Thanks, Chloroboy. A few more chapters to go, so today is...
31. Exercises
“All right! No time to waste, we need to make sure you exercise a little bit,” Phil said as he brought Jason’s wrists together at the small of his back and locked the cuffs on. They moved again, to the weight room this time. Jason was familiar with it; they often came with his cricket friends. Pumping iron was something he enjoyed. At the time they came, it also offered great privacy and there were some parties going on after they’d done ten or fifteen minutes of exercise.
They had him lie on his back on the press bench.
“Going to work on your six packs, big man,” Matt said as he put his finger tip over Jason’s jersey where he thought his navel was.
With his hands bound underneath the bench, it was actually rather easy to press with his legs and lift some consequent weight. The two boys stood on each side of the bench; cheers were given, and Philip led the exercise by clapping his hands; Jason’s muscular thighs and calves contracted and relaxed at an ever-growing speed.
The large teen was breaking a sweat. But what some would have heard as taunts were the biggest praise and the most encouraging things to motivate him.
His legs were bound and his arms released after half an hour, so they could get upper body to work similarly. After one hour and a half, Jason was soaked and he was starting to feel tired, which seldom happened to him.
The blond boy he’d kidnapped entered when they were having him stand, hands cuffed behind.
“You’ve warmed him up?”
“Sure, he’s ready for a marathon,” Matt replied.
“Mmmph?”
No! He didn’t want to do any more exercise.
“Bring him next door, the bike is ready.”
At the back of the room, there was a small door; another hidden room, five feet by five at the most. It was enough to have an indoors bike. They had him climb on it. His feet were locked in the toe clips.
“All right. You’re in for a short ride,” Keith said as he reset the counter. “Ten miles for a start, but I’ll put it in the ‘Alpine’ setting. It simulates climbing a slope.”
He grabbed Jason’s thighs, assessing the flesh like some horse-dealer.
“With such powerful muscles, this shouldn’t take long.”
Jason started pedalling. It seemed there was an army of gnomes pulling against him and each turn required some conscious and tiresome effort. When he looked at the counter, he blanched. He thought two or three miles had been done, but he wasn’t even beyond one mile.
Around him, the trio was no longer paying attention to him. He was too intent on his own task; he didn’t listen to them. He passed two miles eventually.
“Hey, lads, “Keith said, “He’s only done two miles.”
“Has he? Well this isn’t much. I’d expected he would do better, considering how strong he is.”
“Nope. This is more difficult than shaking down first formers, isn’t it Jason?”
“Mmm,” was the desperate reply.
“OK, he won’t manage. We’ll write this down as a failure. Let’s have him perform an escape challenge,” Keith suggested.
“A hogtie!” Matt enthusiastically offered.
This would never stop. No sooner was Jason down from the bike than he was lying over a gym mat roped up in tens of yards of white rope, his toes touching his elbows considering how tight and far they’d pulled his legs.
The ropes allowed for some squirming because of the sweat, but the boys had compensated with the number of coils and their tightness; his limbs twisted but couldn’t get any slack to manage to get out the cotton’s grip.
“I think our guest needs some training in escape artistry, he isn’t going anywhere fast.”
“Yes, this is a bit more difficult than harassing younger kids along with your mates…”
Jason’s lack of progress was heavily commented upon. His grunts were still muffled by the heavy head mummification that kept him really hot. The tape was no longer sticking as well with the amount of sweat he’d produced; yet the various strips were positioned well; the cocoon which entrapped Phil’s soaked underwater inside his mouth clung, though it had unstuck at places.
His efforts didn’t pay, and all he got, after what had to be close to one hour of straining and twisting was a rising cramp. His captors caught on his discomfort.
“Cramp coming, Matt,” Philip said.
Both boys kneeled next to him and released him from the hogtie; they of course left his limbs restrained. His unfolding legs made the pain go away. He was taken to the bathroom once again; he was made to shower in chains and change clothing; his boner was discussed, but as they removed the swim cap and tape only afterwards, there wasn’t much to do but blush.
He felt much better, and the glass of water he drank once his head was eventually freed felt delicious. He got to suck on Matt’s underwear next; he could perfectly identify the taste matching the stains he’d seen as they’d come close to his mouth.
His lower face was taped up, and a large over the mouth scarf was knotted at the back of his neck, making his gagging still as effective; it was better than the tight vice on the strips of tape locking his jaws before.
It was late afternoon, and the other boys showed up in the gym. Billy stood in front of him; he definitely was the leader.
“You haven’t done too bad for your first day. We’re going to check whether it’s not all a show. We’re going to get you in our House; there, we can check even more things.”
He was hobbled and the whole group escorted him through the school grounds. Lewis was at his sides; he kept his voice low, though there was not a soul in sight. The nature of his words was what Jason was focusing on.
“As Billy told you, there are still a few peculiarities of yours we’d like to check. It seems that you, my flaming beefy friend, have been blessed with a taste for restraints and muzzles. There’s still more to be told about your specific proclivities. What better place to interrogate you and run you through a set of demanding yet satisfying exercises? Of course, from now on you’re under complete secrecy, and any unwanted leak of information in the future will lead to severe and rather nasty consequences.”
“Any leak of anything for this matter; we like our boys chaste, don’t we, Lewis?”
“We do indeed, Phil.” Lewis turned to Jason. “We’re going to keep our new friend busy so his mind doesn’t wander around. And his hands will be kept in check too, we wouldn’t want to have them travel to his nether regions and have some flooding of the lower plains…”
Such playful banter accompanied Jason during the ten-minute walk that got them through the school grounds, inside Saint Sebastian halls and to the Prefects room eventually. A desk had been set to host Jason. This time all the boys surrounded him as Billy asked questions which had more to do with Jason’s intimate life. He had to write the answers on a notepad, which the boy then picked up to read them aloud.
“When was the first time you noticed a boy’s bum?”
“Yes, Jason, tell us of your cricket friends you ogle, we’ll see if we like the same ones,” Matt advised.
Jason was scribbling, making abstraction of the comments and suggestions, just remembering of one of his friends at the swimming pool four years previous and describing it as thoroughly as he could. Billy picked up the notepad when Jason put his pen down.
“It was at the swimming pool. Andrew is one of my friends and he had some nice Speedos. I couldn’t help but watch and when we put his clothes back on afterwards, putting on his new tracksuit, I still looked at him as much as I could.”
“This is direct and honest,” Keith said.
“And someone has some fetish too,” Phil smirked.
The questioning lasted for over one hour; personal hygiene, masturbatory habits or sentimental affinities were thoroughly discussed.
The atmosphere in which his revelations were shared got Jason elated. They did taunt him, but from what he understood, they’d all been at his place at some point, and it could happen again. He just hoped he would be the witness to Lewis getting his comeuppance.
He was then shackled and made to serve the boys tea. It was a big group, so it made the task quite an effort. There was no time to dawdle, and soon they were all enjoying the early evening break in a postprandial satisfaction.
But there was no rest for Jason, who had to clear the table, sweep the floor and do the dishes. Philip wondered about him dirtying himself, which triggered Matt in suggesting that doing this in the nude would avoid any laundry complications. Jason opened his eyes wide; Ben, Fred, Matt and Phil were already on it and pulled his clothes down, tinkering with the hobbles to remove the shorts and jersey.
They didn’t make him put his hands out as he tried to cover his genitals, but having to use tools and move around once they ordered him to go on with his duties brought the same result. He was walking around a set of boys, shackled and gagged. His sausage was half-hard, but the care he had to put in his ancillary mission effectively eased his libido.
Ben and Fred practiced some chair tie-up when he was done. He was put back in one of the skimpy, super soft and silky Speedos the boys had. He was told about Glidor, the magic fibre that gave such a great result. Then the trussing up to the piece of furniture was ruthless. He was made one with the chair, with his legs welded to each other. He was given some water, which was mostly an occasion to replace the wadding he had in his mouth with freshly creamed underwear, graced with so much seed from each of the boys that the end had seminal liquid seeping down to the floor.
The formidable mouth stuffing was of course inserted with everybody around vocally taking pride in his participation. It was slimy and gooey, but this might have been the apex of his day for Jason.
There was more chatting around him, but the rest of the evening went by peaceful. The American boys were in charge of him for the night and again the mummification was done with cling-wrap film and moderate amounts of duct tape; yet it was dreadfully effective and he was trapped, at the mercy of the two friends who talked well into the night, lulling Jason into fits of slumber; he tried not to fall asleep, to enjoy the feelings that his situation provided.
The next day started in what was becoming a familiar manner for Jason, as he was freed from his cocoon and shackled to perform as a maid again, although dressed this time.
He was used as a dummy for some tie-up workshops. The boys had to practice their rope work, so they took turns binding him with white cotton rope only. Jason discovered there were styles in bondage, as the touch of each of the boys and the ways they wrapped him in rope were very different.
He should have been eager to get out and give these boys a good lesson with his fists; yet, he had never felt so well taken care of and he enjoyed being the centre of attention.
He was hard the whole time. When the last workshop before release occurred, everyone was there. Matt and Nicholas had Jason on a leash, walking on all fours wearing just standard Saint Sebastian shorts, and they had him sit up and beg, sniff the crotches and bottoms that came close to him. He had to fetch a ball and pick it up with his chin and throat before he would bring it at their feet. He dropped the ball ten times before he managed to lay it where he was supposed to.
Eventually, five of the boys surrounded him and released him from his restraints and muzzles in a few seconds.
“Your time’s up, Jason. You haven’t flinched. Now if you had in mind to blabber around and whine about the Saint Sebastian boys, be aware that we can pull another trick and not provide you with the kind of babysitting you got. Next time you will suffer.”
The tone didn’t match the strength of the words. Jason had no intention to let others know of his secret; maybe he could share it further with this group? He nodded submissively his assent.
He was freed and his gag was removed. There was some cheerful banter from the whole group; the boys explained the intricacies of their plot to abduct Jason, which had been flawlessly carried out. Jason didn’t speak much, but he answered to all questions. He did inquire about his fellow-players, who had to still be wondering what had happened to them when they’d been brutally attacked. The notes they’d found in their pockets had apparently convinced them not to snitch, since there had been no reporting of the assault to the school authorities.
There were a few escape challenges and rope workshops with Jason taking part for the first time. When it was eventually time to have Jason go back to his House, the general opinion shared among the boarders was that he seemed tamed. Phil and Ben still questioned his sincerity, and they all decided that they’d keep a close eye on him for a few weeks, though they would give him the benefit of the doubt.
TBC
Quite a Boarding School! (mm/mm) New! January 16th
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Bondwriter
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The Brotherhood
The best human pilot in the galaxy
My Bondage Academia
The best human pilot in the galaxy
My Bondage Academia
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Bondwriter
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Here you are, Chloroboy. Your wish is granted.
32. Travis’s Game
This probationary period ended soon, with no sign of betrayal from Jason, whose nickname had been more or less forgotten. Lewis sometimes called him The Boar when the bigger boy was safely bound and gagged; he sometimes went for ‘wild swine,’ which infuriated Jason even more. This caused much mirth to Lewis, who had sometimes regretted his taunts the next day, when fate or the nature of the trial deciding on who bound and who got bound got him to be under Jason’s control. The ex-bully was still willing to play the part, especially when he had Lewis well muzzled.
It was late March already, and the spirits were high at Saint Sebastian. Travis, their prefect, had helped with scheduling a fake weekend activity so they would be able to have a long-term game on the school grounds. Travis had also given much thought to it. The weather forecast for the weekend was sunny and warm for this time of the year; it would be a perfect occasion to play a game outside. There had been a few games within the House itself, and the space allowed for some fun possibilities. But games in the woods had a more thrilling appeal to the boys.
There were coppices and small wooded areas throughout the large estate over which the school grounds sprawled. There was also an area called ‘the Forest’; it was an acre of woods, with no path going through it. It was meant to host birds and wildlife so nature could be observed in science classes; there was even a small pond in the middle, with a spring that renewed the water and a stream that formed a marsh at one end.
It wasn’t completely wild, and the underbrush was regularly trimmed down. But it was made to feel like ‘real’ nature, and the landscapers who’d designed it over a century ago had done quite a good job.
Sheds, club houses, changing-rooms near the sports fields were scattered throughout the school grounds … Saint Thomas More didn’t lack locations for a small group of boys in search of adventures. It was close to two square miles, allowing for exploration.
Travis was a creative young man. He was getting used to his peculiar pupils, and in memory of all the tie-up fun he’d had when he was their age, he wanted to create some unique experience with this next game. Travis had kept in touch with his boarding school years friends. He’d hooked up with a few of them over the winter, having tie-up fun in a more adult context. He thought it would be a good idea to involve them in his endeavour.
Travis gave some thought to the type of outdoors activity to organize. A capture-the-flag game with the usual prisoner-taking method of pulling the scarf stuck in the shorts’ waistband would work. There could also be a scavenger hunt, like they’d done in the fall. This could also be mixed, with each team having a double objective: capturing the other team’s flag and gathering all the required items. Of course, making prisoners on the way was part of the deal also. To the Saint Sebastian boys, this was a given.
On the Friday evening, all ten boys gathered in the TV room on the ground floor of the Saint Sebastian House. This was the kick-off for the long awaited game. It had been a weird week; they knew Travis would pick the teams; there could be no major bragging or threats: there was no point antagonizing those who would turn out to be your allies.
Lewis did break the unspoken rule a few times, calling Sora ‘Gator Boy’ or ‘Huckleberry’ and making a few derogatory comments about Nicholas or Matt; he couldn’t refrain himself and even called Jason ‘the Sow.’
They were all sitting cross-legged on the carpet. Tracksuit trousers had been discarded for shorts. Travis was facing the half-circle.
“You’ve all heard about the Saint Thomas More treasure, haven’t you, boys? You did too, Jason? This story has been told to generations of students. Most teachers will dismiss it as a folk tale, a worthless legend that’s just meant to impress the first forms. Well, I think that as you’re the cream of the student body, it’s only natural you get to search and find it. But in treasure hunts, there are always rivals, who want to get their hands on the treasure at all costs. It happens that within this very house, two rival factions have been informed of the existence of the treasure; they also know that defeating their enemies by seizing their trophy is the only way to prevent them from striking back. Of course, making prisoners is always a good way to hinder your opponents’ moves while limiting the risk for your own search party.”
“So, this is a treasure hunt AND capture the flag at the same time?” Ben asked Phil discreetly.
“Yup. Listen up, he’s telling it all.”
“If you are to be the team that achieves this goal, there are also rules to follow. No cheating, of course, with the way your scarf will hang from your waistband. We’ve had issues about this in the past. The usual safety rules with prisoners remain fully on.
The base each team will build can be entered by other team, but it can’t be used to store the flag; I mean, this would be dumb anyway. You may enter any room or building that isn’t locked. You’re allowed one rucksack of equipment per person, but you may have all that you can carry on top of it.”
The rucksacks had been checked so that they would all hold a similar amount of stuff.
“Now, for the teams, there’ll be the blues and the reds. I decided against using the alphabetical order; we’re going to have a try at scarf-taking, and the last two standing will get to pick their team, one at a time. Get on a line, you five here, the rest over there.”
Two groups faced each other: Lewis, Jason, Keith, Matt, and Sora on one side; Nicholas, Billy, Philip, Fred, and Ben on the other.
Each boy was handed a paper with a number ranging from one to ten. Travis called three; Keith and Billy were summoned and they came forward, ready to jump and grab the small piece of cotton that hung behind them. They stayed within a short distance from each other, their eyes fixed on their rival, eager not to let their guard down and not get caught by surprise.
Keith looked over Billy’s shoulder, and by the time the boy realized this was a ruse, it was too late. Keith had dived head first between his legs and was claiming the scarf as a trophy.
After half an hour of these jousts, Keith and Nicholas were declared the winners. They could pick their teams. Nicholas had won the most duels, so he got to pick first. He chose Billy, who gave the general impression he was smart and quite good at football.
Keith picked Sora; he seemed to be an eager player. The team captains didn’t hesitate. Nicholas chose Matt, Philip, and Jason next, whereas Keith ended with Fred, Ben, and Lewis adding to his team.
“Now the blues and the reds have found each other, there are just a few more things to say before you lads get going. The treasure consists of five gold coins that have been hidden over three centuries ago and that only clever and deserving treasure-hunters can find. There could be clues to be found in the school’s most historical spots. Any breach of the rules will be called out, even when the game is over. So remember the safety guidelines. Your teams are better staffed than before, so be wise and design a proper strategy to win within the rules. The game will officially start at seven. Until then, you have the time to set up your base. I have the keys to several buildings, so you will each come and ask me for a location among those I have available.”
The teams parted and confabulations took place. Emissaries were sent to Travis to know of the locations, and the small groups thought hard of the best place to set base. The blues chose the Anne Boleyn’s Hall basement, whereas the reds picked the Cricket Club House. These were both slightly off-centre, which made the two bases half a mile apart. Both had lots of space and offered good outlooks on an attack. The need to explore along with the hunger for making prisoners to bring back in these nicely private spaces were a motivating factor to get the game going.
Billy led his team taking the long way to Anne Boleyn’s Hall. He praised the historical character’s great courage and eloquence, which got Philip and Matt to comment that a well-gagged prisoner makes for a much faster trial; the issue of fairness was then tackled by Jason, who was now having a backlash from his bullying habits. He was becoming a bit of a goody-two-shoes, but his peers never failed to remind him of the possible punishments that would be available if he relapsed and got caught.
Nicholas and Billy were digging further into the tactical implications of their strategy. Billy had stated, with everyone in the team approving, that they should focus on making prisoners first and then search for the coins.
“First, we need to locate their base and then manage to get them to split. We have one major advantage on them: Lewis is their leader. He can be very predictable. There’s a huge likelihood he will be on his own in their base, having sent teams of two to scout the place and probably look for the gold coins.”
Billy’s predictions concerning Lewis’s strategy were not totally exact so far. The reds had reached the Cricket Club House and were settling in, with Lewis making teams and explaining how they would win to his troops. He appointed Keith and Fred to be the scout team who’d look for the coins, with Sora and Ben in charge of spotting their enemies. He would then join them for the capture.
Seven o’clock came, and the school’s belfry tolled seven times, announcing the official beginning of the game. Groups of boys started roaming the estate in search of the treasure and to gather intelligence on their opponents.
Billy, Nicholas, and Philip were the first ones to get a break in the game: they saw Keith and Fred coming out from the Cricket Club House. They ducked behind trees and bushes to let their opponents walk by. The blues then came out from their hideout and headed for the building.
Lewis opened wide eyes when he spotted all three of them rushing in; he tried to escape by opening the window, but as he jumped towards freedom he felt the scarf leaving his waistband. He knew better than trying to dodge his fate; he yelped, so his teammates would hear he’d been caught, and he ‘fainted.’
