.

"They're coming in, T. The cops are in the house-" he reported breathlessly.

Terrel paused a moment, eying Dillon's helpless form. He slowly unspooled some duct tape from the roll, and turned to the latino boy with a smirk.

"Close the door."

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"Hey, yo I'm serious! Did anyone here call the cops? Damian? Own up, man," a tall black senior who went by the name Wentz held court for the police downstairs.

He made a big show of leading them through hallways and corridors, calling out his frat brothers at the top of his lungs. It's just another dumb prank... some stupid pledge too amped up on red bull and fireball shots. These things happen all the time at frats, right? Boys will be boys, after all. But much to Wentz's dismay, these particular cops weren't taking the bait.

"I'm just... to be honest, I dunno. I mean, you sure you got the call from this house? I-"

"Can we take a look upstairs?" one cop gruffly interrupted.

The population of the frat house froze at that moment. Their entire operation hinged on Wentz's response. After a moment's pause...

"Uh, um yeah. Sure, no problem." Wentz gestured for the officers to lead the way.

They marched upstairs and fanned out, giving a quick sweep through each of the closed doors. Nothing seemed out of place, beyond a bong here and there.

"MMMMPH!!"

A muffled cry rang out from the far corner. The cops exchanged glances of concern. The nearest officer burst through the door.

"BACK ROOM! BACK ROOM!" The three unformed men fell in behind Officer Gardner, surveying the scene that lay before them.


There stood Terrel, towering over the squirming, quivering latino teen. He was on his knees with his hands taped behind his back and several layers of duct tape pinning his arms to his chest. He wore a backwards snapback, which had been incorporated into an elaborate tape gag that wrapped vertically around his jaw and head, combined with several layers around his mouth. He was effectively shut up, but his honey colored eyes -- wide as saucers -- communicated a degree of fear and humiliation. Only one of his black chuck taylor high tops was currently on his feet. The other was in Terrel's hand, being held firmly over the boy's nose. The boy shifted uncomfortably as everyone watched his torment. He "mmph'd" against the tape gag.

Terrel dropped everything and raised his hands calmly, slowly turning to face the police in the doorway.

"Sorry! Sorry, officers. Just a bit 'a hazing, that's it."

"On the floor! Now!" Terrel begrudgingly acquiesced, summoning every ounce of inner serenity he may have possessed in that moment. An officer handcuffed his hands behind his head. The irony was not lost on him. He chuckled a little... what else could he do?

"Something funny, son?" the arresting officer demanded.

"Nah, nah... just a misunderstanding, it's nothing. I swear."

"Are you alright? Do you need medical attention?" Officer Gardner released the latino boy from his gag. The boy shook his head, no.

They led the boy to the room ext door, and questioned him. The mood was tense amongst the frat brothers, and they awaited their fate. The arresting officer kept a watchful eye on Terrel, who remained handcuffed on the floor.

After what felt like an eternity, Officer Gardner and his men emerged from the room, with the latino teen trailing sheepishly behind. He clutched one of his arms nervously, praying that he gave a convincing performance. Gardner addressed Terrel --

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you that hazing has been banned on this campus, and can lead to some hefty fines. Even jail time."

The room heaved a sigh of secret relief -- they might just make it after all.

He gestured to the latino boy, "And since Cristian here doesn't want to press charges, and this is your first offense... we'll let you off with a warning. But don't make us have to come here again."

And with that, Terrel was released and the cops were ushered out of the house. Had they lingered for a moment longer... had they listened through the intentionally boisterous chatter and shuffling of the frat, they might've heard the faint sounds of struggle and whimpering, emanating from beneath.

Below the wooden floorboards lay Dillon, writhing in the heavy chains that bound him hand and foot. The superglue that tightly sealed his lips combined with the densely packed dental cement made all but the gentlest "mmph" impossible. Nonetheless, they needed Cristian's moans to cover up any unexplained noise. Apart from the squeak of Dillon's Vans Sk8-Hi sneakers rubbing together as he struggled, he was forcefully subdued into complete silence. And now here, hidden under the floorboards and nailed shut inside, it was easy to forget he was even there at all.

