GETTING IT RIGHT (4)
Making Howard Presentable
I undid the bandage that was hanging round Howard’s neck and he asked me how much of it had been hanging down his back. When I said that there was quite a lot of it, he suggested that, when I replaced the knot in his mouth and tied it tightly again, it would look even more convincing if I were to bring the ends round to his mouth again and tie it once more in his mouth. It still sounded dodgy to me but the little prisoner convinced me that even his mother might be convinced by that. So . . .
I felt sorry for the little kid as he sat there more tightly gagged than before while I sponged him down and dried him off again. He made no resistance and it seemed that he must have been well used to such treatment. Having made him presentable once more, I repositioned my photographic model properly again and cleared the table. Once the dishes had been put in the dishwasher, I got Howard’s phone and retrieved my laptop to get on with my dissertation once more. Other than the odd understandable wriggle and one or two minor snorts, Howard hardly moved at all; he certainly didn’t try to get free. It was only then that I thought that he had been taped and blindfolded for nearly twelve hours; my man has never lasted that long.
It was nearly 10 o’clock when the telephone rang. Howard seemed to start. It was his mum, “Hi, Stephen, we’re just at the station. Should be with you in about twenty minutes. I hope Howard has been behaving himself.” I managed to reassure her that he certainly had and she seemed satisfied; she didn’t even ask to speak to him. It would seem that she DID expect him to be gagged.
OK, so 10 o’clock came and I took a photo showing Howard’s gagged face with the kitchen clock in the background. I thought it might be a good idea to take a side-on view of the well-taped boy as well to prove that he had been fastened securely. “Right, time to get you untied.” Howard nodded emphatically.
I picked Howard up (same way as before), sat him up on the kitchen table and got the kitchen scissors. I undid his gag first and then warned him that the next part might hurt a bit. He said that I should just go for it so I did. His blindfold, having been somewhat dislodged already, came adrift quite readily and I repeated the warning before removing that layer of tape that had, to a certain extent, snagged his hair. “Quick or slow?” Howard repeated that I should go for it. Perhaps I shouldn’t have removed his gag first.
“Oh, sorry.”
“No problem. I’m used to it.” I thought that this kid must have a really rough life. I started cutting carefully between his still securely taped legs at his ankles, his calves and his thighs and then asked him if he’d rather undo his legs himself once I had freed his arms. Once more he insisted that I go for it as long as I did it quickly. Even a thirteen-year-old boy has a certain amount of leg hair and one particular one now has significantly less looking at what was embedded in the back of the tape.
Howard’s sang-froid left him once I had stripped the tape from his calves and he jumped down off the table and hopped around a bit before I could free his thighs or ankles properly. At least that loosened the tape a bit. Howard soon came to a rest and kicked his ankles apart but he needed my help to free his thighs.
“Ready?”
I started to wonder if Howard had any more phrases for, “Go for it.” He hardly flinched as I cut the tape from his wrists and tensed only slightly as it came free from his arms.
“Whoarrr, thanks, Stephen. Do us a favour and dump that stuff in the outside bin; I really need the bog.” That was hardly surprising so I tidied up while the swim-suited boy rushed upstairs.
Awaiting Howard’s Parents
Having lost all the used bindings, I took my laptop back upstairs and packed my stuff. The next time I saw Howard he had dressed himself in a white muscle-cut vest, a pair of blue deck-shoes, and a pair of those silly tight jeans that have a turn-up just above the knee. He’s a bit too muscular to rock the ‘hello, sailor’ look. He didn’t seem to have found it necessary to comb his hair and I couldn’t help trying to check him over to see if any forced hair-loss was going to show. Looked OK.
We both went downstairs and the Robinsons were due in about five minutes. That’s when I found out that the little bugger had timed things very carefully.
“Stephen?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks, mate.”
“What for?”
“Tying me up last night.”
OK, so even Mr, Gullible was now starting to get suspicious. “But you said I had to if I didn’t want to annoy your parents.”
Howard face-palmed himself. “You fell for it, didn’t you?” In the next few minutes Howard told me that his parents had got really pissed off with him tying himself up all the time and that the previous babysitters thought that he was weird when he asked them to do it for him and didn’t want to return so he had to come up with story that would convince me to do it. OK, by now I was beginning to feel very stupid – and more than a bit worried. What would happen if my employers found out that I had tied up their son? Oh well, goodbye easy money. And that might have been the least of my troubles.
Howard continued to outline my position. He had hidden his phone and I didn’t have time to torture its whereabouts out of him without leaving marks before his folks were likely to return. He was prepared to show them the photos once I had gone and say that I only took some on his phone to remind him what embarrassment might befall him if I showed them to anybody. Clever!
I was stuffed. Then Howard made me an offer that I could not refuse. “Do you want to make sure Mum and Dad don’t see the pics?” I assured him that I did. “Do you want another little earner next week when they go to visit my boring old grandparents?” I couldn’t help thinking of one hand washing the other as the scheming little conman continued. Let’s just say that I did get well paid for the weekend and am looking forward (sort of) to earning more next weekend in spite of Howards final remark: “Next time bring some ropes, yes?”
THE END