Three captors meant the roping and gagging were swift, and soon they marched a fuming Lewis outside.
“Let’s store him temporarily; I don’t think we should take him back to base right away,” Billy said. There was a scoring booth at the end of the cricket field. The little shack would hide their prisoner from unwanted eyes.
“I volunteer to stand watch while you go back to base,” Philip offered. “We have Lewis well gagged with the two socks and all the vinyl tape Nick used, so I can have my devious ways with him without having to stand any objections.”
Lewis wasn’t sure if there was much to be gained from such an outcome. Philip was a close friend; he was also a ruthless player, and his easily confessed sadistic streak had become a brand to live up to. Pulling hairs or getting his prisoners’ bodies under some strain had become his trademark.
“Let me see which ways would best keep you busy and entertained,” he said as he faced Lewis, whom Billy and Nicholas were binding to the metallic frame of an outdoors chair. “I think I wouldn’t mind seeing how much you enjoy having your nipples twisted. Don’t worry, I’m quite positive I can do this without drawing blood, if this is something you fear.”
He winked at his friend, who knew he was in for some real torture. Lewis cursed himself for getting caught so easily. A few hundred yards away, Jason was also thinking how stupid he had been; he was patrolling with Matt when they’d heard some swishing sound behind. Jason had turned around and saw Ben and Sora just as Matt was warning him of the danger. His partner was luckier and managed to flee, but Ben charged and dived, aiming for Jason’s scarf, which he grabbed effortlessly.
Jason took another step and decided that fair-play was required. He collapsed to the ground. A ball of bundled hankies was immediately stuck inside his mouth as he felt hands cuffing his wrists behind his back. A ripping sound preceded the wrapping of his lower face in tape. Ben and Sora had him stand up; they tied a rope harness around his torso and wrapped tape on top to be sure the ropes and knots would stay taut. After blindfolding him with strips of tape and hobbling his knees, the three boys started getting back to the base.
“Nice catch,” Ben whispered. “I know someone will be happy!”
“Yeah, Lewis is going to give us a poo-load of praise, no doubt!”
Sora wasn’t a big fan of Lewis’s manners, but team solidarity prevailed.
Looking at Jason, he said, “We’ll have to take extra measures to make sure this big dude doesn’t escape.”
Tape would prove helpful; it meant that any of Jason’s teammates would waste time trying to free him from his sticky cocoon. Ben opened the way; he was very attentive to any sound or perceptible motion. They arrived at the Club House without meeting anyone, a deafening silence reigning in the large entry hall.
TBC
32. Travis’s Game
This probationary period ended soon, with no sign of betrayal from Jason, whose nickname had been more or less forgotten. Lewis sometimes called him The Boar when the bigger boy was safely bound and gagged; he sometimes went for ‘wild swine,’ which infuriated Jason even more. This caused much mirth to Lewis, who had sometimes regretted his taunts the next day, when fate or the nature of the trial deciding on who bound and who got bound got him to be under Jason’s control. The ex-bully was still willing to play the part, especially when he had Lewis well muzzled.
It was late March already, and the spirits were high at Saint Sebastian. Travis, their prefect, had helped with scheduling a fake weekend activity so they would be able to have a long-term game on the school grounds. Travis had also given much thought to it. The weather forecast for the weekend was sunny and warm for this time of the year; it would be a perfect occasion to play a game outside. There had been a few games within the House itself, and the space allowed for some fun possibilities. But games in the woods had a more thrilling appeal to the boys.
There were coppices and small wooded areas throughout the large estate over which the school grounds sprawled. There was also an area called ‘the Forest’; it was an acre of woods, with no path going through it. It was meant to host birds and wildlife so nature could be observed in science classes; there was even a small pond in the middle, with a spring that renewed the water and a stream that formed a marsh at one end.
It wasn’t completely wild, and the underbrush was regularly trimmed down. But it was made to feel like ‘real’ nature, and the landscapers who’d designed it over a century ago had done quite a good job.
Sheds, club houses, changing-rooms near the sports fields were scattered throughout the school grounds … Saint Thomas More didn’t lack locations for a small group of boys in search of adventures. It was close to two square miles, allowing for exploration.
Travis was a creative young man. He was getting used to his peculiar pupils, and in memory of all the tie-up fun he’d had when he was their age, he wanted to create some unique experience with this next game. Travis had kept in touch with his boarding school years friends. He’d hooked up with a few of them over the winter, having tie-up fun in a more adult context. He thought it would be a good idea to involve them in his endeavour.
Travis gave some thought to the type of outdoors activity to organize. A capture-the-flag game with the usual prisoner-taking method of pulling the scarf stuck in the shorts’ waistband would work. There could also be a scavenger hunt, like they’d done in the fall. This could also be mixed, with each team having a double objective: capturing the other team’s flag and gathering all the required items. Of course, making prisoners on the way was part of the deal also. To the Saint Sebastian boys, this was a given.
On the Friday evening, all ten boys gathered in the TV room on the ground floor of the Saint Sebastian House. This was the kick-off for the long awaited game. It had been a weird week; they knew Travis would pick the teams; there could be no major bragging or threats: there was no point antagonizing those who would turn out to be your allies.
Lewis did break the unspoken rule a few times, calling Sora ‘Gator Boy’ or ‘Huckleberry’ and making a few derogatory comments about Nicholas or Matt; he couldn’t refrain himself and even called Jason ‘the Sow.’
They were all sitting cross-legged on the carpet. Tracksuit trousers had been discarded for shorts. Travis was facing the half-circle.
“You’ve all heard about the Saint Thomas More treasure, haven’t you, boys? You did too, Jason? This story has been told to generations of students. Most teachers will dismiss it as a folk tale, a worthless legend that’s just meant to impress the first forms. Well, I think that as you’re the cream of the student body, it’s only natural you get to search and find it. But in treasure hunts, there are always rivals, who want to get their hands on the treasure at all costs. It happens that within this very house, two rival factions have been informed of the existence of the treasure; they also know that defeating their enemies by seizing their trophy is the only way to prevent them from striking back. Of course, making prisoners is always a good way to hinder your opponents’ moves while limiting the risk for your own search party.”
“So, this is a treasure hunt AND capture the flag at the same time?” Ben asked Phil discreetly.
“Yup. Listen up, he’s telling it all.”
“If you are to be the team that achieves this goal, there are also rules to follow. No cheating, of course, with the way your scarf will hang from your waistband. We’ve had issues about this in the past. The usual safety rules with prisoners remain fully on.
The base each team will build can be entered by other team, but it can’t be used to store the flag; I mean, this would be dumb anyway. You may enter any room or building that isn’t locked. You’re allowed one rucksack of equipment per person, but you may have all that you can carry on top of it.”
The rucksacks had been checked so that they would all hold a similar amount of stuff.
“Now, for the teams, there’ll be the blues and the reds. I decided against using the alphabetical order; we’re going to have a try at scarf-taking, and the last two standing will get to pick their team, one at a time. Get on a line, you five here, the rest over there.”
Two groups faced each other: Lewis, Jason, Keith, Matt, and Sora on one side; Nicholas, Billy, Philip, Fred, and Ben on the other.
Each boy was handed a paper with a number ranging from one to ten. Travis called three; Keith and Billy were summoned and they came forward, ready to jump and grab the small piece of cotton that hung behind them. They stayed within a short distance from each other, their eyes fixed on their rival, eager not to let their guard down and not get caught by surprise.
Keith looked over Billy’s shoulder, and by the time the boy realized this was a ruse, it was too late. Keith had dived head first between his legs and was claiming the scarf as a trophy.
After half an hour of these jousts, Keith and Nicholas were declared the winners. They could pick their teams. Nicholas had won the most duels, so he got to pick first. He chose Billy, who gave the general impression he was smart and quite good at football.
Keith picked Sora; he seemed to be an eager player. The team captains didn’t hesitate. Nicholas chose Matt, Philip, and Jason next, whereas Keith ended with Fred, Ben, and Lewis adding to his team.
“Now the blues and the reds have found each other, there are just a few more things to say before you lads get going. The treasure consists of five gold coins that have been hidden over three centuries ago and that only clever and deserving treasure-hunters can find. There could be clues to be found in the school’s most historical spots. Any breach of the rules will be called out, even when the game is over. So remember the safety guidelines. Your teams are better staffed than before, so be wise and design a proper strategy to win within the rules. The game will officially start at seven. Until then, you have the time to set up your base. I have the keys to several buildings, so you will each come and ask me for a location among those I have available.”
The teams parted and confabulations took place. Emissaries were sent to Travis to know of the locations, and the small groups thought hard of the best place to set base. The blues chose the Anne Boleyn’s Hall basement, whereas the reds picked the Cricket Club House. These were both slightly off-centre, which made the two bases half a mile apart. Both had lots of space and offered good outlooks on an attack. The need to explore along with the hunger for making prisoners to bring back in these nicely private spaces were a motivating factor to get the game going.
Billy led his team taking the long way to Anne Boleyn’s Hall. He praised the historical character’s great courage and eloquence, which got Philip and Matt to comment that a well-gagged prisoner makes for a much faster trial; the issue of fairness was then tackled by Jason, who was now having a backlash from his bullying habits. He was becoming a bit of a goody-two-shoes, but his peers never failed to remind him of the possible punishments that would be available if he relapsed and got caught.
Nicholas and Billy were digging further into the tactical implications of their strategy. Billy had stated, with everyone in the team approving, that they should focus on making prisoners first and then search for the coins.
“First, we need to locate their base and then manage to get them to split. We have one major advantage on them: Lewis is their leader. He can be very predictable. There’s a huge likelihood he will be on his own in their base, having sent teams of two to scout the place and probably look for the gold coins.”
Billy’s predictions concerning Lewis’s strategy were not totally exact so far. The reds had reached the Cricket Club House and were settling in, with Lewis making teams and explaining how they would win to his troops. He appointed Keith and Fred to be the scout team who’d look for the coins, with Sora and Ben in charge of spotting their enemies. He would then join them for the capture.
Seven o’clock came, and the school’s belfry tolled seven times, announcing the official beginning of the game. Groups of boys started roaming the estate in search of the treasure and to gather intelligence on their opponents.
Billy, Nicholas, and Philip were the first ones to get a break in the game: they saw Keith and Fred coming out from the Cricket Club House. They ducked behind trees and bushes to let their opponents walk by. The blues then came out from their hideout and headed for the building.
Lewis opened wide eyes when he spotted all three of them rushing in; he tried to escape by opening the window, but as he jumped towards freedom he felt the scarf leaving his waistband. He knew better than trying to dodge his fate; he yelped, so his teammates would hear he’d been caught, and he ‘fainted.’
Three captors meant the roping and gagging were swift, and soon they marched a fuming Lewis outside.
“Let’s store him temporarily; I don’t think we should take him back to base right away,” Billy said. There was a scoring booth at the end of the cricket field. The little shack would hide their prisoner from unwanted eyes.
“I volunteer to stand watch while you go back to base,” Philip offered. “We have Lewis well gagged with the two socks and all the vinyl tape Nick used, so I can have my devious ways with him without having to stand any objections.”
Lewis wasn’t sure if there was much to be gained from such an outcome. Philip was a close friend; he was also a ruthless player, and his easily confessed sadistic streak had become a brand to live up to. Pulling hairs or getting his prisoners’ bodies under some strain had become his trademark.
“Let me see which ways would best keep you busy and entertained,” he said as he faced Lewis, whom Billy and Nicholas were binding to the metallic frame of an outdoors chair. “I think I wouldn’t mind seeing how much you enjoy having your nipples twisted. Don’t worry, I’m quite positive I can do this without drawing blood, if this is something you fear.”
He winked at his friend, who knew he was in for some real torture. Lewis cursed himself for getting caught so easily. A few hundred yards away, Jason was also thinking how stupid he had been; he was patrolling with Matt when they’d heard some swishing sound behind. Jason had turned around and saw Ben and Sora just as Matt was warning him of the danger. His partner was luckier and managed to flee, but Ben charged and dived, aiming for Jason’s scarf, which he grabbed effortlessly.
Jason took another step and decided that fair-play was required. He collapsed to the ground. A ball of bundled hankies was immediately stuck inside his mouth as he felt hands cuffing his wrists behind his back. A ripping sound preceded the wrapping of his lower face in tape. Ben and Sora had him stand up; they tied a rope harness around his torso and wrapped tape on top to be sure the ropes and knots would stay taut. After blindfolding him with strips of tape and hobbling his knees, the three boys started getting back to the base.
“Nice catch,” Ben whispered. “I know someone will be happy!”
“Yeah, Lewis is going to give us a poo-load of praise, no doubt!”
Sora wasn’t a big fan of Lewis’s manners, but team solidarity prevailed.
Looking at Jason, he said, “We’ll have to take extra measures to make sure this big dude doesn’t escape.”
Tape would prove helpful; it meant that any of Jason’s teammates would waste time trying to free him from his sticky cocoon. Ben opened the way; he was very attentive to any sound or perceptible motion. They arrived at the Club House without meeting anyone, a deafening silence reigning in the large entry hall.
TBC
Last edited by Bondwriter 3 years ago, edited 1 time in total.
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Bondwriter
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 575
- Joined: 6 years ago
33. First Consequences
“Lou?” Ben asked in a low voice. He searched the place while Sora tightened their captive’s hobbles.
“I’ve drawn a blank. Lewis is nowhere to be found in here. He must have gone out to help the others.”
“Maybe he got caught? Wasn’t he supposed to leave a note?”
Ben was getting in the skin of a private detective. He looked around the room.
“Look! The window’s open! They must have crept up on Lewis through there and captured him.”
Jason sniggered though his gag. Lewis’s capture made up for his own failure.
Lewis was not spending his most glorious moment. At the very moment his disappearance was noticed, he was having his belly haired with tweezers. Phil pulled off the black hair around his navel nastily while tickling the sensitive spots around. Regular swats on his behind reminded Lewis he wasn’t to get hard, but Philip’s ministrations had the disconcerting effect of getting him even more furiously aroused.
“Oh, no, my little birdie, I will keep you here under lock and key.”
Swat!
“And stop moving, I wouldn’t want to hurt your balls with the pair of tweezers. It’s almost over; there are no more than twenty hairs to remove.”
“Mmmbllm …”
Lewis’s pleas fell on deaf ears. While Philip was enjoying Billy and Nicholas being far away, he hoped they’d be back soon to return to the base and get Lewis’s bum as smooth as an egg.
Phil’s teammates had found Matt as they passed Saint Peter’s. He’d called them in a hushed and subdued tone. The capture of Jason had been told quickly. The fact that Ben and Sora had been the attackers meant there was another team of two on the prowl.
“Let’s get back to march Lewis to the base before we try to go and free Jase,” Billy suggested.
Their motions were fluid and quiet; dusk was coming and they blended in the landscape. Philip was adjusting Lewis’s jersey when they arrived. He wasn’t shy in explaining his torture, and they all had a good laugh at the idea of Lewis being rid of belly hair.
“We’ll have to do his pubes if we have to keep him longer,” Matt joked.
“Excellent idea, my friend. This will be tons of fun.”
“I don’t want to spoil your passionate abduction fun,” Billy said, “but we’ve got a game to win.”
Billy’s suggestion triggered action. Billy and Philip hobbled Lewis so he was ready to walk; Nicholas and Matt volunteered to act as scouts while their friends took care of the prisoner. They cautiously stepped outside to open the path and make sure no one would be there.
Night had fallen. They waited for a minute or two to get used to the dark. They then walked forward, taking small steps to guarantee silence and scrutinizing every inch of the landscape that unfolded along the path.
They stopped before passing a small coppice, waiting for their teammates to be in sight. When they saw them coming out from the scoring booth, Nicholas took out a small flashlight and pressed the button once to send the agreed signal. Soon the rest of the procession caught up with them. They now had to cross the coppice, after which they would be in sight of Anne Boleyn’s Hall.
Nicholas saw the ambushed opponent from a distance. He caught a motion behind a tree, someone with a clear-coloured shirt, which was a mistake for such a game. Fred thought his light beige long-sleeved T-shirt was good for camouflage, but at night it was as good as white. Nicholas put a hand on Matt’s shoulder; they kept on walking, but now his fellow-scout was privy to the menace.
Fred wasn’t alone, and Nicholas was all eyes and ears to spot a second or third accomplice. His pressure increased, and both boys stopped in the middle of the path. Nicholas slowly turned around; standing back to back, rucksack to rucksack, was a good way to be protected from an attack.
He spotted another moving shape that had followed them. The boy stopped dead in his tracks as Nicholas spun on his heel. A rush of adrenaline overcame him. He hissed his command through his teeth.
“Go, Matt! Catch him!”
He took off himself, scaring away his opponent, who turned around and dashed off. There were a few muffled shouts and then nothing; his stalker had been caught. He turned back to see how Matt had fared. He found his friend a few dozens yards farther.
“He seems to have vanished, Nicky.”
The boys peered intensely through the darkness. They stayed put and silent; after a full minute Nicholas darted off.
“There!” he whispered.
It took Matt some time to pick up and follow; he soon got lost and no longer had any clue where Nicky and the elusive form he was chasing had gone.
Nicholas was following his prey with a regular stride, getting closer; yet he didn’t manage to catch up with him. It had to be Fred, who was athletic and a good runner. They had reached Anne Boleyn’s Hall; Matt was way behind. Fred ran past the building’s corner. Nicholas thought the long stretch of paved road afterwards would be an advantage.
He turned sharply at the corner, trying to slow down as little as he could. The rucksack filled with gear tended to make his turn a bit more difficult. He took off again, only to feel something slide from his waistband.
“Caught!” Fred said.
Nicholas didn’t take more than two steps before he lied on his belly, respectful of the game’s rules. He was fuming inside, though.
Fred was already on him, sliding the rucksack down.
“If it isn’t our little newbie, and the black-haired one for that matter! Let’s see what you have packed inside, mi amigo.”
Fred was very handsome, Nicholas thought. He couldn’t do much, as they had practiced what ‘fainting’ in this case would imply. This time it was for real. He pictured what he had packed inside the rucksack. He knew full well what he stuffed in it could be used against him. Two rolls of deep blue vinyl tape, three scarves, four coils of rope, two short and two longer ones, his lariat which he’d brought from the farm, and well hidden in an inside pocket, a rather smelly sock he’d been wearing for four or five days.
Fred knew the drill. He first stuffed the big knot he’d tied up in the middle of the scarf between Nicholas’s teeth and tied it tight over his neck. Then tape got plastered and crisscrossed expertly. He bound his prisoner’s wrists behind his back and had him stand on his feet. They headed farther into the park.