"Do you want to get him out of there?" Damian asked.

"Nah, leave him down there for tonight. I got something else to take care of..." Terrel cast his gaze across the room, to Cristian, the unwitting latino teen.

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Post by Xtc »

Welcome aboard. Thanks for reinstating this. I hope you manage to finish it.
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Post by LK3869 »

[mention]there is no sam[/mention]
A wild start, I like it!
Some wicked ideas here and fine writting. And I fall for agressive black youths, so... ( minus he's a frat boy and not a real thug but big plus that frat seems nasty enough )
Most def' one to follow!
don't run ! I'm friendly ...
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Post by there is no sam »

Thank you! There were at least 3 more chapters written, but unforunately it doesn't look like they were archived. Maybe I'll take the story in a different direction...
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Post by there is no sam »

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"Get dressed"

A tangle of wadded up clothing fell onto Cristian's chest. He opened his groggy eyes, still partially asleep. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he came to realize his arms were pinned down on both sides by Damian and Wentz. The commands were coming from Terrel, of course. Cristian attempted to sit up, and they let him, but their grip remained a firm warning against sudden moves. Terrel towered over him as he pulled a thick grey sock from the pile. He shoved it roughly into Cristian's mouth.

"And don't you fucking think about spitting that out, get me?"

Cristian nodded meekly, buttoning up his gray collared shirt. He'd been punished before -- once spending two days locked in a dog cage with a bit gag wedged between his teeth -- but something about this time felt different. This felt final. He wanted to say something, to explain himself, but he knew better than to disobey an order. The sock gag remained.

He took his time lacing up his black high top chucks, praying for something or someone to come in and break the tension. But nothing came. Damian took two nylon zip ties and secured them tightly around Cristian's wrists and ankles before helping him into a nearby office chair on wheels. A thick, black collar was clasped around his neck, and fortified with a metal padlock.

"That right there," Terrel crouched down to Cristian's eye level, gently removing the sock from his gaping mouth, "that's a high grade shock collar. Used to teach police dogs, now I'mma use it to teach you."

Cristian's throat tightened.

"A sho--?" his words were cut brutally short as a sharp, searing jolt was sent through his spine. An involuntary tear began streaming down his cheek--an instantaneous reaction to the pain.

"Nah see, you shut your mouth you might learn somethin'," Terrel couldn't contain a smug grin of satisfaction, "now you needa be straight up in what I'm about to ask you."

"what... exactly... did you say to the cops?"

Cristian's pulse quickened, his answer came like a shot out of his mouth--

"Noth-!"

ZZZZZT

His high strung, knee jerk impulse earned him a quick zap, but it did nothing to quell his beating heart.

"Let me ask you again... what exactly did you tell the cops?"

Cristian took pause, trying desperately to regain some composure through the burning tears in his eyes. Quietly, softly --

"I-I-I didn't. Didn't say an-anything. I swear I didn't."

Terrel leaned back a bit. Let out a sigh. In all of this, his gaze remained fixed on Cristian, a look of bemused appraisal on his face.

"Yeah, man, I mean... that's what I figured. It's just... we kinda got a big thing going down here and uh, I don't feel too right with having loose ends that might fuck that up, know what I'm saying?"

Another sensation ran down Cristian's spine--a cold chill. Terrel's vague words wore heavy on his chest. Like so many of his past pronouncements, Terrel's ominous tone was more than enough to convey his meaning. After a conversation such as this, people tend to disappear. Terrel stood up and walked out the door, seemingly oblivious or indifferent to Cristian's hushed, panicked pleading.

"Please, Terrel. Please don't do this! I-I didn't say anything! I didn't say anything!"

Wentz followed Damian, wheeling Cristian's office chair down the hall and into the garage, where his ultimate fate awaited him. There on the work bench lay several thick, long metal strips, about an inch and a half tall, and of various lengths. The boys stood Cristian up, and began affixing one strip over his ankles, and another around the back, forming one small, tight metal cuff around them. There were screw holes on either side, through which Wentz shoved thick bolt screws. The bolts on all ends were secured, bringing both metal strips tightly together and binding Cristian's ankles. This process was repeated on his calves and thighs, until his legs were completely bolted by these thick, metal bindings.

For his hands, his wrists were pulled in front and similarly encased between two small metal strips, bolted into a tight binding. His arms were then pulled back to his sides, and three layers of metal strip were used to bind his upper body. Satisfied with their work, Wentz began the finishing touch--he began horribly stripping each bolt and screw, to the point where they could not be removed with conventional tools. Cristian was bolted, screwed and encased in metal bonds that could very well hold him for the remainder of his life. Even if someone tried to help him, it would be nearly impossible to safely free him from the metal strips that tightly hugged his skin.

Cristian whimpered. The tears were now freely streaming down his cheeks as helplessly watched his fate be sealed. Just then, Terrel walked in, carrying one last set of straps, not unlike the others but for one aspect. He stood over the mewling latino teen and smirked.

"Terrel, please, man. I didn't... I'm not gonna say a word. You-you know me. I-I-"

"There's not much I can do for you now, man. This shit right here," he tugged at Cristian's metallic bonds, "this is the stuff you put people in when they ain't coming back out."

"Y-you're just going to leave me like this forever? You're gonna keep me here?"

"Well not here, no. See... I called up a coupla these dudes I know. Yeah, they, uh, they not too pro immigrants if you know what I'm sayin'. Matter fact, they pay pretty decent cash if you turn one over to 'em."

"But, I- but, I'm an American! I was born here, I'm n-n-"

"Yeah, well, they not so concerned with the 'details', if you get me."

A spark behind Terrel drew momentary interest from Cristian. It was the light of a flame, as Wentz casually burned Cristian's American passport.

"NO! NO PLEA-!"

ZZZZZT

Cristian's screams were silenced by the cruel bite of electric energy coursing through his veins.

With that, Terrel applied the final piece of the package -- a set of metal straps with a large, stuffed leather ball welded into one side. He forcefully shoved the ball into Cristian's mouth, harshly silencing his tearful pleas.

"Mmmph! Mmm mmmmph!!"

The two metal straps were affixed around Cristian's head, and bolted tightly together in the same fashion as the rest, leaving a tight circle of metal encasing the lower half of his head, and a seemingly permanent gag in his mouth. There was nothing left for him to argue... he was forced into lifelong, bound submission.

Soon after, two husky men--a father and son--came to collect on Terrel's promised bounty. They were highly impressed by the teen's strict bondage, having been accustomed to chasing after their intended targets. Nonetheless, they had a system of their own to adhere to. They handed out several rolls of black gorilla tape to the boys, and they all worked together to tightly wrap and package Cristian up from feet to head, until only his nose was visible. Cristian moaned and shook throughout the whole process, but there was a sense among the men that he was no longer an equal. He was completely ignored as they mummified him in heavy tape.

It was Terrel who finished up his head, and even he took a moment of brief pause before encasing Cristian's pleading, watery eyes.

The men wheeled in a large wooden crate, about four feet long. Cristian was curled up, and forcefully wedged to fit inside before they closed the lid and locked it up. As the men loaded him into the back of their semi-trailer, Terrel mustered the courage to ask the question he feared most:

"So what'll y'all do with him, then?" he asked, trying to act confident in his decision.

"Well you usually lose half of 'em to dehydration or worse 'fore we even get there. The ones who make it out the other end tend to be so disoriented and numb they can't even remember their own name. Those are usually the ones we sell off to the drug cartels as slaves and drug mules. Just a little bit of karmic payback for them wetbacks. Sold back to their own people, how 'bout that?" the father burst out laughing, without a trace of irony or self-reflection.

Terrel swallowed hard. Perhaps the slightest pang of guilt or shame came over him as he came to understand what he had just condemned Cristian to. Nonetheless, there was a job to be done, and this was all a part of the process. Protect the brotherhood above all else, and at any cost.