“I’ll take you to our base, so no funny stuff. So far I haven’t played it nasty. I don’t intend to; but if I have to overpower you, I will. You can’t resist us now. And with the rest of your rucksack and a few of the things I hold in mine, we may have a very fun time. I’m pretty sure we can trade you for one of our team.”
In the dark, Fred knew his way around to reach Saint Peter’s. It was a six-minute walk, but the hobbles made the boys take ten minutes to reach Saint Peter’s. There was a janitor closet without a lock accessible through a small set of steps; this old stone staircase led to a lower level under the building.
This had been a spot used once by Keith and Billy when they had to detain Matt during a game. Fred had kept Philip in here too; he was quite happy to see no one knew where he was, and that he had captured Nicholas. This would be a very fun evening, with all the clothes racks, the furniture, and cool things to bind him to. Fred stepped inside and switched on the light.
Fred was sniffing the prey he was pushing inside the room, which had no lock outside, only a latch that could be pulled from the inside. The ominous sound clicked in Nicholas’s ears. His goose was cooked; the bases were off-limit, but such a secluded part of the lonely building made for an actual dungeon, underground and closed as it was. The floor was concrete and the walls old stone. There were shelves and chairs and wheelbarrows and poles; and a workbench, which Nicholas spotted straight away across the room from where they had entered.
Fred spun Nicholas on his heel and looked him in the eyes, his hands set on his captive’s shoulders.
“It’s certainly safer to keep you here than trying to take you back to the base. I’ll go and see what the deal is with the rest of the team early tomorrow morning. I’m afraid I’ll have to find games I can play in here with you tonight, as it’s out of question I run the risk of removing your gag, let alone your bonds.”
Nicholas looked at him. He could discern his face a little better, but without his eyeglasses the boy’s face was a bit of a blur. A charming one, of course, as the heat emanating from the boy brought in its own spells, and the warm breath of his captor telling lots about him too. There was also a subtler but no less captivating aroma that could be only produced, Nicholas knew, by a horny teenage boy.
Here he was, taken to another boy’s underground lair, two rucksacks close at hand, filled to the brim with bondage gear that his abductor knew how to use. The workbench had a clean and smooth surface at waist height. Fred pushed him towards it.
“You know enough about our traditions to understand that a hogtie is sorely needed if we don’t want you to run away, escape, and warn your friends of our plans.”
Fred’s skilled hands guided Nicholas on his belly; he lifted his legs and slid him around so his prisoner stretched over the length of the bench. He got ropes out of Nicholas’ rucksack and started weaving them as he’d practiced so many times.
Fred wasn’t going for the easy one; he intended to move to a ball-tie next. He folded the legs in two to start with, binding his ankles tightly to his thighs. Before he tightened it, he threaded a doubled-up rope between his thighs and calves just above the knees. He then cinched the rope at the top of Nicholas’s thighs.
“Nice bum under your shorts, Nicky. Would be a shame if anything happened to it, hey?” Fred smirked.
While Nicholas was promised to a lurid and lecherous fate, some other boys were in distress. Philip had kept his cool in the dark when something had gone wrong ahead of them, with their scouts Matt and Nicholas apparently running like crazy. There were sound of steps and muffled voices, but staying idly in the open wouldn’t be a proper move. Philip grabbed Lewis’s shoulder and pushed him outside the path onto the lawn.
“Come, Billy, let’s head to the base. From there we can protect ourselves and the hostage that may be used for a trade-off later on. If Matt and Nick have been outnumbered and are already knocked out, it will do little good if we run to their rescue to get caught ourselves.”
Billy approved; he had been brasher before, but after a few games, he knew fleeing a scene where the risks of getting caught were too high often allowed to get back as a saviour later on. They walked across the lawn with Lewis grunting despite Philip’s threats. He had ended up grabbing his hair and yanked it hard. There was a genuine cry caused by pain and surprise.
“Now hush or I pull your hair again.”
They walked the remaining distance to Anne Boleyn’s Hall with Philip holding Lewis by his hair.
“At last,” he said, letting go of Lewis’s capillary pride, “there’s no risk of him calling his friends now.”
Billy was closing the door behind them, mastering the motion of the heavy door leaf so it wouldn’t make noise.
“The basement would be the first place the reds would look for if they come here. There are plenty of other spots where we could put Lewis in to be sure that even if his lousy teammates come here, they won’t find him.”
Operation Purloin Lewis had started with a complete agreement between Billy and Philip, and the detailed description of the ideal place they should find to store their hostage in.
“It needs to be dark and far enough from the entrance that any noise would be heard in a limited part of the building only.”
“So, no windows … We need a way to get in there without breaking the rules. So it needs to be a room that isn’t locked. Well,” Billy expounded, “the walk-in closets in one of the classrooms seem to be well adapted. If we hide him inside Miss Harding’s classroom, at the end of the Scaffold Hall, it should be a cinch.”
“Talking of which,” Philip said grabbing the ropes keeping Lewis’s arms pinned to his sides, “there’s someone who is more eager to try walking away unnoticed.”
Lewis had thought the discussion was engrossing enough that they wouldn’t notice his move. Philip pushed him forward.
“To Miss Harding’s room it is, then. This will be a very special detention for you, my dear Lewis.”
The trio was soon in the large room that smelled of chalk and bee wax. Billy went to pull the drapes before they switched on a small lamp at the teacher’s desk. It wasn’t much, but there were windows here and caution was called for.
“Let’s see,” Philip said; he scanned the room for the chair that would be the most appropriate. Miss Harding’s would certainly be the best; it wasn’t behind the desk, but in a corner.
“Get Lewis to the closet, I’ll be right there.”
TBC
“Lou?” Ben asked in a low voice. He searched the place while Sora tightened their captive’s hobbles.
“I’ve drawn a blank. Lewis is nowhere to be found in here. He must have gone out to help the others.”
“Maybe he got caught? Wasn’t he supposed to leave a note?”
Ben was getting in the skin of a private detective. He looked around the room.
“Look! The window’s open! They must have crept up on Lewis through there and captured him.”
Jason sniggered though his gag. Lewis’s capture made up for his own failure.
Lewis was not spending his most glorious moment. At the very moment his disappearance was noticed, he was having his belly haired with tweezers. Phil pulled off the black hair around his navel nastily while tickling the sensitive spots around. Regular swats on his behind reminded Lewis he wasn’t to get hard, but Philip’s ministrations had the disconcerting effect of getting him even more furiously aroused.
“Oh, no, my little birdie, I will keep you here under lock and key.”
Swat!
“And stop moving, I wouldn’t want to hurt your balls with the pair of tweezers. It’s almost over; there are no more than twenty hairs to remove.”
“Mmmbllm …”
Lewis’s pleas fell on deaf ears. While Philip was enjoying Billy and Nicholas being far away, he hoped they’d be back soon to return to the base and get Lewis’s bum as smooth as an egg.
Phil’s teammates had found Matt as they passed Saint Peter’s. He’d called them in a hushed and subdued tone. The capture of Jason had been told quickly. The fact that Ben and Sora had been the attackers meant there was another team of two on the prowl.
“Let’s get back to march Lewis to the base before we try to go and free Jase,” Billy suggested.
Their motions were fluid and quiet; dusk was coming and they blended in the landscape. Philip was adjusting Lewis’s jersey when they arrived. He wasn’t shy in explaining his torture, and they all had a good laugh at the idea of Lewis being rid of belly hair.
“We’ll have to do his pubes if we have to keep him longer,” Matt joked.
“Excellent idea, my friend. This will be tons of fun.”
“I don’t want to spoil your passionate abduction fun,” Billy said, “but we’ve got a game to win.”
Billy’s suggestion triggered action. Billy and Philip hobbled Lewis so he was ready to walk; Nicholas and Matt volunteered to act as scouts while their friends took care of the prisoner. They cautiously stepped outside to open the path and make sure no one would be there.
Night had fallen. They waited for a minute or two to get used to the dark. They then walked forward, taking small steps to guarantee silence and scrutinizing every inch of the landscape that unfolded along the path.
They stopped before passing a small coppice, waiting for their teammates to be in sight. When they saw them coming out from the scoring booth, Nicholas took out a small flashlight and pressed the button once to send the agreed signal. Soon the rest of the procession caught up with them. They now had to cross the coppice, after which they would be in sight of Anne Boleyn’s Hall.
Nicholas saw the ambushed opponent from a distance. He caught a motion behind a tree, someone with a clear-coloured shirt, which was a mistake for such a game. Fred thought his light beige long-sleeved T-shirt was good for camouflage, but at night it was as good as white. Nicholas put a hand on Matt’s shoulder; they kept on walking, but now his fellow-scout was privy to the menace.
Fred wasn’t alone, and Nicholas was all eyes and ears to spot a second or third accomplice. His pressure increased, and both boys stopped in the middle of the path. Nicholas slowly turned around; standing back to back, rucksack to rucksack, was a good way to be protected from an attack.
He spotted another moving shape that had followed them. The boy stopped dead in his tracks as Nicholas spun on his heel. A rush of adrenaline overcame him. He hissed his command through his teeth.
“Go, Matt! Catch him!”
He took off himself, scaring away his opponent, who turned around and dashed off. There were a few muffled shouts and then nothing; his stalker had been caught. He turned back to see how Matt had fared. He found his friend a few dozens yards farther.
“He seems to have vanished, Nicky.”
The boys peered intensely through the darkness. They stayed put and silent; after a full minute Nicholas darted off.
“There!” he whispered.
It took Matt some time to pick up and follow; he soon got lost and no longer had any clue where Nicky and the elusive form he was chasing had gone.
Nicholas was following his prey with a regular stride, getting closer; yet he didn’t manage to catch up with him. It had to be Fred, who was athletic and a good runner. They had reached Anne Boleyn’s Hall; Matt was way behind. Fred ran past the building’s corner. Nicholas thought the long stretch of paved road afterwards would be an advantage.
He turned sharply at the corner, trying to slow down as little as he could. The rucksack filled with gear tended to make his turn a bit more difficult. He took off again, only to feel something slide from his waistband.
“Caught!” Fred said.
Nicholas didn’t take more than two steps before he lied on his belly, respectful of the game’s rules. He was fuming inside, though.
Fred was already on him, sliding the rucksack down.
“If it isn’t our little newbie, and the black-haired one for that matter! Let’s see what you have packed inside, mi amigo.”
Fred was very handsome, Nicholas thought. He couldn’t do much, as they had practiced what ‘fainting’ in this case would imply. This time it was for real. He pictured what he had packed inside the rucksack. He knew full well what he stuffed in it could be used against him. Two rolls of deep blue vinyl tape, three scarves, four coils of rope, two short and two longer ones, his lariat which he’d brought from the farm, and well hidden in an inside pocket, a rather smelly sock he’d been wearing for four or five days.
Fred knew the drill. He first stuffed the big knot he’d tied up in the middle of the scarf between Nicholas’s teeth and tied it tight over his neck. Then tape got plastered and crisscrossed expertly. He bound his prisoner’s wrists behind his back and had him stand on his feet. They headed farther into the park.
“I’ll take you to our base, so no funny stuff. So far I haven’t played it nasty. I don’t intend to; but if I have to overpower you, I will. You can’t resist us now. And with the rest of your rucksack and a few of the things I hold in mine, we may have a very fun time. I’m pretty sure we can trade you for one of our team.”
In the dark, Fred knew his way around to reach Saint Peter’s. It was a six-minute walk, but the hobbles made the boys take ten minutes to reach Saint Peter’s. There was a janitor closet without a lock accessible through a small set of steps; this old stone staircase led to a lower level under the building.
This had been a spot used once by Keith and Billy when they had to detain Matt during a game. Fred had kept Philip in here too; he was quite happy to see no one knew where he was, and that he had captured Nicholas. This would be a very fun evening, with all the clothes racks, the furniture, and cool things to bind him to. Fred stepped inside and switched on the light.
Fred was sniffing the prey he was pushing inside the room, which had no lock outside, only a latch that could be pulled from the inside. The ominous sound clicked in Nicholas’s ears. His goose was cooked; the bases were off-limit, but such a secluded part of the lonely building made for an actual dungeon, underground and closed as it was. The floor was concrete and the walls old stone. There were shelves and chairs and wheelbarrows and poles; and a workbench, which Nicholas spotted straight away across the room from where they had entered.
Fred spun Nicholas on his heel and looked him in the eyes, his hands set on his captive’s shoulders.
“It’s certainly safer to keep you here than trying to take you back to the base. I’ll go and see what the deal is with the rest of the team early tomorrow morning. I’m afraid I’ll have to find games I can play in here with you tonight, as it’s out of question I run the risk of removing your gag, let alone your bonds.”
Nicholas looked at him. He could discern his face a little better, but without his eyeglasses the boy’s face was a bit of a blur. A charming one, of course, as the heat emanating from the boy brought in its own spells, and the warm breath of his captor telling lots about him too. There was also a subtler but no less captivating aroma that could be only produced, Nicholas knew, by a horny teenage boy.
Here he was, taken to another boy’s underground lair, two rucksacks close at hand, filled to the brim with bondage gear that his abductor knew how to use. The workbench had a clean and smooth surface at waist height. Fred pushed him towards it.
“You know enough about our traditions to understand that a hogtie is sorely needed if we don’t want you to run away, escape, and warn your friends of our plans.”
Fred’s skilled hands guided Nicholas on his belly; he lifted his legs and slid him around so his prisoner stretched over the length of the bench. He got ropes out of Nicholas’ rucksack and started weaving them as he’d practiced so many times.
Fred wasn’t going for the easy one; he intended to move to a ball-tie next. He folded the legs in two to start with, binding his ankles tightly to his thighs. Before he tightened it, he threaded a doubled-up rope between his thighs and calves just above the knees. He then cinched the rope at the top of Nicholas’s thighs.
“Nice bum under your shorts, Nicky. Would be a shame if anything happened to it, hey?” Fred smirked.
While Nicholas was promised to a lurid and lecherous fate, some other boys were in distress. Philip had kept his cool in the dark when something had gone wrong ahead of them, with their scouts Matt and Nicholas apparently running like crazy. There were sound of steps and muffled voices, but staying idly in the open wouldn’t be a proper move. Philip grabbed Lewis’s shoulder and pushed him outside the path onto the lawn.
“Come, Billy, let’s head to the base. From there we can protect ourselves and the hostage that may be used for a trade-off later on. If Matt and Nick have been outnumbered and are already knocked out, it will do little good if we run to their rescue to get caught ourselves.”
Billy approved; he had been brasher before, but after a few games, he knew fleeing a scene where the risks of getting caught were too high often allowed to get back as a saviour later on. They walked across the lawn with Lewis grunting despite Philip’s threats. He had ended up grabbing his hair and yanked it hard. There was a genuine cry caused by pain and surprise.
“Now hush or I pull your hair again.”
They walked the remaining distance to Anne Boleyn’s Hall with Philip holding Lewis by his hair.
“At last,” he said, letting go of Lewis’s capillary pride, “there’s no risk of him calling his friends now.”
Billy was closing the door behind them, mastering the motion of the heavy door leaf so it wouldn’t make noise.
“The basement would be the first place the reds would look for if they come here. There are plenty of other spots where we could put Lewis in to be sure that even if his lousy teammates come here, they won’t find him.”
Operation Purloin Lewis had started with a complete agreement between Billy and Philip, and the detailed description of the ideal place they should find to store their hostage in.
“It needs to be dark and far enough from the entrance that any noise would be heard in a limited part of the building only.”
“So, no windows … We need a way to get in there without breaking the rules. So it needs to be a room that isn’t locked. Well,” Billy expounded, “the walk-in closets in one of the classrooms seem to be well adapted. If we hide him inside Miss Harding’s classroom, at the end of the Scaffold Hall, it should be a cinch.”
“Talking of which,” Philip said grabbing the ropes keeping Lewis’s arms pinned to his sides, “there’s someone who is more eager to try walking away unnoticed.”
Lewis had thought the discussion was engrossing enough that they wouldn’t notice his move. Philip pushed him forward.
“To Miss Harding’s room it is, then. This will be a very special detention for you, my dear Lewis.”
The trio was soon in the large room that smelled of chalk and bee wax. Billy went to pull the drapes before they switched on a small lamp at the teacher’s desk. It wasn’t much, but there were windows here and caution was called for.
“Let’s see,” Philip said; he scanned the room for the chair that would be the most appropriate. Miss Harding’s would certainly be the best; it wasn’t behind the desk, but in a corner.
“Get Lewis to the closet, I’ll be right there.”
TBC
Last edited by Bondwriter 3 years ago, edited 1 time in total.
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Bondwriter
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 575
- Joined: 6 years ago
A few more episodes to come. Here is...
34. Nights in White Gagging
Billy pushed the prisoner to what was to become his cell. Philippe fetched the large wooden chair. It had armrests: Miss Hardin’s delicate rump required a thick cushion. Philip had been in her History class and he’d looked at the thing often.
There were horizontal slats at the back, and four solid rungs holding its legs. He’d fantasized of getting some special detention by Miss Harding; that had made the classes go faster. Now he was presenting it to Billy and Lewis.
“You’re in luck, Lou, there is something that will be comfy so you may sit with all the guarantees that a well-done chair-tie requires. Not a move will be possible, so you can’t fall or hurt yourself. You’ll be able to spend a safe time in here while we capture the remainder of your losing team and bring them here so they can witness your demise. We’ll go for tighter rather than tight this time.”
Lewis hated how speaking to him when he was gagged systematically meant that the speaker used fancy words, to be on a level.
“Now sit.”
Lewis complied with Philip’s command; Billy switched on the light inside the closet and ran to the desk to switch the other one off. The closet was large enough that they could all get in, pulling the chair with Lewis in it inside. That’s what they did, once again to limit the amount of light that could be seen from outside.
“Isn’t it cosy? Old maps, dusty books, I’m sure there must be lots of spiders that will come out as soon as it’s dark again.”
“Mmmrbllmmph!”
“You’re welcome. Now for some roping.”
Philip dropped his rucksack. Billy suggested taking Lewis’, which had been left at the door. There were enough ropes available then to wrap the captive’s four limbs to the wooden piece of furniture. To Lewis’s greatest dismay, they were binding him as if it were practice rather than with the flourishing numbers he usually pulled when he was in their situation.
It worked nonetheless. His wrists and forearms were closely united to the armrests, with shoe laces trapping his fingers. His ankles had been pulled backward and tied to the legs at the back of the seat, which had his thighs spread wide. Philip commented on how hairy they were; given time, he could solve this little issue with his tweezers.
There was a good-hearted laugh from Billy at Lewis’s indignant reaction. He kept on wrapping rope over the hairy thighs, pulling it taut so his legs formed a V that stayed in place. Philip was now turning his attention and taunts to what appeared to be moving underneath the layers of nylon at the tip of the V.
“He likes you petting him, Billy. This is Lewis; he’s fun to have around, but he’s way too promiscuous to have a solid relationship with anyone.”
Considering the number of weekends the boys had spent together, Billy knew this was a joke. But Lewis’s fuming meant that the joke was appreciated only moderately by the target of the remarks
They moved on to weave a harness around his torso.
“I think I’ll let you take care of his thighs next,” Billy said. “It might be useful to scout the area to see what’s going on.”
There wasn’t much going on in the area. Nicholas was a couple hundreds of yards away, but Jason was twice as far away from them. Sora and Ben had brought him to the gazebo. This was as central as it got at Saint Thomas More.
Ben had also remembered about the little space underneath where they stored the chairs to be taken out for the musical or social events that were hosted there in the summer. It wasn’t big, but there was stuff inside that could be used to bar the door shut. Of course, once you were trapped inside, your opponents had to wait until nature forced you to exit for a reason or another; it would make for a proper and safe place to keep Jason.
The base was definitely not safe if the blues knew where it was, so Ben and Sora had picked up a place from where they could head to different directions. Hence the centre, hence the storage room under the gazebo.
Jason had been moderately resistant. He was big and he wasn’t used yet to be forced into obedience in a competitive setting. He was quite a sore loser, actually, and his captors had reminded him of fair-play and chivalric attitudes throughout the journey; the ‘guy from Dixie’ had told at length of the taping he would get. It wasn’t bragging, as he’d experienced nights within the grasp of the rings of sticky tape the boy and his friend had put him in.
Ben had been uncannily receptive to the proposal Sora had made, and Jason had had to stand the taping again, with Ben questioning him as if he’d never heard the boy vocally develop his theories on how to best use tape and imprison the boys you caught in games.
Once cocooned in tape from neck to ankles, there had been a lengthy discussion on how they should gag him. The debate was between putting on a gag that would stay for the whole night while following the safety guidelines, which was Ben’s opinion; Sora was more intent on having a little workshop and trying a few different ones, possibly stricter than those Ben had in mind.
Ben wasn’t this long to be convinced, and they first decided on using both of Jason’s socks as wadding, and to add on layers to make it the biggest gag Jason had gotten ever. They taped his lips and most of his lower face; a pair of Sora’s socks was knotted in its middle and offered to Jason’s olfactory appreciation by being tied around his heads with the toes half an inch under his nostrils.
This triggered a reaction from the larger boy, but his tormentors didn’t intend to give him any slack.
“If he shakes his head enough, he might remove it. I’ve got just the thing for this situation,” Ben said, getting one of his Glidor lower face masks from his own rucksack. The accessory did give a more refined look.
“Good, Ben, this will make our Jason a real gentleman. How do you think we should test that the gag works? It’s tough tickling a cocooned prisoner.”
“We’re not going to give into this sort of crass behaviour. We’re going to keep our opponent safe and sound; we might trade him for one of our own if anyone gets caught. For now we should stay safe ourselves until we know more about what’s happening to the rest of the reds.”
It didn’t suit Sora’s taste for adventure, and going out to ‘collect’ another prisoner would have been a fun activity. He nevertheless lined up with Ben; his companion had more experience of the full-fledged game than he did.
There was enough equipment in their rucksacks to spend the night, and the closed storage space wasn’t cold to start with. Sora lectured Jason about the taping all the while.
“And then, if you’ve managed to pull every coil of duct tape just as I explained, your captive can’t do poo about it.”
Jason had been moaning and grunting, without Sora ever noticing.
“You might have found a way to torture him properly, Sora. I hear Jason isn’t too keen on having you explain him how useful tape is in tugs.”
“Mrggmm. MMmphMMMmmbll!”
“Oh my! That’s what he was trying to say? He wanted to tell me to shut up? He’s in for something else, then. I haven’t yet started to tell him about how to use tape properly to gag naughty little boys who whine!”
Ben laughed. This could be a long night for Jason.
Billy and Philip had gotten to get blankets. They’d thrown one over Lewis. They could still spare an hour or two tormenting their bound prisoner with some mind games. Making up ordeals that the reds would have to go through once every single one of them would have been captured.
“There’s an anthill in the Forest, I’ve been told. We could stake the little blighters out and see if the ants under these latitudes are as fierce as the ones Nicholas talked about.”
Speaking of whom, the South American boy was still within Fred’s clutches. He’d been taken one on one, and Fred hadn’t left him since, so no one had been told he was kept in the storage room down in Saint Peter’s Hall. Fred was going through a phase: he was now much more willing to acknowledge the sensual nature of tie-up games. The hot boy was his age, he had a thin frame and soft skin, and being bound and gagged got him to fully develop his boner inside his shorts.
These were good enough reasons to use this little private time his skills and competitive spirit had gotten him. The ball-tie hadn’t allowed for much stroking and kneading, though patting the boy’s bum had felt nice. He now had him tied to the leg of a shelf. It was solid; the shelf was screwed to the walls so heavy objects could be stored on it without it collapsing.
“And another most excellent pole-tie. It took some rope to bind it, but it was worth the effort.”
‘Some’ rope? There were coils at nine places from his shoulders to his ankles, a chest harness that doubled as a crotch rope and two lengths of thinner rope woven through the initial set-up and tied to the metal bar he was standing against. Nicholas deemed this ‘a lot of’ rope. But he was still gagged and couldn’t advise Fred on a more proper use of quantifiers.
“I hope you don’t mind standing, Nicky, as I intend to leave you trussed up this way for the night. Let me check my bonds…”
Fred’s fingers completed his sight to assess the tightness of the ropes and the solidity of the knots. When his index fingers brushed a spot a little below his navel, Nicholas’s reaction was wild. He shook his head desperately, snorting through his nose and begging through his gag for Fred to stop.
“I got you a little fiercer all of a sudden. And you make way too much noise to my taste; I haven’t changed your gag since I caught you, so maybe it’s time. I’ll have you eat and drink a little too.”
Nicholas watched Fred prepare the ‘meal’, which was a bottle of water and biscuits. With his gag removed, he could maybe call out, in the off chance that someone was in the courtyard in front of Saint Peter’s. Fred also took a small canvas bag along with him. He laid the objects on the shelf, a few inches away from Nicholas’s head.
“I remove your gag to be nice, and under the Rule of Silence. If I hear anything, no food, no drink, and a very, very nasty gag for the night.”
Nicholas was thinking hard, balancing the costs and benefits of rebellion. But as his gag was removed, Fred’s warm and moist hand was clamped his lower face.
“To make sure you don’t try anything stupid, I’ll keep you handgagged when I don’t need your gob open for stuffing things inside.”
The boy was true to his word. It was impossible to say anything, let alone scream loud enough to have the faintest hope of being heard. Nicholas was both desperate, as he was in the losing team and his competitive leanings were offended. Being kept prisoner by the dark-skinned boy and his amazingly cute and soft brown eyes and long black eyelashes was a huge thrill.
He had to chew on the biscuits with Fred’s hand clamped over his lower face. When the meal was over, Fred got a ball of fresh hankies from his back pocket.
“You’ve behaved, so I won’t be mean. Open wide!”
The four thin cotton hankies were stuffed inside Nicholas’s mouth without a protest. The attention he’d been given had numbed his fighting spirit.
“Good boy; now for some tape.”
It really seemed Fred was really using ‘some’ for ‘a lot’: Fred laid criss-crossing strips of tape over his lower face and then used two turns around his head to prevent any removal by wetting the tape in the case he got his tongue out.
“This should hold for the night. Now, to avoid this little issue of you shaking your head,” Fred said as the tip of his index finger brushed against Nicholas’s lower belly, heading straight to the square inch of vulnerable skin, proving his point again as the muffled yelps came with head shaking.
He got some thick cotton rags from the shelf, which he folded into a small square. He set it between the bar and Nicholas’s head. He had the roll in his hand and then went over his mouth and wrapped two turns around the head and the pole, passing it twice over his taped mouth and keeping Nicholas completely immobile now.
“I have a last present from the reds.”
Fred grabbed the canvas bag. The smell when he opened it a foot away from Nicholas’s nostrils gave away the nature of the contents; this smell was familiar to the imprisoned boy because of his own extra-curricular activities which had led him to attend changing rooms for martial arts or track purposes. The sight of the three long football socks confirmed his suspicion.
“So you can enjoy our presence throughout the night,” Fred said as he set the bundled socks over the gag, pinning them there with a length of tape that went from ear to ear, “I’m sure you love sniffing real men’s socks.”
Fred’s hand rested on Nicholas’s belly; the prisoner braced himself for some tickling but the hand slid downwards.
“It seems you do like the smell of real men! Now that you’ve been made all docile and quiet, let’s see if I can provide you with some relief so you sleep better…”
In the maintenance shed at the entrance of the school, the last two boys unaccounted so far were also getting ready to sleep. Matt was strapped to a cot, bundled in ropes, and gagged tightly with his own socks. Keith was sitting next to him admiring the shape of the trussed-up boy. There was something that fascinated the blond boy. His cute prisoner was very well endowed; he’d never really noticed. He had, in fact, but he often was with Billy, who was the boy his heart went to.
Keith was watching the writhing snake inside the shorts. He had handled the boy for four hours now, since he’d caught him and whisked him away to the shed that he knew was safe. Keith was now wondering about monogamy and what to do with the trussed up lad who seemed so eager to have something done about his tenting his shorts in such an impressive manner.
Wisdom prevailed, though. Keith pulled a blanket over the tempting body and got his own to get some rest and try to think clearly of what to do the next day. He’d have to find his teammates. He wished them good luck in his mind, wondering if any of them had been caught.
TBC
34. Nights in White Gagging
Billy pushed the prisoner to what was to become his cell. Philippe fetched the large wooden chair. It had armrests: Miss Hardin’s delicate rump required a thick cushion. Philip had been in her History class and he’d looked at the thing often.
There were horizontal slats at the back, and four solid rungs holding its legs. He’d fantasized of getting some special detention by Miss Harding; that had made the classes go faster. Now he was presenting it to Billy and Lewis.
“You’re in luck, Lou, there is something that will be comfy so you may sit with all the guarantees that a well-done chair-tie requires. Not a move will be possible, so you can’t fall or hurt yourself. You’ll be able to spend a safe time in here while we capture the remainder of your losing team and bring them here so they can witness your demise. We’ll go for tighter rather than tight this time.”
Lewis hated how speaking to him when he was gagged systematically meant that the speaker used fancy words, to be on a level.
“Now sit.”
Lewis complied with Philip’s command; Billy switched on the light inside the closet and ran to the desk to switch the other one off. The closet was large enough that they could all get in, pulling the chair with Lewis in it inside. That’s what they did, once again to limit the amount of light that could be seen from outside.
“Isn’t it cosy? Old maps, dusty books, I’m sure there must be lots of spiders that will come out as soon as it’s dark again.”
“Mmmrbllmmph!”
“You’re welcome. Now for some roping.”
Philip dropped his rucksack. Billy suggested taking Lewis’, which had been left at the door. There were enough ropes available then to wrap the captive’s four limbs to the wooden piece of furniture. To Lewis’s greatest dismay, they were binding him as if it were practice rather than with the flourishing numbers he usually pulled when he was in their situation.
It worked nonetheless. His wrists and forearms were closely united to the armrests, with shoe laces trapping his fingers. His ankles had been pulled backward and tied to the legs at the back of the seat, which had his thighs spread wide. Philip commented on how hairy they were; given time, he could solve this little issue with his tweezers.
There was a good-hearted laugh from Billy at Lewis’s indignant reaction. He kept on wrapping rope over the hairy thighs, pulling it taut so his legs formed a V that stayed in place. Philip was now turning his attention and taunts to what appeared to be moving underneath the layers of nylon at the tip of the V.
“He likes you petting him, Billy. This is Lewis; he’s fun to have around, but he’s way too promiscuous to have a solid relationship with anyone.”
Considering the number of weekends the boys had spent together, Billy knew this was a joke. But Lewis’s fuming meant that the joke was appreciated only moderately by the target of the remarks
They moved on to weave a harness around his torso.
“I think I’ll let you take care of his thighs next,” Billy said. “It might be useful to scout the area to see what’s going on.”
There wasn’t much going on in the area. Nicholas was a couple hundreds of yards away, but Jason was twice as far away from them. Sora and Ben had brought him to the gazebo. This was as central as it got at Saint Thomas More.
Ben had also remembered about the little space underneath where they stored the chairs to be taken out for the musical or social events that were hosted there in the summer. It wasn’t big, but there was stuff inside that could be used to bar the door shut. Of course, once you were trapped inside, your opponents had to wait until nature forced you to exit for a reason or another; it would make for a proper and safe place to keep Jason.
The base was definitely not safe if the blues knew where it was, so Ben and Sora had picked up a place from where they could head to different directions. Hence the centre, hence the storage room under the gazebo.
Jason had been moderately resistant. He was big and he wasn’t used yet to be forced into obedience in a competitive setting. He was quite a sore loser, actually, and his captors had reminded him of fair-play and chivalric attitudes throughout the journey; the ‘guy from Dixie’ had told at length of the taping he would get. It wasn’t bragging, as he’d experienced nights within the grasp of the rings of sticky tape the boy and his friend had put him in.
Ben had been uncannily receptive to the proposal Sora had made, and Jason had had to stand the taping again, with Ben questioning him as if he’d never heard the boy vocally develop his theories on how to best use tape and imprison the boys you caught in games.
Once cocooned in tape from neck to ankles, there had been a lengthy discussion on how they should gag him. The debate was between putting on a gag that would stay for the whole night while following the safety guidelines, which was Ben’s opinion; Sora was more intent on having a little workshop and trying a few different ones, possibly stricter than those Ben had in mind.
Ben wasn’t this long to be convinced, and they first decided on using both of Jason’s socks as wadding, and to add on layers to make it the biggest gag Jason had gotten ever. They taped his lips and most of his lower face; a pair of Sora’s socks was knotted in its middle and offered to Jason’s olfactory appreciation by being tied around his heads with the toes half an inch under his nostrils.
This triggered a reaction from the larger boy, but his tormentors didn’t intend to give him any slack.
“If he shakes his head enough, he might remove it. I’ve got just the thing for this situation,” Ben said, getting one of his Glidor lower face masks from his own rucksack. The accessory did give a more refined look.
“Good, Ben, this will make our Jason a real gentleman. How do you think we should test that the gag works? It’s tough tickling a cocooned prisoner.”
“We’re not going to give into this sort of crass behaviour. We’re going to keep our opponent safe and sound; we might trade him for one of our own if anyone gets caught. For now we should stay safe ourselves until we know more about what’s happening to the rest of the reds.”
It didn’t suit Sora’s taste for adventure, and going out to ‘collect’ another prisoner would have been a fun activity. He nevertheless lined up with Ben; his companion had more experience of the full-fledged game than he did.
There was enough equipment in their rucksacks to spend the night, and the closed storage space wasn’t cold to start with. Sora lectured Jason about the taping all the while.
“And then, if you’ve managed to pull every coil of duct tape just as I explained, your captive can’t do poo about it.”
Jason had been moaning and grunting, without Sora ever noticing.
“You might have found a way to torture him properly, Sora. I hear Jason isn’t too keen on having you explain him how useful tape is in tugs.”
“Mrggmm. MMmphMMMmmbll!”
“Oh my! That’s what he was trying to say? He wanted to tell me to shut up? He’s in for something else, then. I haven’t yet started to tell him about how to use tape properly to gag naughty little boys who whine!”
Ben laughed. This could be a long night for Jason.
Billy and Philip had gotten to get blankets. They’d thrown one over Lewis. They could still spare an hour or two tormenting their bound prisoner with some mind games. Making up ordeals that the reds would have to go through once every single one of them would have been captured.
“There’s an anthill in the Forest, I’ve been told. We could stake the little blighters out and see if the ants under these latitudes are as fierce as the ones Nicholas talked about.”
Speaking of whom, the South American boy was still within Fred’s clutches. He’d been taken one on one, and Fred hadn’t left him since, so no one had been told he was kept in the storage room down in Saint Peter’s Hall. Fred was going through a phase: he was now much more willing to acknowledge the sensual nature of tie-up games. The hot boy was his age, he had a thin frame and soft skin, and being bound and gagged got him to fully develop his boner inside his shorts.
These were good enough reasons to use this little private time his skills and competitive spirit had gotten him. The ball-tie hadn’t allowed for much stroking and kneading, though patting the boy’s bum had felt nice. He now had him tied to the leg of a shelf. It was solid; the shelf was screwed to the walls so heavy objects could be stored on it without it collapsing.
“And another most excellent pole-tie. It took some rope to bind it, but it was worth the effort.”
‘Some’ rope? There were coils at nine places from his shoulders to his ankles, a chest harness that doubled as a crotch rope and two lengths of thinner rope woven through the initial set-up and tied to the metal bar he was standing against. Nicholas deemed this ‘a lot of’ rope. But he was still gagged and couldn’t advise Fred on a more proper use of quantifiers.
“I hope you don’t mind standing, Nicky, as I intend to leave you trussed up this way for the night. Let me check my bonds…”
Fred’s fingers completed his sight to assess the tightness of the ropes and the solidity of the knots. When his index fingers brushed a spot a little below his navel, Nicholas’s reaction was wild. He shook his head desperately, snorting through his nose and begging through his gag for Fred to stop.
“I got you a little fiercer all of a sudden. And you make way too much noise to my taste; I haven’t changed your gag since I caught you, so maybe it’s time. I’ll have you eat and drink a little too.”
Nicholas watched Fred prepare the ‘meal’, which was a bottle of water and biscuits. With his gag removed, he could maybe call out, in the off chance that someone was in the courtyard in front of Saint Peter’s. Fred also took a small canvas bag along with him. He laid the objects on the shelf, a few inches away from Nicholas’s head.
“I remove your gag to be nice, and under the Rule of Silence. If I hear anything, no food, no drink, and a very, very nasty gag for the night.”
Nicholas was thinking hard, balancing the costs and benefits of rebellion. But as his gag was removed, Fred’s warm and moist hand was clamped his lower face.
“To make sure you don’t try anything stupid, I’ll keep you handgagged when I don’t need your gob open for stuffing things inside.”
The boy was true to his word. It was impossible to say anything, let alone scream loud enough to have the faintest hope of being heard. Nicholas was both desperate, as he was in the losing team and his competitive leanings were offended. Being kept prisoner by the dark-skinned boy and his amazingly cute and soft brown eyes and long black eyelashes was a huge thrill.
He had to chew on the biscuits with Fred’s hand clamped over his lower face. When the meal was over, Fred got a ball of fresh hankies from his back pocket.
“You’ve behaved, so I won’t be mean. Open wide!”