Cristian knew there might be sacrifices when he was first recruited, and any other man would've done the same in that situation. For the good of the fraternity, and all the good that they did there.

- - - - ~ * ~ - - - -
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Post by LK3869 »

Poor Cristian, you have no mercy, or is it Terrel ? 8-)
And you US guys pay fortunes to go to those universities :lol:

Keep it coming!
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Post by there is no sam »

MISSING SINCE OCTOBER: Max
~*~*~
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"LISTEN UP, THIS IS YOUR FIRST AND ONLY WARNING! IF YOU ARE NOT A RESIDENT OF THIS HOUSE, DEPART THE PREMISES IMMEDIATELY"

An armed policeman barked, flanked by his deputies on either side. They had just forced their way into the middle of a raging frat party, the likes of which was very common in the otherwise sleepy college town. However, this one held a particular significance for the brothers of Theta Kappa Nu--an annual rite of passage for new pledges, hopeful to join the storied ranks of the historic brotherhood. For many, it held the promise of a greater station in life--respect on campus and instant access to a life of success, and excess. But first, a celebration... a night of revelry in which the fraternity paid homage to its dark, unsavory history. Tonight wasn't just any party, no. It was the Night of Southern Gentlemen. Eager pledges were scattered throughout the revelry, not as guests, but as slaves, forcefully humiliated at the hands of their brutal frat brothers. Many crouched on hands and knees, serving as tables and footrests for their cruel masters. Abject humiliation was the goal.

Amidst the din of shouting, the flare of hyperactive lights and the thick, dense vapor of cigarette smoke and weed, the cops went largely ignored. The wailing of an electric guitar drew them towards the back of the house, where a sweaty, riotous rock band was threatening to topple the very foundations of the ancient, decrepit frat house. Their lead singer, Max dropped to his knees, drunkenly, passionately wailing unintelligibly into a microphone. About 20 with unruly shaggy brown hair and a lip ring, Max's shirtless, tanned body afforded him a healthy string of admirers--few of which he would ever call the morning after. He was a rock star, after all... within the greater Greenville county area, anyway.

"GO ONNNNN!!!" Max screamed into the mic, his hands wrapped wildly in its cord.

"GO OOOONN--urk--uhnk" he sputtered, trying desperately not to choke on the thick, overstuffed pecker gag that had just been violently forced into his mouth mid-solo.

He thrust his hands back in a panic, flailing wildly as he tried to reach for whatever was gagging him. He reached for the leather panel stretched tightly across his jaw, and moaned in desperation and fear as it refused to give an inch. In fact, he felt it pulling tighter! Tugging sharply at his head as the grizzled cop behind him tugged mercilessly on the leather straps. When it literally could give no more, the cop snapped a cold, metal padlock over the buckle, ensuring no amount of tugging could ever ungag poor Max--not that it would stop him trying. Nearly hyperventilating as the particulars of his predicament dawned on him, he thrashed himself back up against the wall, almost involuntarily. He whimpered and coughed as he clawed at his gag futilely.

"Get him shackled and restrained, boys." The grizzled cop barked to his men, who quickly descended on the boy with prisoner transport chains in hand.

By now, they had the attention of just about everyone in the house--eyes wide as saucers. The grizzled cop bent down with some effort, fishing for the discarded microphone amongst the detritus of plastic cups and cigarette butts. He gave it a few taps, confirming it was still on.

"PARTY'S OVER, FOLKS. I suggest that anyone who does not want to spend the night in lock up leave now. This is your one and only opportunity, and you best be taking it."

Several of the so-called "Southern Gentlemen" were among the first to rise, only to find themselves shoved forcefully back towards the house by more cops--they seemed to be spawning out of the walls now.

"Ah-ah-ah," the grizzled cop grinned, "we're going to need the brothers of Theta Kappa Nu to stay here with us."