The four thin cotton hankies were stuffed inside Nicholas’s mouth without a protest. The attention he’d been given had numbed his fighting spirit.
“Good boy; now for some tape.”
It really seemed Fred was really using ‘some’ for ‘a lot’: Fred laid criss-crossing strips of tape over his lower face and then used two turns around his head to prevent any removal by wetting the tape in the case he got his tongue out.
“This should hold for the night. Now, to avoid this little issue of you shaking your head,” Fred said as the tip of his index finger brushed against Nicholas’s lower belly, heading straight to the square inch of vulnerable skin, proving his point again as the muffled yelps came with head shaking.
He got some thick cotton rags from the shelf, which he folded into a small square. He set it between the bar and Nicholas’s head. He had the roll in his hand and then went over his mouth and wrapped two turns around the head and the pole, passing it twice over his taped mouth and keeping Nicholas completely immobile now.
“I have a last present from the reds.”
Fred grabbed the canvas bag. The smell when he opened it a foot away from Nicholas’s nostrils gave away the nature of the contents; this smell was familiar to the imprisoned boy because of his own extra-curricular activities which had led him to attend changing rooms for martial arts or track purposes. The sight of the three long football socks confirmed his suspicion.
“So you can enjoy our presence throughout the night,” Fred said as he set the bundled socks over the gag, pinning them there with a length of tape that went from ear to ear, “I’m sure you love sniffing real men’s socks.”
Fred’s hand rested on Nicholas’s belly; the prisoner braced himself for some tickling but the hand slid downwards.
“It seems you do like the smell of real men! Now that you’ve been made all docile and quiet, let’s see if I can provide you with some relief so you sleep better…”
In the maintenance shed at the entrance of the school, the last two boys unaccounted so far were also getting ready to sleep. Matt was strapped to a cot, bundled in ropes, and gagged tightly with his own socks. Keith was sitting next to him admiring the shape of the trussed-up boy. There was something that fascinated the blond boy. His cute prisoner was very well endowed; he’d never really noticed. He had, in fact, but he often was with Billy, who was the boy his heart went to.
Keith was watching the writhing snake inside the shorts. He had handled the boy for four hours now, since he’d caught him and whisked him away to the shed that he knew was safe. Keith was now wondering about monogamy and what to do with the trussed up lad who seemed so eager to have something done about his tenting his shorts in such an impressive manner.
Wisdom prevailed, though. Keith pulled a blanket over the tempting body and got his own to get some rest and try to think clearly of what to do the next day. He’d have to find his teammates. He wished them good luck in his mind, wondering if any of them had been caught.
TBC
-
Bondwriter
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 575
- Joined: 6 years ago
35. Trading commodities
Billy pushed the prisoner to what was to become his cell. Philip fetched the large wooden chair. It had armrests: Miss Hardin’s delicate rump required a thick cushion. Philip had been in her History class, and he’d looked at the thing often.
There were horizontal slats at the back and four solid rungs holding its legs. He’d fantasized of getting some special detention by Miss Harding; that had made the classes go faster. Now he was presenting it to Billy and Lewis.
“You’re in luck, Lou, there is something that will be comfy so you may sit with all the guarantees that a well-done chair-tie requires. Not a move will be possible, so you can’t fall or hurt yourself. You’ll be able to spend a safe time in here while we capture the remainder of your losing team and bring them here so they can witness your demise. We’ll go for tighter rather than tight this time.”
Lewis hated how speaking to him when he was gagged systematically meant that the speaker used fancy words, to be on a level.
“Now sit.”
Lewis complied while Billy switched on the light inside the closet and ran to the desk to switch the other one off. The closet was large enough that they could all get in, pulling the chair with Lewis in it inside. That’s what they did, once again to limit the amount of light that could be seen from outside.
“Isn’t it cosy? Old maps, dusty books, I’m sure there must be lots of spiders that will come out as soon as it’s dark again.”
“Mmmrbllmmph!”
“You’re welcome. Now for some roping.”
Philip dropped his rucksack. Billy suggested taking Lewis’s, which had been left at the door. There were enough ropes available then to wrap the captive’s four limbs to the wooden piece of furniture. To Lewis’s greatest dismay, they were binding him as if it were practice rather than with the flourishing numbers he usually pulled when he was in their situation.
It worked nonetheless. His wrists and forearms were closely united to the armrests, with shoe laces trapping his fingers. His ankles had been pulled backward and tied to the legs at the back of the seat, which had his thighs spread wide. Philip commented on how hairy they were and that given time, he could solve that issue with his tweezers.
There was a good-hearted laugh from Billy at Lewis’s indignant reaction. He kept on wrapping rope over the hairy thighs, pulling it taut so his legs formed a V that stayed in place. Philip was now turning his attention and taunts to what appeared to be moving underneath the layers of nylon at the tip of the V.
“He likes you petting him, Billy. Lewis is fun to have around, but he’s way too promiscuous to have a solid relationship with anyone.”
Considering the number of weekends the boys had spent together, Billy knew this was a joke. But Lewis’s fuming meant that the joke was appreciated only moderately by the target of the remarks.
They moved on to weave a harness around his torso.
“I think I’ll let you take care of his thighs next,” Billy said. “It might be useful to scout the area to see what’s going on.”
There wasn’t much going on in the area. Nicholas was a couple hundreds of yards away, but Jason was twice as far away from them. Sora and Ben had brought him to the gazebo. This was as central as it got at Saint Thomas More.
Ben had also remembered about the small storage space underneath with chairs for the musical or social summer events. There was stuff inside that could be used to bar the door shut. Of course, once you were trapped inside, your opponents had to wait until nature forced you to exit for a reason or another; it would make for a proper and safe place to keep Jason.
The base was definitely not safe if the blues knew where it was, so Ben and Sora had picked up a place from where they could head to different directions. Hence the centre, hence the storage room under the gazebo.
Jason had been moderately resistant. He was big and not used yet to be forced into obedience in a competitive setting. He was quite a sore loser, actually, and his captors had reminded him of fair-play and chivalric attitudes throughout the journey; the ‘guy from Dixie’ had told at length of the taping he would get.
Ben had been uncannily receptive to Sora’s proposal, and Jason had had to stand the taping again.
Once cocooned in tape from neck to ankles, a lengthy discussion ensued on how they should gag him. The debate was between putting on a gag that would stay for the whole night while following the safety guidelines, which was Ben’s opinion; Sora was more intent on having a little workshop and trying a few different ones, possibly stricter than those Ben had in mind.
They first decided on using both of Jason’s socks as wadding, and to add on layers to make it the biggest gag Jason had gotten ever. They taped his lips and most of his lower face; a pair of Sora’s socks were knotted together and offered to Jason’s olfactory appreciation, the toes half an inch under his nostrils.
This triggered a reaction from the larger boy, but his tormentors didn’t intend to give him any slack.
“If he shakes his head enough, he might remove it. I’ve got just the thing for this situation,” Ben said, getting one of his Glidor lower face masks from his own rucksack. The accessory did give a more refined look.
“Good, Ben, this will make our Jason a real gentleman. How do you think we should test that the gag works? It’s tough tickling a cocooned prisoner.”
“We’re not going to give into this sort of crass behaviour. We’re going to keep our opponent safe and sound; we might trade him for one of our own if anyone gets caught. For now we should stay safe ourselves until we know more about what’s happening to the rest of the reds.”
It didn’t suit Sora’s taste for adventure, and going out to ‘collect’ another prisoner would have been a fun activity. He nevertheless lined up with Ben; his companion had more experience of the full-fledged game than he did.
There was enough equipment in their rucksacks to spend the night, and the closed storage space wasn’t cold to start with. Sora lectured Jason about the taping all the while.
“And then, if you’ve managed to pull every coil of duct tape just as I explained, your captive can’t do poo about it.”
Jason had been moaning and grunting, without Sora ever noticing.
“You might have found a way to torture him properly, Sora. I hear Jason isn’t too keen on having you explain him how useful tape is in TUGs.”
“Mrggmm. MMmphMMMmmbll!”
“Oh! That’s what he was trying to say? He wanted to tell me to shut up? He’s in for something else, then. I haven’t yet started to tell him about how to use tape properly to gag naughty little boys who whine!”
Ben laughed. This could be a long night for Jason.
Billy and Philip had gotten blankets. They’d thrown one over Lewis. They could still spare an hour or two tormenting their bound prisoner with some mind games. Making up ordeals that the reds would have to go through once every single one of them would have been captured.
“There’s an anthill in the Forest, I’ve been told. We could stake the little blighters out and see if the ants under these latitudes are as fierce as the ones Nicholas talked about.”
Speaking of whom, the South American boy was still within Fred’s clutches. No one had been told he was kept in the storage room down in Saint Peter’s Hall. Fred was going through a phase: he was now much more willing to acknowledge the sensual nature of tie-up games. The hot boy was his age, he had a thin frame and soft skin, and being bound and gagged got him to fully develop his boner inside his shorts.
These were good enough reasons to use this little private time his skills and competitive spirit had gotten him. The ball-tie hadn’t allowed for much stroking and kneading, though patting the boy’s bum had felt nice. He now had him tied to the leg of a shelf. It was solid; the shelf was screwed to the walls so heavy objects could be stored on it without it collapsing.
“And another most excellent pole-tie. It took some rope to bind it, but it was worth the effort.”
There were actually coils at nine places from his shoulders to his ankles, a chest harness that doubled as a crotch rope and two lengths of thinner rope woven through the initial set-up and tied to the metal bar he was standing against. Nicholas deemed this ‘a lot of’ rope. But he was still gagged and couldn’t advise Fred on a more proper use of quantifiers.
“I hope you don’t mind standing, Nicky, as I intend to leave you trussed up this way for the night. Let me check my bonds …”
Fred’s fingers completed his sight to assess the tightness of the ropes and the solidity of the knots. When his index fingers brushed a spot a little below his navel, Nicholas’s reaction was wild. He shook his head desperately, snorting through his nose and begging through his gag for Fred to stop.
“I got you a little fiercer all of a sudden. And you make way too much noise to my taste; I haven’t changed your gag since I caught you, so maybe it’s time. I’ll have you eat and drink a little too.”
Nicholas watched Fred prepare the ‘meal’: a bottle of water and biscuits. With his gag removed, he could maybe call out, in the off chance that someone was in the courtyard in front of Saint Peter’s. Fred also took a small canvas bag along with him. He laid the objects on the shelf, a few inches away from Nicholas’s head.
“I remove your gag to be nice, and under the Rule of Silence. If I hear anything, no food, no drink, and a very, very nasty gag for the night.”
Nicholas was thinking hard, balancing the costs and benefits of rebellion. But as his gag was removed, Fred’s warm and moist hand was clamped over his lips.
“To make sure you don’t try anything stupid, I’ll keep you handgagged when I don’t need your gob open for stuffing things inside.”
The boy was true to his word. It was impossible to say anything, let alone scream loud enough to have the faintest hope of being heard. Nicholas was desperate, as he was in the losing team and his competitive leanings were offended. Being kept prisoner by the dark-skinned boy and his amazingly cute and soft brown eyes and long black eyelashes was a huge thrill.
He had to chew on the biscuits with Fred’s hand clamped over his lower face. When the meal was over, Fred got a ball of fresh hankies from his back pocket.
“You’ve behaved, so I won’t be mean. Open wide!”
The four thin cotton hankies were stuffed inside Nicholas’s mouth without a protest. The attention he’d been given had numbed his fighting spirit.
“Good boy; now for some tape.”
It really seemed Fred was using ‘some’ for ‘a lot’: Fred laid criss-crossing strips of tape over his lower face and then used two turns around his head to prevent any removal by wetting the tape in the case he got his tongue out.
“This should hold for the night. Now, to avoid this little issue of you shaking your head,” Fred said as the tip of his index finger brushed against Nicholas’s lower belly, heading straight to the square inch of vulnerable skin, proving his point again as the muffled yelps came with head shaking.
He got some thick cotton rags from the shelf, which he folded into a small square. He set it between the bar and Nicholas’s head. The roll then went over his mouth and made two turns around his head and the pole, passing twice over his taped mouth and keeping Nicholas completely immobile now.
“I have a last present from the reds.”
Fred grabbed the canvas bag. The smell when he opened it gave away the nature of the contents. The smell was familiar to the imprisoned boy because of his own extra-curricular activities, which had led him to attend changing rooms for martial arts or track purposes. The sight of the three long football socks confirmed his suspicion.
“So you can enjoy our presence throughout the night,” Fred said as he set the bundled socks over the gag, pinning them there with a length of tape that went from ear to ear, “I’m sure you love sniffing real men’s socks.”
Fred’s hand rested on Nicholas’s belly; the prisoner braced himself for some tickling but the hand slid downwards.
“It seems you do like the smell! Now that you’ve been made all docile and quiet, let’s see if I can provide you with some relief so you sleep better …”
In the maintenance shed at the entrance of the school, the last two boys unaccounted so far were also getting ready to sleep. Matt was strapped to a cot, bundled in ropes, and gagged tightly with his own socks. Keith was sitting next to him admiring the shape of the trussed-up boy. Something fascinated the blond boy. His cute prisoner was very well endowed. He had noticed it before, but he often was with Billy, who was the boy his heart went to.
Keith was watching the writhing snake inside the shorts. He had handled the boy for four hours now, since he’d caught him and whisked him away to the shed that he knew was safe. Keith was now wondering about monogamy and what to do with the trussed-up lad who seemed so eager to have something done about his tenting his shorts in such an impressive manner.
Wisdom prevailed, though. Keith pulled a blanket over the tempting body and got his own some rest. He’d have to find his teammates the next day. He wished them good luck in his mind, wondering if any of them had been caught.
TBC
Billy pushed the prisoner to what was to become his cell. Philip fetched the large wooden chair. It had armrests: Miss Hardin’s delicate rump required a thick cushion. Philip had been in her History class, and he’d looked at the thing often.
There were horizontal slats at the back and four solid rungs holding its legs. He’d fantasized of getting some special detention by Miss Harding; that had made the classes go faster. Now he was presenting it to Billy and Lewis.
“You’re in luck, Lou, there is something that will be comfy so you may sit with all the guarantees that a well-done chair-tie requires. Not a move will be possible, so you can’t fall or hurt yourself. You’ll be able to spend a safe time in here while we capture the remainder of your losing team and bring them here so they can witness your demise. We’ll go for tighter rather than tight this time.”
Lewis hated how speaking to him when he was gagged systematically meant that the speaker used fancy words, to be on a level.
“Now sit.”
Lewis complied while Billy switched on the light inside the closet and ran to the desk to switch the other one off. The closet was large enough that they could all get in, pulling the chair with Lewis in it inside. That’s what they did, once again to limit the amount of light that could be seen from outside.
“Isn’t it cosy? Old maps, dusty books, I’m sure there must be lots of spiders that will come out as soon as it’s dark again.”
“Mmmrbllmmph!”
“You’re welcome. Now for some roping.”
Philip dropped his rucksack. Billy suggested taking Lewis’s, which had been left at the door. There were enough ropes available then to wrap the captive’s four limbs to the wooden piece of furniture. To Lewis’s greatest dismay, they were binding him as if it were practice rather than with the flourishing numbers he usually pulled when he was in their situation.
It worked nonetheless. His wrists and forearms were closely united to the armrests, with shoe laces trapping his fingers. His ankles had been pulled backward and tied to the legs at the back of the seat, which had his thighs spread wide. Philip commented on how hairy they were and that given time, he could solve that issue with his tweezers.
There was a good-hearted laugh from Billy at Lewis’s indignant reaction. He kept on wrapping rope over the hairy thighs, pulling it taut so his legs formed a V that stayed in place. Philip was now turning his attention and taunts to what appeared to be moving underneath the layers of nylon at the tip of the V.
“He likes you petting him, Billy. Lewis is fun to have around, but he’s way too promiscuous to have a solid relationship with anyone.”
Considering the number of weekends the boys had spent together, Billy knew this was a joke. But Lewis’s fuming meant that the joke was appreciated only moderately by the target of the remarks.
They moved on to weave a harness around his torso.
“I think I’ll let you take care of his thighs next,” Billy said. “It might be useful to scout the area to see what’s going on.”
There wasn’t much going on in the area. Nicholas was a couple hundreds of yards away, but Jason was twice as far away from them. Sora and Ben had brought him to the gazebo. This was as central as it got at Saint Thomas More.
Ben had also remembered about the small storage space underneath with chairs for the musical or social summer events. There was stuff inside that could be used to bar the door shut. Of course, once you were trapped inside, your opponents had to wait until nature forced you to exit for a reason or another; it would make for a proper and safe place to keep Jason.
The base was definitely not safe if the blues knew where it was, so Ben and Sora had picked up a place from where they could head to different directions. Hence the centre, hence the storage room under the gazebo.
Jason had been moderately resistant. He was big and not used yet to be forced into obedience in a competitive setting. He was quite a sore loser, actually, and his captors had reminded him of fair-play and chivalric attitudes throughout the journey; the ‘guy from Dixie’ had told at length of the taping he would get.
Ben had been uncannily receptive to Sora’s proposal, and Jason had had to stand the taping again.
Once cocooned in tape from neck to ankles, a lengthy discussion ensued on how they should gag him. The debate was between putting on a gag that would stay for the whole night while following the safety guidelines, which was Ben’s opinion; Sora was more intent on having a little workshop and trying a few different ones, possibly stricter than those Ben had in mind.
They first decided on using both of Jason’s socks as wadding, and to add on layers to make it the biggest gag Jason had gotten ever. They taped his lips and most of his lower face; a pair of Sora’s socks were knotted together and offered to Jason’s olfactory appreciation, the toes half an inch under his nostrils.
This triggered a reaction from the larger boy, but his tormentors didn’t intend to give him any slack.
“If he shakes his head enough, he might remove it. I’ve got just the thing for this situation,” Ben said, getting one of his Glidor lower face masks from his own rucksack. The accessory did give a more refined look.
“Good, Ben, this will make our Jason a real gentleman. How do you think we should test that the gag works? It’s tough tickling a cocooned prisoner.”
“We’re not going to give into this sort of crass behaviour. We’re going to keep our opponent safe and sound; we might trade him for one of our own if anyone gets caught. For now we should stay safe ourselves until we know more about what’s happening to the rest of the reds.”
It didn’t suit Sora’s taste for adventure, and going out to ‘collect’ another prisoner would have been a fun activity. He nevertheless lined up with Ben; his companion had more experience of the full-fledged game than he did.
There was enough equipment in their rucksacks to spend the night, and the closed storage space wasn’t cold to start with. Sora lectured Jason about the taping all the while.
“And then, if you’ve managed to pull every coil of duct tape just as I explained, your captive can’t do poo about it.”
Jason had been moaning and grunting, without Sora ever noticing.
“You might have found a way to torture him properly, Sora. I hear Jason isn’t too keen on having you explain him how useful tape is in TUGs.”
“Mrggmm. MMmphMMMmmbll!”
“Oh! That’s what he was trying to say? He wanted to tell me to shut up? He’s in for something else, then. I haven’t yet started to tell him about how to use tape properly to gag naughty little boys who whine!”
Ben laughed. This could be a long night for Jason.
Billy and Philip had gotten blankets. They’d thrown one over Lewis. They could still spare an hour or two tormenting their bound prisoner with some mind games. Making up ordeals that the reds would have to go through once every single one of them would have been captured.
“There’s an anthill in the Forest, I’ve been told. We could stake the little blighters out and see if the ants under these latitudes are as fierce as the ones Nicholas talked about.”
Speaking of whom, the South American boy was still within Fred’s clutches. No one had been told he was kept in the storage room down in Saint Peter’s Hall. Fred was going through a phase: he was now much more willing to acknowledge the sensual nature of tie-up games. The hot boy was his age, he had a thin frame and soft skin, and being bound and gagged got him to fully develop his boner inside his shorts.
These were good enough reasons to use this little private time his skills and competitive spirit had gotten him. The ball-tie hadn’t allowed for much stroking and kneading, though patting the boy’s bum had felt nice. He now had him tied to the leg of a shelf. It was solid; the shelf was screwed to the walls so heavy objects could be stored on it without it collapsing.
“And another most excellent pole-tie. It took some rope to bind it, but it was worth the effort.”
There were actually coils at nine places from his shoulders to his ankles, a chest harness that doubled as a crotch rope and two lengths of thinner rope woven through the initial set-up and tied to the metal bar he was standing against. Nicholas deemed this ‘a lot of’ rope. But he was still gagged and couldn’t advise Fred on a more proper use of quantifiers.
“I hope you don’t mind standing, Nicky, as I intend to leave you trussed up this way for the night. Let me check my bonds …”
Fred’s fingers completed his sight to assess the tightness of the ropes and the solidity of the knots. When his index fingers brushed a spot a little below his navel, Nicholas’s reaction was wild. He shook his head desperately, snorting through his nose and begging through his gag for Fred to stop.
“I got you a little fiercer all of a sudden. And you make way too much noise to my taste; I haven’t changed your gag since I caught you, so maybe it’s time. I’ll have you eat and drink a little too.”
Nicholas watched Fred prepare the ‘meal’: a bottle of water and biscuits. With his gag removed, he could maybe call out, in the off chance that someone was in the courtyard in front of Saint Peter’s. Fred also took a small canvas bag along with him. He laid the objects on the shelf, a few inches away from Nicholas’s head.
“I remove your gag to be nice, and under the Rule of Silence. If I hear anything, no food, no drink, and a very, very nasty gag for the night.”
Nicholas was thinking hard, balancing the costs and benefits of rebellion. But as his gag was removed, Fred’s warm and moist hand was clamped over his lips.
“To make sure you don’t try anything stupid, I’ll keep you handgagged when I don’t need your gob open for stuffing things inside.”
The boy was true to his word. It was impossible to say anything, let alone scream loud enough to have the faintest hope of being heard. Nicholas was desperate, as he was in the losing team and his competitive leanings were offended. Being kept prisoner by the dark-skinned boy and his amazingly cute and soft brown eyes and long black eyelashes was a huge thrill.
He had to chew on the biscuits with Fred’s hand clamped over his lower face. When the meal was over, Fred got a ball of fresh hankies from his back pocket.
“You’ve behaved, so I won’t be mean. Open wide!”
The four thin cotton hankies were stuffed inside Nicholas’s mouth without a protest. The attention he’d been given had numbed his fighting spirit.
“Good boy; now for some tape.”
It really seemed Fred was using ‘some’ for ‘a lot’: Fred laid criss-crossing strips of tape over his lower face and then used two turns around his head to prevent any removal by wetting the tape in the case he got his tongue out.
“This should hold for the night. Now, to avoid this little issue of you shaking your head,” Fred said as the tip of his index finger brushed against Nicholas’s lower belly, heading straight to the square inch of vulnerable skin, proving his point again as the muffled yelps came with head shaking.
He got some thick cotton rags from the shelf, which he folded into a small square. He set it between the bar and Nicholas’s head. The roll then went over his mouth and made two turns around his head and the pole, passing twice over his taped mouth and keeping Nicholas completely immobile now.
“I have a last present from the reds.”
Fred grabbed the canvas bag. The smell when he opened it gave away the nature of the contents. The smell was familiar to the imprisoned boy because of his own extra-curricular activities, which had led him to attend changing rooms for martial arts or track purposes. The sight of the three long football socks confirmed his suspicion.
“So you can enjoy our presence throughout the night,” Fred said as he set the bundled socks over the gag, pinning them there with a length of tape that went from ear to ear, “I’m sure you love sniffing real men’s socks.”
Fred’s hand rested on Nicholas’s belly; the prisoner braced himself for some tickling but the hand slid downwards.
“It seems you do like the smell! Now that you’ve been made all docile and quiet, let’s see if I can provide you with some relief so you sleep better …”
In the maintenance shed at the entrance of the school, the last two boys unaccounted so far were also getting ready to sleep. Matt was strapped to a cot, bundled in ropes, and gagged tightly with his own socks. Keith was sitting next to him admiring the shape of the trussed-up boy. Something fascinated the blond boy. His cute prisoner was very well endowed. He had noticed it before, but he often was with Billy, who was the boy his heart went to.
Keith was watching the writhing snake inside the shorts. He had handled the boy for four hours now, since he’d caught him and whisked him away to the shed that he knew was safe. Keith was now wondering about monogamy and what to do with the trussed-up lad who seemed so eager to have something done about his tenting his shorts in such an impressive manner.
Wisdom prevailed, though. Keith pulled a blanket over the tempting body and got his own some rest. He’d have to find his teammates the next day. He wished them good luck in his mind, wondering if any of them had been caught.
TBC
Last edited by Bondwriter 3 years ago, edited 1 time in total.
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Bondwriter
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 575
- Joined: 6 years ago
Last installment in what was written in this series. It needs a couple chapters more, that may be written in the future.
36. Morning Adventures
Keith was puzzled; he was getting a bit worried too. He’d retreated to the bike shed when he’d seen Billy and Philip getting out from the club house. He had a nice view, with Matt kept at his sides; had his friend come outside thirty seconds later, he and his charge would have been seen. Matt did try to call out for help and be noticed by Billy. The tight gag, and the wind blowing towards them dampened his attempts, to Keith’s delight.
“My, my, Matt, don’t you know that when I gag one of my prisoners, it is to make sure he doesn’t get heard?”
They saw the three opponents coming out from under the gazebo. Matt was kneeling at Keith’s feet, extra rope having been added so they could stay in the hideout undetected. The captive boy squirmed and grunted, but Keith kept a firm hand upon his head to keep him down and not risk getting spotted. The three enemies disappeared inside the football club house.
Keith had to find a plan that would secure Matt in bonds while allowing him to rescue his friends. He decided to leave Matt in Saint Peter’s, as the three boys who’d come out from the gazebo were most likely heading to Ann Boleyn’s. Keith waited a few minutes before releasing Matt from his kneeling hogtie. Keeping a strong hold on him, he headed to Saint Peter’s.
Ben was as tightly hobbled, and three captors saw to that he didn’t escape. Jason was particularly vocal in imagining tie-up torments that would fit the treatments he’d been submitted to over the evening and night. He was making it sound rather worse than it had actually been; this was part of the game, and Ben still moaned to let the others know that Jason was fibbing. It fell on deaf ears.
They reached Miss Harding’s classroom without being bothered in the least. Sora and Lewis were still respectively taped and trussed up to their chairs, a bit flushed, possibly from fruitless attempts at finding a flaw in their restraints. They mewled seeing Ben had been caught. A quick turn around the prisoners told that none of the restraints had loosened in the least.
“Our little birds kept quietly in the nest,” Phil sniggered. “Let’s get them all tightly bundled for a walk. Then we can go find Matt and Nick.”
Nicholas was in need of rescue indeed. The morning had been average for eight of the boys, at least average according to Saint Sebastian standards. To Fred and Nicholas, the minutes after they’d gotten out of their shelter down Saint Peter’s Hall had been all but. Fred had planned to take his prisoner to the cricket club house, which was his team’s base.
Nicholas was leading the way, kept on a tight leash by his captor. All of a sudden, the hold from Fred vanished. He heard some fighting behind him, and the groans from someone getting gagged. His friends were coming to the rescue! He turned around, but before he could see what was going on a black hood fell over his face, blinding him totally. A cord pulled it close around his neck, and two large hands lay on his shoulders. His attacker didn’t say a word, but the touch felt threatening; each of his shivers and moves were countered by an increase in the pressure.
Fred’s huge rush of adrenaline surged in him too late to elicit an emergency reaction. He was caught much too fast as they passed the hedge along the cricket field. He first felt the scarf sliding from his belt, but the three pairs of arms that grabbed him next felt alien and bigger than his friends’.
A ball of hankies had been crammed inside his mouth just when he’d tried to protest. The necessary cleave to make it sustainable had been knotted over the nape of his neck five seconds later. His limbs were kept in a tight vice; Fred was slender and athletic, but none of his twisting got the hands to let him loose, on the contrary. A large cloth bag had been pulled over his head, making him blind on top of silent.
Ropes had encircled his ankles, knees, wrists, and elbows within less than thirty seconds. A well-trained team worked on him in total silence and quite fast. From the smell and touch, they were grown men.
Both boys were lifted over one of their captors’ shoulders like potato sacks. The men walked fast and stopped soon. The prisoners were put standing on the ground. There was some noise from zippers and things being picked up in bags; then, both boys had the drawstring around their necks loosened and the blinding hoods removed.
Fred and Nicholas looked at each other as they stood face to face, afraid to turn their heads and look at the captors. They couldn’t help but see the three frightening figures surrounding them: six feet in height and over fourteen stones in weight. Balaclavas hid their features. The boys could see their eyes, but they couldn’t match them with anyone they knew. There were inquisitive grunts; the kidnappers didn’t bother. The one who’d transported Nicholas crouched down and tightened the hobbles binding his legs so he could no longer move his legs at all.
The four men then grabbed Fred and marched him to the side of the path. They were at the edge of the Forest, four or five acres of woods at the back of the school grounds. A large tree trunk stood at the side of the path; Nicholas didn’t know the kind, since he still had to learn a bit about the weird species that he discovered in Britain, yet the bark seemed smooth and there were no lower branches. His mind reeled as he witnessed Fred’s ordeal. There danger was real; should he hop away? No, it wouldn’t work. He looked around him, but they were invisible from the school grounds.
Large amounts of white cotton rope were put to good use both to bind Fred’s legs tighter and restrain him tightly against the tree. The men worked effectively and efficiently, taking away the slack from the loops binding Fred’s limbs. His arms were pulled along the sides, but the coils around his forearms and elbows and the rope harness they’d woven around his torso made any motion impossible.
They removed the cleave only to plaster Fred’s face in tape. They had taken a rubber swim cap from his own rucksack along with a roll of duct tape, and his head was first mummified, then stuck to the tree, with a strip passing over his mouth and one over his forehead. Nicholas would have found the show hot had he not felt his stomach churn at the threat they were under.
The men collected their stuff once they were done. Both Fred and Nicholas opened their eyes wide as something in a bag one man was zipping up looked much like an assault rifle. They looked at each other but didn’t make a peep, feeling terrible about their situation.
Nicholas got picked up by one of the men; the group left, leaving Fred trussed up to his tree. “Vamos, muchachos,” he heard. He knew Nick was from South America, but he didn’t know if his parents were wealthy to the point of him being a target. It was serious, but panic wouldn’t help. He could think later on. For now, his duty was to escape; he felt his bonds with his fingers. The morning air was chilly, and being bare-legged would start biting soon if he didn’t manage to get out of the tie-up.
Nicholas’s take on the sibylline sentence spoken by one of their opponents was much different. The weird phrasing and accent actually proved they were no native Spanish speakers. He still felt bad about real kidnappers barging into them.
The three muscular balaclava men walked briskly. Nicholas wasn’t blindfolded, so he saw them taking the path that went along the old chapel. From there, they went farther east before they turned and headed back to Saint Sebastian, coming through the path in the woods that got behind the building.
They entered, heading straight to the Greek class. Nicholas’s mind was reeling; something was afoot, but since they’d left, he had grown more curious than afraid. The man carrying him kneeled and got him softly on his feet. Looking up, he saw Travis, their prefect and game master, grinning at him from behind the desk. It all made much more sense now.
Things had not turned out as expected for Keith. To tell the truth, he’d made a mistake. Several mistakes, actually; tightly bundled in ropes and with one of his socks solidly crammed inside his mouth, he was fuming. Tables were turned in three minutes. He hadn’t checked Matt’s wrist bonds as he released him from his kneeling hogtie in the bike shed. They were loose, and his opponent had managed to keep him from seeing it.
What had sunk Keith was his need to pee as they were passing the coppice at the bend on the large tarred path that went from Saint Thomas More to Saint Peter.
“Stop, Matt,” he said pulling over his harness. “I need to take a leak. I’ll be quick.”
He didn’t bother binding the boy’s legs. Matt was totally subdued, or so he thought. He had been putty in his hands throughout the evening and this morning had been no different. Keith had pulled his guard down, and it came to bite him back in the ass almost literally. Standing a few feet in the coppice, facing a tree, he was halfway through having an empty bladder when he heard a swooshing sound behind him and he felt his waistband scarf parting from him.
Matt remained gagged, but he now had almost full use of his arms. There was still a coil around his upper arms and chest, but it wouldn’t prevent him from taking care of his assault’s victim.
“Bloody hell! OK, Matt, will you let me finish, please? Then I faint, after I take a few steps back, please.”
This suited Matt, who used the time to get his arms totally free. Once the blond boy’s limbs were restrained and a good gag was applied, it was time for Matt to remove his own muzzling layers.
“I’m not going to gloat long, but I’m quite proud I managed to fool you. I’m going to use a few more ropes to make sure you can’t play a nasty trick. Then we’ll get the others. I’m confident they must be ahead in the game, and taking you will make our winning more likely. Then we can have some fun with you reds. Having you as our servants for the rest of the day should be entertaining.”
Matt worked his technique on Keith, who felt the harness of ropes that bound him tighten with each added coil and careful weaving and knotting; his legs got short hobbles, but they didn’t prevent Matt from scolding him for being slow when they walked down the path. After a few yards, once they’d cleared past the coppice, Matt spotted something in the distance that was even more interesting than his struggling prisoner.
They walked on the lawn towards Fred. He was some fifty yards away, trussed up to a tree. Matt had put his scarf back according to the rules. He was fully in the open with his charge, so he scanned the landscape repeatedly in search of potential enemies that could attack him. The large lawn he was crossing prevented from an ambush, but if there was a group against him, it could be more difficult.
Matt approached the boy, who was shouting into his gag, with care. Tricks had been played before where opponents seemed tied up, only to jump on you when you were close enough. Matt actually had Keith lead the way so there would be an obstacle if this was Fred’s plan. But no motion happened as they drew near.
“Another one of those reds. Last I saw you, you were chased by Nick. I’ll take it he’s the one who bound you here?”
“Mmmmpjh! Mrrgllmm! Mmmph!’
Fred’s desperate attempts at communicating how serious the situation failed. He shook his head wildly, but wouldn’t you know it, he got more gloating.
“It seems it’s a bit cold here, judging from the goose bumps on your legs. I’m not against letting you cool down a while longer. Maybe I could leave Keith with you? It would be more bearable with some company? How do you want me to bind him, would you want him against you as a blanket?”
Fred suddenly realized that he had to use the ‘safe word.’ This wasn’t much of a reflex at Saint Sebastian, considering that no one wanted to be considered a chicken. But this was called for, now. Nicholas’s fate depended on it.
“Mmm. Mmm. MMM.”
Matt didn’t pick up on the message right away. Keith did, and he joined the chorus. The three long grunts, repeated, were the signal something was wrong.
“Oh!” Matt realized eventually. He tore off the tape mummifying Fred’s head and let him spit a large ball of cotton hankies.
“Go get the others! Nicholas was kidnapped by three gunmen! They’re certainly from South America, they spoke Spanish!”
“Hold on,” Matt said as he busied himself with untying Fred, “we can’t let you here if there is some danger. But you’ve got to promise that it’s not a trick; I would be pissed if you told lies about such a serious matter.”
“I swear, Matt, this is no joke! You’re safe. I even promise a truce if you want. Do hurry up, it’s been fifteen or twenty minutes already!”
Once Fred was free, Keith’s legs were released.
“I’ll remove your bonds as we walk; we’ll go to the Cricket Club House first. No funny stuff from you two, hey? It’s time off, all right?”
They ran once it was possible. The Cricket Club House was empty, no one answered to their calls, and after a thorough inspection for potential bound and gagged dwellers, they moved on. Matt knew where to search next.
“Let’s check Anne Boleyn’s Hall. This is the blues’ base.”
Two minutes later, the sprinters slowed down and entered Anne Boleyn’s Hall. As they called out, someone peeked from Miss Harding’s classroom; the big head was unmistakably Jason’s.
“Jason! Where are the others?”
“We’re all in here, we were finishing binding our guests before we send in a search party for you and Nick.”
They rushed down the hall. They were welcomed by surprised looks. Fred broke the news.
“Nicholas was kidnapped!”
TBC
36. Morning Adventures
Keith was puzzled; he was getting a bit worried too. He’d retreated to the bike shed when he’d seen Billy and Philip getting out from the club house. He had a nice view, with Matt kept at his sides; had his friend come outside thirty seconds later, he and his charge would have been seen. Matt did try to call out for help and be noticed by Billy. The tight gag, and the wind blowing towards them dampened his attempts, to Keith’s delight.
“My, my, Matt, don’t you know that when I gag one of my prisoners, it is to make sure he doesn’t get heard?”
They saw the three opponents coming out from under the gazebo. Matt was kneeling at Keith’s feet, extra rope having been added so they could stay in the hideout undetected. The captive boy squirmed and grunted, but Keith kept a firm hand upon his head to keep him down and not risk getting spotted. The three enemies disappeared inside the football club house.
Keith had to find a plan that would secure Matt in bonds while allowing him to rescue his friends. He decided to leave Matt in Saint Peter’s, as the three boys who’d come out from the gazebo were most likely heading to Ann Boleyn’s. Keith waited a few minutes before releasing Matt from his kneeling hogtie. Keeping a strong hold on him, he headed to Saint Peter’s.