Dumbfounded and more than a little fearful now, the frat brothers were ushered into the living room, watching jealously as the last of the partiers spilled out into the night. Max--now forced to kneel with his hands cuffed together in front of him and connected by a short length of chain to his shackled feet--attempted to venture a meek protest. Gingerly, he began to rise to his feet, only to be shoved back down by a firm hand on his shoulder.

"You're not going anywhere, son. We got you on special order."

Image
---


In the living room, the frat brothers and pledges all huddled nervously in the center of the room, as they had been instructed. Unsmiling, unflinching cops flanked every doorway and exit, each with their arms crossed and holsters menacingly exposed.

"Um, uh... sir?" a young man with tousled brown hair raised his hand nervously,

"Who said that? Step forward" the grizzled cop barked.

Timidly, the youth stepped forward, averting his eyes from the cop's steely, unnerving stare.

"Are we, um, under arrest... or?" the young man ventured.

"What do you think we're doing here tonight? Huh? Do you think we're just fucking around here?"

"N-no, no. I-" was all the youth could manage before the cop roughly silenced him with a firm, gripping hand clamped over his mouth.

"This is about so much more than noise ordinances and underage drinking. You guys are in a hell of a lot of trouble here, and your rich daddies can't make it disappear."

A shudder spread throughout the huddle--the chilling sensation that things might not be "OK" this time. A muscled form shuffled nervously in the crowd, shifting weight from foot to foot. This was Kyle, the frat's star athlete. With a full ride scholarship hanging in the balance, he felt pressed to consider his options. In a snap, he decided to make a dart for the door. All he had to do was outrun a few fat cops, hope the back fence and he'd be out of this whole mess. He charged headlong towards the door, shoulder checking one of the slow, fat cops to the floor along the way. Within seconds, he was gone... out the backdoor, and maybe over the fence.

"We got a runner," one cop mumbled, seemingly unfazed.

Another cop nodded--tall and muscular, he had the bearing of a linebacker. His short cropped hair and thick black mustache cut an intimidating figure, and he seemed more than up to the challenge. Without a word, he barreled towards the back yard after Kyle.

In all of the commotion, the grizzled cop hadn't once flinched. His hand remained firmly gripped around the young man's mouth, muffling him into submission. The youth wanted nothing more than to shrink away, to melt back into the huddle and out from under the cop's grip. But that was no longer an option. He could sense that strongly.

"Now, I really wish you hadn't spoke up just now," the grizzled cop sighed, "tonight is about listening, and you've shown us that you can't do that."

"Mmmno, moh, I cahn" the young man struggled to form words under the tightening grip of the cop's hand.

"Now I've got to shut you up somehow. I can't just keep my hand here all night" the cop chuckled, to the amusement of his men and the grave silence of the frat brothers.

Without missing a beat, the grizzled cop charged the youth, tackling him to the floor. Straddling the lanky man's back, the cop forced his hands into cold, steel handcuffs while another cop did the same to the ankles. A third pair of handcuffs were used to secure the two chains together, forming a restrictive, albeit makeshift hogtie. The crowd looked on in terror, not used to seeing such brutality from police. A few thought to pull out their phones and start recording the whole thing, but fear froze them in place. Something very, very serious was happening... something wrong.

The grizzled cop produced a roll of duct tape and a bottle of superglue. He applied the syrupy substance liberally over the boys mouth and lips, smearing out the entire bottle.

"What are you doing? Pfft What is that? Someone help me! Please!!" the young man began to cry, as the scene grew increasingly distressing.

Unmoved, the grizzled cop began wrapping the boys slick, gooey mouth in layers of duct tape, silencing his shuddering sobs. He patted it down firmly, making sure it would stick in place.

"There, now shh. Shut up and let the glue set. We're just trying to get those lips sealed shut, that's all"

The young man whimpered. He could already feel the glue hardening as his lips grew firm and immovable. His breathing grew heavy and erratic as panic set in. He bucked wildly, clanging his chained hands and feet but accomplishing little else. Weary and irritated, the grizzled cop planted his boot on the young man's head, forcing it firmly to the floor.