Ben was as tightly hobbled, and three captors saw to that he didn’t escape. Jason was particularly vocal in imagining tie-up torments that would fit the treatments he’d been submitted to over the evening and night. He was making it sound rather worse than it had actually been; this was part of the game, and Ben still moaned to let the others know that Jason was fibbing. It fell on deaf ears.
They reached Miss Harding’s classroom without being bothered in the least. Sora and Lewis were still respectively taped and trussed up to their chairs, a bit flushed, possibly from fruitless attempts at finding a flaw in their restraints. They mewled seeing Ben had been caught. A quick turn around the prisoners told that none of the restraints had loosened in the least.
“Our little birds kept quietly in the nest,” Phil sniggered. “Let’s get them all tightly bundled for a walk. Then we can go find Matt and Nick.”
Nicholas was in need of rescue indeed. The morning had been average for eight of the boys, at least average according to Saint Sebastian standards. To Fred and Nicholas, the minutes after they’d gotten out of their shelter down Saint Peter’s Hall had been all but. Fred had planned to take his prisoner to the cricket club house, which was his team’s base.
Nicholas was leading the way, kept on a tight leash by his captor. All of a sudden, the hold from Fred vanished. He heard some fighting behind him, and the groans from someone getting gagged. His friends were coming to the rescue! He turned around, but before he could see what was going on a black hood fell over his face, blinding him totally. A cord pulled it close around his neck, and two large hands lay on his shoulders. His attacker didn’t say a word, but the touch felt threatening; each of his shivers and moves were countered by an increase in the pressure.
Fred’s huge rush of adrenaline surged in him too late to elicit an emergency reaction. He was caught much too fast as they passed the hedge along the cricket field. He first felt the scarf sliding from his belt, but the three pairs of arms that grabbed him next felt alien and bigger than his friends’.
A ball of hankies had been crammed inside his mouth just when he’d tried to protest. The necessary cleave to make it sustainable had been knotted over the nape of his neck five seconds later. His limbs were kept in a tight vice; Fred was slender and athletic, but none of his twisting got the hands to let him loose, on the contrary. A large cloth bag had been pulled over his head, making him blind on top of silent.
Ropes had encircled his ankles, knees, wrists, and elbows within less than thirty seconds. A well-trained team worked on him in total silence and quite fast. From the smell and touch, they were grown men.
Both boys were lifted over one of their captors’ shoulders like potato sacks. The men walked fast and stopped soon. The prisoners were put standing on the ground. There was some noise from zippers and things being picked up in bags; then, both boys had the drawstring around their necks loosened and the blinding hoods removed.
Fred and Nicholas looked at each other as they stood face to face, afraid to turn their heads and look at the captors. They couldn’t help but see the three frightening figures surrounding them: six feet in height and over fourteen stones in weight. Balaclavas hid their features. The boys could see their eyes, but they couldn’t match them with anyone they knew. There were inquisitive grunts; the kidnappers didn’t bother. The one who’d transported Nicholas crouched down and tightened the hobbles binding his legs so he could no longer move his legs at all.
The four men then grabbed Fred and marched him to the side of the path. They were at the edge of the Forest, four or five acres of woods at the back of the school grounds. A large tree trunk stood at the side of the path; Nicholas didn’t know the kind, since he still had to learn a bit about the weird species that he discovered in Britain, yet the bark seemed smooth and there were no lower branches. His mind reeled as he witnessed Fred’s ordeal. There danger was real; should he hop away? No, it wouldn’t work. He looked around him, but they were invisible from the school grounds.
Large amounts of white cotton rope were put to good use both to bind Fred’s legs tighter and restrain him tightly against the tree. The men worked effectively and efficiently, taking away the slack from the loops binding Fred’s limbs. His arms were pulled along the sides, but the coils around his forearms and elbows and the rope harness they’d woven around his torso made any motion impossible.
They removed the cleave only to plaster Fred’s face in tape. They had taken a rubber swim cap from his own rucksack along with a roll of duct tape, and his head was first mummified, then stuck to the tree, with a strip passing over his mouth and one over his forehead. Nicholas would have found the show hot had he not felt his stomach churn at the threat they were under.
The men collected their stuff once they were done. Both Fred and Nicholas opened their eyes wide as something in a bag one man was zipping up looked much like an assault rifle. They looked at each other but didn’t make a peep, feeling terrible about their situation.
Nicholas got picked up by one of the men; the group left, leaving Fred trussed up to his tree. “Vamos, muchachos,” he heard. He knew Nick was from South America, but he didn’t know if his parents were wealthy to the point of him being a target. It was serious, but panic wouldn’t help. He could think later on. For now, his duty was to escape; he felt his bonds with his fingers. The morning air was chilly, and being bare-legged would start biting soon if he didn’t manage to get out of the tie-up.
Nicholas’s take on the sibylline sentence spoken by one of their opponents was much different. The weird phrasing and accent actually proved they were no native Spanish speakers. He still felt bad about real kidnappers barging into them.
The three muscular balaclava men walked briskly. Nicholas wasn’t blindfolded, so he saw them taking the path that went along the old chapel. From there, they went farther east before they turned and headed back to Saint Sebastian, coming through the path in the woods that got behind the building.
They entered, heading straight to the Greek class. Nicholas’s mind was reeling; something was afoot, but since they’d left, he had grown more curious than afraid. The man carrying him kneeled and got him softly on his feet. Looking up, he saw Travis, their prefect and game master, grinning at him from behind the desk. It all made much more sense now.
Things had not turned out as expected for Keith. To tell the truth, he’d made a mistake. Several mistakes, actually; tightly bundled in ropes and with one of his socks solidly crammed inside his mouth, he was fuming. Tables were turned in three minutes. He hadn’t checked Matt’s wrist bonds as he released him from his kneeling hogtie in the bike shed. They were loose, and his opponent had managed to keep him from seeing it.
What had sunk Keith was his need to pee as they were passing the coppice at the bend on the large tarred path that went from Saint Thomas More to Saint Peter.
“Stop, Matt,” he said pulling over his harness. “I need to take a leak. I’ll be quick.”
He didn’t bother binding the boy’s legs. Matt was totally subdued, or so he thought. He had been putty in his hands throughout the evening and this morning had been no different. Keith had pulled his guard down, and it came to bite him back in the ass almost literally. Standing a few feet in the coppice, facing a tree, he was halfway through having an empty bladder when he heard a swooshing sound behind him and he felt his waistband scarf parting from him.
Matt remained gagged, but he now had almost full use of his arms. There was still a coil around his upper arms and chest, but it wouldn’t prevent him from taking care of his assault’s victim.
“Bloody hell! OK, Matt, will you let me finish, please? Then I faint, after I take a few steps back, please.”
This suited Matt, who used the time to get his arms totally free. Once the blond boy’s limbs were restrained and a good gag was applied, it was time for Matt to remove his own muzzling layers.
“I’m not going to gloat long, but I’m quite proud I managed to fool you. I’m going to use a few more ropes to make sure you can’t play a nasty trick. Then we’ll get the others. I’m confident they must be ahead in the game, and taking you will make our winning more likely. Then we can have some fun with you reds. Having you as our servants for the rest of the day should be entertaining.”
Matt worked his technique on Keith, who felt the harness of ropes that bound him tighten with each added coil and careful weaving and knotting; his legs got short hobbles, but they didn’t prevent Matt from scolding him for being slow when they walked down the path. After a few yards, once they’d cleared past the coppice, Matt spotted something in the distance that was even more interesting than his struggling prisoner.
They walked on the lawn towards Fred. He was some fifty yards away, trussed up to a tree. Matt had put his scarf back according to the rules. He was fully in the open with his charge, so he scanned the landscape repeatedly in search of potential enemies that could attack him. The large lawn he was crossing prevented from an ambush, but if there was a group against him, it could be more difficult.
Matt approached the boy, who was shouting into his gag, with care. Tricks had been played before where opponents seemed tied up, only to jump on you when you were close enough. Matt actually had Keith lead the way so there would be an obstacle if this was Fred’s plan. But no motion happened as they drew near.
“Another one of those reds. Last I saw you, you were chased by Nick. I’ll take it he’s the one who bound you here?”
“Mmmmpjh! Mrrgllmm! Mmmph!’
Fred’s desperate attempts at communicating how serious the situation failed. He shook his head wildly, but wouldn’t you know it, he got more gloating.
“It seems it’s a bit cold here, judging from the goose bumps on your legs. I’m not against letting you cool down a while longer. Maybe I could leave Keith with you? It would be more bearable with some company? How do you want me to bind him, would you want him against you as a blanket?”
Fred suddenly realized that he had to use the ‘safe word.’ This wasn’t much of a reflex at Saint Sebastian, considering that no one wanted to be considered a chicken. But this was called for, now. Nicholas’s fate depended on it.
“Mmm. Mmm. MMM.”
Matt didn’t pick up on the message right away. Keith did, and he joined the chorus. The three long grunts, repeated, were the signal something was wrong.
“Oh!” Matt realized eventually. He tore off the tape mummifying Fred’s head and let him spit a large ball of cotton hankies.
“Go get the others! Nicholas was kidnapped by three gunmen! They’re certainly from South America, they spoke Spanish!”
“Hold on,” Matt said as he busied himself with untying Fred, “we can’t let you here if there is some danger. But you’ve got to promise that it’s not a trick; I would be pissed if you told lies about such a serious matter.”
“I swear, Matt, this is no joke! You’re safe. I even promise a truce if you want. Do hurry up, it’s been fifteen or twenty minutes already!”
Once Fred was free, Keith’s legs were released.
“I’ll remove your bonds as we walk; we’ll go to the Cricket Club House first. No funny stuff from you two, hey? It’s time off, all right?”
They ran once it was possible. The Cricket Club House was empty, no one answered to their calls, and after a thorough inspection for potential bound and gagged dwellers, they moved on. Matt knew where to search next.
“Let’s check Anne Boleyn’s Hall. This is the blues’ base.”
Two minutes later, the sprinters slowed down and entered Anne Boleyn’s Hall. As they called out, someone peeked from Miss Harding’s classroom; the big head was unmistakably Jason’s.
“Jason! Where are the others?”
“We’re all in here, we were finishing binding our guests before we send in a search party for you and Nick.”
They rushed down the hall. They were welcomed by surprised looks. Fred broke the news.
“Nicholas was kidnapped!”
TBC
Last edited by Bondwriter 3 years ago, edited 1 time in total.
I really loved this story, I didn't say it enough.
Do you plan to continue it?
Do you plan to continue it?
The Brotherhood
The best human pilot in the galaxy
My Bondage Academia
The best human pilot in the galaxy
My Bondage Academia
If you want to support me and allow me to commission more illustration and write more story, you can donate to my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/carnath_gid
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Bondwriter
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 575
- Joined: 6 years ago
Hey Chloroboy.
I have an outline for a couple more chapters. This goes on the to-do list, but there might be other stories and sagas I'll be working on before this one.
Thanks for the motivational message!
I have an outline for a couple more chapters. This goes on the to-do list, but there might be other stories and sagas I'll be working on before this one.
Thanks for the motivational message!
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blackbound
- Millennial Club
- Posts: 1093
- Joined: 5 years ago
How did I miss this previous chapter? I've been enjoying this story but now I really want to know what happens next!
Are you planning to write a sequel? I miss these boys 
The Brotherhood
The best human pilot in the galaxy
My Bondage Academia
The best human pilot in the galaxy
My Bondage Academia
If you want to support me and allow me to commission more illustration and write more story, you can donate to my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/carnath_gid
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Bondwriter
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 575
- Joined: 6 years ago
Thanks to @Chloroboy, this saga has been brought back to life. I've (almost) completed the original story, following his commissioning of a 'Hunger TUGs' scenario, which fitted the Saint Sebastian boys. The six chapters will be posted soon on my Patreon. They will get here eventually. I hope there are enough people who may afford a subscription to get the story to continue. And het it illustrated...
I know; I was the patron
The Brotherhood
The best human pilot in the galaxy
My Bondage Academia
The best human pilot in the galaxy
My Bondage Academia
If you want to support me and allow me to commission more illustration and write more story, you can donate to my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/carnath_gid
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Bondwriter
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 575
- Joined: 6 years ago
Two chapters to conclude this story, then a whole new six-chapter adventure. Brace for a summer of Saint Sebastian fun!
37. Under Attack
Six wide-eyed boys stared at him.
“I was bringing him back to our base, all trussed up, and we were attacked. Men I didn’t know bound me to a tree and took him away. We need to warn Travis!”
Deception and trickery had happened before; Philip frowned, looking intently at the bad-news bearer.
“You’ve fooled us with lies before. We’re about to win, and we should release our hostages? And have them turn on us?”
“I’m not joking, they were foreigners and they spoke in Spanish. Isn’t Nick’s father a wealthy businessman?”
Billy shared his teammate’s concern and looked intently at the three boys who’d popped up. His gaze conveyed his defiance, which had the two reds fidget.
“You don’t need to free us, but why don’t you send Matt with an escort to Saint Sebastian? Fred and I may stay here, but we shouldn’t delay the alert if Fred is telling the truth,” Keith offered.
“That’s acceptable,” Billy answered. “Jase, you should go with Matt. If there are real kidnappers, you’re the best one to fend them off.”
“You lads should turn around and give me your wrists,” Philip smirked. “We’ll handcuff you before our teammates go.”
Jason waited for the clicking sound indicating the reds could no longer use their hands. Billy’s praise made him eager for adventure. He waved at Matt, and the two emissaries rushed outside.
Philip waved coils of rope in front of Fred and Keith.
“Your friends got a chair tie, but I feel more creative. What about kneeling hogties?”
Lewis tried to protest his friend’s attitude, but his taped mouth made it ineffective.
“Shut up, Lou. We won, you lost, and I’ll see to it you remember it.”
While their teammates secured their opponents and victory, Matt and Jason ran across the large estate. The Ann Boleyn and Saint Sebastian Halls were at the opposite ends of the school ground, so it took them ten minutes to reach their destination.
Matt had a lead on Jason. He leaped up the stairs to the dorm. He reached the top landing and heard the door downstairs slam. It sounded like Jason. He went to Travis’s bedroom; it was empty.
He headed to the prefects’ room, Travis’s other lair. He flung the door open and stopped dead in his tracks: he had found his abducted dormmate.
Nicholas was chair-tied facing him. He had been the victim of a thorough rope work. His legs were tightly tied together and pulled to the back of the chair; his arms couldn’t be seen, but his chest stuck out as if his elbows touched.
The hostage pleaded with his eyes and called for help from behind his gag. A swim cap and the white wrapping imprisoning his head enhanced his green eyes. Matt didn’t linger on admiring his friend’s looks. Jason still hadn’t reached the top floor, leaving the rescuer torn between going to check his large friend and freeing his other teammate.
Nicholas’s muffled pleas helped him prioritize.
He stepped inside the room to release him, and the captive’s muffled calls got louder. Matt heard the door shut behind him. His bound friend wasn’t begging for help but warning him. He turned to see two men, whose presence the door concealed, dressed in black from head to toe.
He ran to the door at the other end of the room. It was locked. He turned to see the two men closing in. He fought all he could, but they caught his arms and twisted them behind his back.
“It hurts, wankers, let me go or my friend Jasrmmmmmmblllm!”
“Click.”
The handcuffs imprisoned his hands as a large gloved hand gagged him. The men forced him onto a chair. Its front feet had chains and cuffs ready for his ankles. The assailants then removed Matt’s shoes and socks.
The two goons joined to cram Matt’s stocking into his mouth. They used a necktie to cleave-gag him. More ropes came out to bind him more strictly to the chair.
Nicholas’s attention turned to the entrance door, which slammed open, revealing Jason. He wouldn’t rescue them; two of the hooded bandits pushed him inside, trussed up like a turkey, his eyes wide above his duct-taped lower face. They brought him next to his friends, where he was made to sit too. Without a word, they set binding him.
Back in Miss Harding’s room, the winning team was done binding their foes. Philip had made enough suggestions of nasty treatments for Keith—and gotten enough gagged protests in return. Billy checked Fred’s knots, which held fast.
“They won’t budge. We might as well check if the others managed to find Travis,” Billy said.
“We could give them a ring, if they’re in Travis’s room, or the prefects’,” Philip proposed. “There’s a phone in the main hall.”
“Why didn’t you say it before?”
“Matt and Jason enjoy running,” Philip smiled. “Let’s call them and make sure the game’s over and we won.”
Sora looked at Lewis once their keepers went out the door, trying to let him know that Billy had screwed up. He’d wriggled, writhed, and broken a sweat. His forearms were held by thin layers that his captor hadn’t made too tight. It had been half an hour since he’d realized he could pull out his right forearm.
He yanked hard and his arm flew up.
“Mgrmmmrgrmph!” Lewis rejoiced.
They squirmed to move their chairs closer. Sora reached for the knots he could see and untied them. He then tackled freeing his other hand.
“MM! Mmm! Mrblmmm!”
Their three friends cheered them on as they struggled to get free. Lewis was first. He grabbed a pair of scissors from the desk.
“Here you go,” he told Sora as he threw them across the room. Sora caught them; he removed his gag and cut the tape uniting his legs to the chair’s.
Lewis was just getting started with Ben’s release when he heard noise resounding in the hall outside.
“They’re back, let’s ambush them,” he whispered to Sora. “Sorry, lads, we’ll untie you once we’ve got Phil and Billy bundled up.”
The hall featured a row of lockers, all empty for the holiday. The boys picked the ones on each side of the door for their hideout. They heard steps at the end of the hall. Sora had a peek as they got closer; he had left a slit when he’d shut the door to be able to see their opponents passing in front.
The curly-haired boy gasped: two tall, dark figures were walking towards them. They were still eight or ten yards away. He burst out of the locker, dashing to the other end of the hall. There were staircases at both ends of the building.
“Get out Lou, Fred was right!” Sora heard the men running behind him, the clatter from Lewis opening the locker and leaping out.
“Yellow-livered sissies, we’re going to trmmmmrgrmmmblllmmm …”
Sora ran down the stairs, looking out for thugs ready to cut his path. He rushed out of Ann Boleyn’s hall, taking a sprint towards one of the wooded areas straight ahead. He dove behind a bush, eyes riveted to the building to spot his chasers coming out.
His heart was beating fast. He took long, deep breaths to calm down, seeing no one. A bunch of villains had taken over, and he was John McClane.
The two attackers had made short work of Lewis. They’d caught him as he jumped out of his hiding spot. The men were strong and swift: stuffing in his mouth, a piece of rope as a cleave, and several strips of duct-tape killed his insults and allowed them to truss him up in peace. They box-tied his arms and trussed his legs together tightly.