"Let this be a lesson to you. You all have worked tirelessly to take away the voices of others. Tonight, we're gonna take away yours."

Just then, two cops carrying large pale sacks marched to the center of the room, theatrically dumping their contents out before the huddle. Out rolled pile upon pile of chains, ropes, tape and gags.

"You will all feel the pain, humiliation and terror you have inflicted on your pledges tonight. We are here to make sure y'all behave. And later, one of you lucky fuckers gets to sew this idiot's mouth shut"

The young man roiled on the floor, mewling meekly through his sealed lips. The grizzled cop knelt down over him imposingly, whispering in his ear.

"I will personally ensure that you never speak again. You are going to be gagged for the rest of your life--and chained up like that, there's nothing you can do about it. So MAN UP!"

The cop straightened, returning his attention to the matters at hand and leaving the young man bound and silenced on the floor. Largely ignored, soon forgotten. Consumed by his own thoughts, he couldn't shake the pervasive sense of dread that tingled through his body. His life had changed in an instant, and he couldn't help but wonder how much different things would've been had he just kept his mouth shut. Now, bound hand and foot and completely helpless to change his fate, he knew he'd never know.
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Post by bondagefreak »

[mention]there is no sam[/mention]
I remember following this back on the old TieUpGames.net board.

This is truly brutal stuff.
You should consider adding a disclaimer at the top of the first chapter.
Something along the lines of "NOT for the faint of heart!"

Otherwise very well written.
The chapters have us boiling with anticipation, and in my case, dread and compassion for some of these boys.

Keep up the good work, my friend.
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Post by there is no sam »

Thanks for reading! I had to rewrite since most of the story was lost, but it gave me the chance to streamline it.

I added a warning to the title in case anyone is put off by the dark content. It’s called permanent bondage because that’s sort of the running theme throughout all the chapters so it can get a bit intense for some tastes.
Mouthless

Post by Mouthless »

This isn’t your story.
Mouthless

Post by Mouthless »

And you claim you had to rewrite it, yet it appears to be a copy and paste.
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Post by there is no sam »

Mouthless wrote: 5 years ago This isn’t your story.
yes it is, what are you talking about? I was able to recover the first 5 chapters, but there were at least 3 more after that are gone. The chapter I posted today was brand new.
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Post by Xtc »

Mouthless wrote: 5 years ago This isn’t your story.
Hi, [mention]Mouthless[/mention], Xtc here (as if you couldn't guess).
If you have a reason to make that claim, please state it. Then the mods can address the problem. If you have no such reason, this is not the sort of post that positively enhances our board.
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Post by Scottstud94 »

Great story, can’t wait for his mouth to be sewn shut
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Post by Mouthless »

My most sincere apologies. I was so certain this was Scottstud’s story. But seeing as how he just commented, this makes for an awkward situation.
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Post by Tsuhaya »

This kind of story really pleases me in fiction, but it really is something very dark and I don't even like to think of such a thing in real life :shock:, but anyway very well written, good work ;)
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Post by Scottstud94 »

Mouthless wrote: 5 years ago My most sincere apologies. I was so certain this was Scottstud’s story. But seeing as how he just commented, this makes for an awkward situation.
I can confirm it isn’t mine. I have one somewhat similar on this forum which is probably what sparked confusion.
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Post by LK3869 »

Strange last chapter... Curious to see how that fits into the story.
And so that irreversible gags seems to be your thing ;) "Brutal" warning or not, keep it coming!
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Post by Carnath »

It's brutal... but I like it :p
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Post by slider40337 »

I love that this has migrated from the old board as well! :D
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Post by boundsub »

A bit late to the party but I like the first few chapters with the evil frat boys kidnapping the (Uber) driver- my kind of doms's. :twisted: Especially Damian. ;)

Though the permanent gags and superglue are a bit too dark and brutal for my liking and imagining them trying to be removed makes me wince in pain.

Not so sure about the last chapter though...
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Post by dahanband »

This story is not going on?

How to get it and read ? Does anyone know?
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