The men’s silence was unnerving. They didn’t say a word binding him in the hall, and they stayed mum when they released his three teammates from their chairs. Despite Ben, Keith, and Fred’s struggling, the men didn’t make threats or give orders.
They took their time trussing up their victims, binding their legs together and ‘clipping their wings’ by performing strict arm tie-ups; Fred and Ben got a box-tie, but Keith got his wrists pulled up between his shoulder blades and tied in a reverse-prayer position in retaliation for his fiercer fighting.
The men had a bag with collars and chains, which they put on their captives. The boys were put in a line, with Lewis first and Ben last. One of the kidnappers snapped his fingers at the ‘leader.’ It signalled they were to move; Lewis looked at the man, wide-eyed. Their legs were tied; they couldn’t walk.
“Hop!” the man ordered, his low and husky voice suffering no contradiction.
Lewis complied, hoping that Fred behind him would follow. The Saint Sebastian boys had practiced such moves before, and they all started moving forward with short and synchronized jumps. The men stayed at their sides when they had to go down the stairs. Training makes perfect, so they got to the ground floor without a hitch.
Philip and Billy mewled when they saw the group. They were in tight hogties; one of the men untied the ropes pulling their feet to their butts and had them join the chain gang.
Fear hung in the air, but the men had the upper hand and the boys complied, all watching for an opportunity to strike back.
Sora saw the group coming from Ann Boleyn’s at the far end of the building. Six of his friends, a few feet apart from each other, joined by the neck and wrapped in ropes weren’t an unusual sight since he’d joined Saint Thomas More—the boys being framed by terrorists all dressed in black was.
The men had them hop on the lawn rather than on the tarred path that passed in front of them. They were heading to the football field. Sora summoned his mental map of the estate. He could use the landscape to follow them from a distance, using the small hills or wooded areas to remain unseen.
The group moved slowly, and he had to wait for a couple minutes at his next observation point, a tree just outside Saint Thomas More’s. He saw them in the distance beyond the football field. This meant the terrorists hadn’t set camp at Saint Peter’s, and they were heading to Saint Sebastian Hall.
Sora ran to the bike shed and hid behind the small building. He waited longer, planning his team’s rescue. He hoped the men didn’t have guns. He had to be smart and stealthy.
The convoy appeared where he expected them. He saw them go all the way to the entrance and disappear inside the building.
He got to the other entrance at the back of the building, which was the way to the TV room. He sighed with relief, noticing it wasn’t locked. He climbed the backstairs that led to a landing behind the prefects’ room. He could hear muffled noises coming from his gagged friends. The key was on the door. He removed it to peek in. The terrorists were binding Keith on a chair, the eight other Saint Sebastian boys trussed up already.
A tall man overlooked their misdeeds; once Keith was solidly bound, he pointed to the door. The three men left. His heart beating fast, Sora had to act. He slid the key back in and turned to make the least noise.
He opened the door and slid his head in, making sure there wasn’t a guard hiding in the corner. All eyes turned to him as he entered. He rushed to Matt, who was closest. He removed his gag first and tackled releasing the ropes.
“Thanks,” Matt whispered.
He was free soon, and the two of them went on untying Keith and Fred, who then helped to get the rest of the group out of their bonds.
Sora pointed to the door, wanting them to flee the estate. Lewis shook his head.
“These guys are Travis’s friends, it’s a joke,” he said in a hushed tone.
“Yes, one of them wore the same charm bracelet. It must be from his soccer team,” Billy confirmed.
“We’re going to make them pay,” Philip smirked.
He went to the cupboard where they stored the game supplies. Two pairs of handcuffs, zip ties, duct tape … There was enough to restrain these ‘terrorists.’
With very few words, they etched a plan.
Andrew had been a boarder at Saint Sebastian at the same time as Travis. They’d gone on playing tie-up games, so he’d gleefully accepted helping Travis to pull a prank on the current Saint Sebastian boys. Josh and Cody, his college friends, rode with him.
They’d dressed up in black as commandos. It had helped to spy on the boys’ games overnight. They were eager players, which made snatching them one by one a challenge. They caught the foreign-exchange student, pretending they spoke Spanish to send his buddy on the wrong track.
It had been a hoot catching the others afterwards. They had one more lad to catch, but the American kid had to pass Travis’s room to get to his bound and gagged friends. That’s where the ‘gang of terrorists’ played cards waiting for their final prey to show. They could then enact their grand finale to scare the boys, pretending they would send them to human traders.
Andrew volunteered to go check on the lads after taking a pee. He opened the prefects’ room door—and froze. The chairs were empty, ropes strewn around them. The door at the other end was wide open. What the fuck? He stepped inside and got a second adrenaline rush: three boys grabbed him, taking him to the ground. One embraced his arms, another one his legs, and the last one, a big fellow, twisted his arm and kept it in a lock while handgagging him.
The young man spotted two others coming from the landing. They had zip ties, which they used to bind his ankles and knees, tightening them to the max, which hurt.
“Hmmmmm!”
“Hush”, Jason said, clamping his hand tighter over his lips. They seized his other arm and bound his wrists with two zip ties they used as cuffs, and they didn’t make them looser.
The hand left his lips and pulled his hood up. A balled-up sock muffled his scream and the South American kid handgagged him after he’d crammed it in. His big friend pulled the balaclava off so he could stick three turns of duct tape over Andrew’s lower face.
They dragged him across the room, and set him out of sight on the landing.
They got back in hiding, not speaking a word. The short blond boy kneeled at his sides and grabbed his ankles, pulling them towards his butt, and used a zip tie to hogtie him.
“It’s only the beginning, motherfucker,” he whispered in his ear.
Five minutes later, Andrew heard the door opening and a muffled yelp, which sounded like Cody. He was left on the landing as they all stepped inside the prefects’ room.
He wriggled around to get to the door. It was Cody indeed, but only two of the boys were handling him. The rest had gone out, which didn’t bode well for Travis and Josh.
Three minutes later, the prefect and his mate entered the room, frog-marched by an ecstatic and—now loud—bunch.
“Job done, guys,” Keith said. “Another attack thwarted by the Saint Sebastian lads!”
“And a treacherous prefect vanquished,” Lewis commented, patting Travis’s hair.
“The chairs look empty,” Billy added, “and all this rope on the floor begs for being used.”
“We’ve got a poo-load of dirty bastards to fix the issue,” Sora laughed.
The ten boys performed the best chair ties they could. The four young men were handled one by one; they kept Travis for last. The prefect witnessed the thorough roping of his friends . He should have rejoiced that the boys under his watch were having fun, but his own team’s demise made their glee hard to swallow.
Josh tried to fight them, which got him some resounding spanks from Philip, who ordered him to stay quiet in his most frightening tone.
When it was the prefect’s turn, the pupils proved they remembered every lesson he’d taught them. His arms were pulled tight behind him and the chair, his elbows welded together, his torso wrapped with tens of turns of ropes, and his legs bound at six different places.
How could they have missed the door at the back of the room? Cody was supposed to take the key off!
The younger boys’’ gloating left him little time for regrets.
“Here we are at last, soldiers. Lewis led you to victory once again,” the braggart started.
“Thanks a lot, general,” Billy said, a faint smile at the corner of his lips. “We have to decide what we do to these bullies.”
“You know how to handle them,” Jason testified.
The discussion went on. The first ten minutes were spent discussing tortures: pulling out their legs’ hair, caning them, leaving them on their chairs until they would soil themselves … Travis no longer found their creativity cute now he was the target.
He shouldn’t have protested behind the light gag they’d silenced him with. The lads then decided the prisoners should keep quiet, and all four young men got an extra sock crammed into their mouths, “so you get to experience the poor hygiene of two of your friends,” Lewis explained as they had their heads mummified by two rolls of Coban wrap each.
“Now they’re neutralized, we could resume the game,” Keith suggested.
“I’d love to,” Philip said, “but we’ve got to watch them closely. We know what happens when people get overconfident and let their guard down.”
“We could stay here together,” Lewis offered, “so the teams stay balanced. I mean, as far as numbers are concerned, I know the reds will miss me.”
“We’ll try to manage,” Keith smiled.
“I’ll regret not competing against you,” Nicholas added, “and please make sure that they pay for scaring me for a whole five minutes. Maybe I’ll give them a Spanish lesson when their gags are off.”
“I’ll see to it they remember their defeat,” Philip smirked, which made the four young men uncomfortable. “You may go ahead, no one can spoil the Saint Sebastian boys’ fun, especially not these silly pranksters!”
End of the episode
37. Under Attack
Six wide-eyed boys stared at him.
“I was bringing him back to our base, all trussed up, and we were attacked. Men I didn’t know bound me to a tree and took him away. We need to warn Travis!”
Deception and trickery had happened before; Philip frowned, looking intently at the bad-news bearer.
“You’ve fooled us with lies before. We’re about to win, and we should release our hostages? And have them turn on us?”
“I’m not joking, they were foreigners and they spoke in Spanish. Isn’t Nick’s father a wealthy businessman?”
Billy shared his teammate’s concern and looked intently at the three boys who’d popped up. His gaze conveyed his defiance, which had the two reds fidget.
“You don’t need to free us, but why don’t you send Matt with an escort to Saint Sebastian? Fred and I may stay here, but we shouldn’t delay the alert if Fred is telling the truth,” Keith offered.
“That’s acceptable,” Billy answered. “Jase, you should go with Matt. If there are real kidnappers, you’re the best one to fend them off.”
“You lads should turn around and give me your wrists,” Philip smirked. “We’ll handcuff you before our teammates go.”
Jason waited for the clicking sound indicating the reds could no longer use their hands. Billy’s praise made him eager for adventure. He waved at Matt, and the two emissaries rushed outside.
Philip waved coils of rope in front of Fred and Keith.
“Your friends got a chair tie, but I feel more creative. What about kneeling hogties?”
Lewis tried to protest his friend’s attitude, but his taped mouth made it ineffective.
“Shut up, Lou. We won, you lost, and I’ll see to it you remember it.”
While their teammates secured their opponents and victory, Matt and Jason ran across the large estate. The Ann Boleyn and Saint Sebastian Halls were at the opposite ends of the school ground, so it took them ten minutes to reach their destination.
Matt had a lead on Jason. He leaped up the stairs to the dorm. He reached the top landing and heard the door downstairs slam. It sounded like Jason. He went to Travis’s bedroom; it was empty.
He headed to the prefects’ room, Travis’s other lair. He flung the door open and stopped dead in his tracks: he had found his abducted dormmate.
Nicholas was chair-tied facing him. He had been the victim of a thorough rope work. His legs were tightly tied together and pulled to the back of the chair; his arms couldn’t be seen, but his chest stuck out as if his elbows touched.
The hostage pleaded with his eyes and called for help from behind his gag. A swim cap and the white wrapping imprisoning his head enhanced his green eyes. Matt didn’t linger on admiring his friend’s looks. Jason still hadn’t reached the top floor, leaving the rescuer torn between going to check his large friend and freeing his other teammate.
Nicholas’s muffled pleas helped him prioritize.
He stepped inside the room to release him, and the captive’s muffled calls got louder. Matt heard the door shut behind him. His bound friend wasn’t begging for help but warning him. He turned to see two men, whose presence the door concealed, dressed in black from head to toe.
He ran to the door at the other end of the room. It was locked. He turned to see the two men closing in. He fought all he could, but they caught his arms and twisted them behind his back.
“It hurts, wankers, let me go or my friend Jasrmmmmmmblllm!”
“Click.”
The handcuffs imprisoned his hands as a large gloved hand gagged him. The men forced him onto a chair. Its front feet had chains and cuffs ready for his ankles. The assailants then removed Matt’s shoes and socks.
The two goons joined to cram Matt’s stocking into his mouth. They used a necktie to cleave-gag him. More ropes came out to bind him more strictly to the chair.
Nicholas’s attention turned to the entrance door, which slammed open, revealing Jason. He wouldn’t rescue them; two of the hooded bandits pushed him inside, trussed up like a turkey, his eyes wide above his duct-taped lower face. They brought him next to his friends, where he was made to sit too. Without a word, they set binding him.
Back in Miss Harding’s room, the winning team was done binding their foes. Philip had made enough suggestions of nasty treatments for Keith—and gotten enough gagged protests in return. Billy checked Fred’s knots, which held fast.
“They won’t budge. We might as well check if the others managed to find Travis,” Billy said.
“We could give them a ring, if they’re in Travis’s room, or the prefects’,” Philip proposed. “There’s a phone in the main hall.”
“Why didn’t you say it before?”
“Matt and Jason enjoy running,” Philip smiled. “Let’s call them and make sure the game’s over and we won.”
Sora looked at Lewis once their keepers went out the door, trying to let him know that Billy had screwed up. He’d wriggled, writhed, and broken a sweat. His forearms were held by thin layers that his captor hadn’t made too tight. It had been half an hour since he’d realized he could pull out his right forearm.
He yanked hard and his arm flew up.
“Mgrmmmrgrmph!” Lewis rejoiced.
They squirmed to move their chairs closer. Sora reached for the knots he could see and untied them. He then tackled freeing his other hand.
“MM! Mmm! Mrblmmm!”
Their three friends cheered them on as they struggled to get free. Lewis was first. He grabbed a pair of scissors from the desk.
“Here you go,” he told Sora as he threw them across the room. Sora caught them; he removed his gag and cut the tape uniting his legs to the chair’s.
Lewis was just getting started with Ben’s release when he heard noise resounding in the hall outside.
“They’re back, let’s ambush them,” he whispered to Sora. “Sorry, lads, we’ll untie you once we’ve got Phil and Billy bundled up.”
The hall featured a row of lockers, all empty for the holiday. The boys picked the ones on each side of the door for their hideout. They heard steps at the end of the hall. Sora had a peek as they got closer; he had left a slit when he’d shut the door to be able to see their opponents passing in front.
The curly-haired boy gasped: two tall, dark figures were walking towards them. They were still eight or ten yards away. He burst out of the locker, dashing to the other end of the hall. There were staircases at both ends of the building.
“Get out Lou, Fred was right!” Sora heard the men running behind him, the clatter from Lewis opening the locker and leaping out.
“Yellow-livered sissies, we’re going to trmmmmrgrmmmblllmmm …”
Sora ran down the stairs, looking out for thugs ready to cut his path. He rushed out of Ann Boleyn’s hall, taking a sprint towards one of the wooded areas straight ahead. He dove behind a bush, eyes riveted to the building to spot his chasers coming out.
His heart was beating fast. He took long, deep breaths to calm down, seeing no one. A bunch of villains had taken over, and he was John McClane.
The two attackers had made short work of Lewis. They’d caught him as he jumped out of his hiding spot. The men were strong and swift: stuffing in his mouth, a piece of rope as a cleave, and several strips of duct-tape killed his insults and allowed them to truss him up in peace. They box-tied his arms and trussed his legs together tightly.
The men’s silence was unnerving. They didn’t say a word binding him in the hall, and they stayed mum when they released his three teammates from their chairs. Despite Ben, Keith, and Fred’s struggling, the men didn’t make threats or give orders.
They took their time trussing up their victims, binding their legs together and ‘clipping their wings’ by performing strict arm tie-ups; Fred and Ben got a box-tie, but Keith got his wrists pulled up between his shoulder blades and tied in a reverse-prayer position in retaliation for his fiercer fighting.
The men had a bag with collars and chains, which they put on their captives. The boys were put in a line, with Lewis first and Ben last. One of the kidnappers snapped his fingers at the ‘leader.’ It signalled they were to move; Lewis looked at the man, wide-eyed. Their legs were tied; they couldn’t walk.
“Hop!” the man ordered, his low and husky voice suffering no contradiction.
Lewis complied, hoping that Fred behind him would follow. The Saint Sebastian boys had practiced such moves before, and they all started moving forward with short and synchronized jumps. The men stayed at their sides when they had to go down the stairs. Training makes perfect, so they got to the ground floor without a hitch.
Philip and Billy mewled when they saw the group. They were in tight hogties; one of the men untied the ropes pulling their feet to their butts and had them join the chain gang.
Fear hung in the air, but the men had the upper hand and the boys complied, all watching for an opportunity to strike back.
Sora saw the group coming from Ann Boleyn’s at the far end of the building. Six of his friends, a few feet apart from each other, joined by the neck and wrapped in ropes weren’t an unusual sight since he’d joined Saint Thomas More—the boys being framed by terrorists all dressed in black was.
The men had them hop on the lawn rather than on the tarred path that passed in front of them. They were heading to the football field. Sora summoned his mental map of the estate. He could use the landscape to follow them from a distance, using the small hills or wooded areas to remain unseen.
The group moved slowly, and he had to wait for a couple minutes at his next observation point, a tree just outside Saint Thomas More’s. He saw them in the distance beyond the football field. This meant the terrorists hadn’t set camp at Saint Peter’s, and they were heading to Saint Sebastian Hall.
Sora ran to the bike shed and hid behind the small building. He waited longer, planning his team’s rescue. He hoped the men didn’t have guns. He had to be smart and stealthy.
The convoy appeared where he expected them. He saw them go all the way to the entrance and disappear inside the building.
He got to the other entrance at the back of the building, which was the way to the TV room. He sighed with relief, noticing it wasn’t locked. He climbed the backstairs that led to a landing behind the prefects’ room. He could hear muffled noises coming from his gagged friends. The key was on the door. He removed it to peek in. The terrorists were binding Keith on a chair, the eight other Saint Sebastian boys trussed up already.
A tall man overlooked their misdeeds; once Keith was solidly bound, he pointed to the door. The three men left. His heart beating fast, Sora had to act. He slid the key back in and turned to make the least noise.
He opened the door and slid his head in, making sure there wasn’t a guard hiding in the corner. All eyes turned to him as he entered. He rushed to Matt, who was closest. He removed his gag first and tackled releasing the ropes.
“Thanks,” Matt whispered.
He was free soon, and the two of them went on untying Keith and Fred, who then helped to get the rest of the group out of their bonds.
Sora pointed to the door, wanting them to flee the estate. Lewis shook his head.
“These guys are Travis’s friends, it’s a joke,” he said in a hushed tone.
“Yes, one of them wore the same charm bracelet. It must be from his soccer team,” Billy confirmed.
“We’re going to make them pay,” Philip smirked.
He went to the cupboard where they stored the game supplies. Two pairs of handcuffs, zip ties, duct tape … There was enough to restrain these ‘terrorists.’
With very few words, they etched a plan.
Andrew had been a boarder at Saint Sebastian at the same time as Travis. They’d gone on playing tie-up games, so he’d gleefully accepted helping Travis to pull a prank on the current Saint Sebastian boys. Josh and Cody, his college friends, rode with him.
They’d dressed up in black as commandos. It had helped to spy on the boys’ games overnight. They were eager players, which made snatching them one by one a challenge. They caught the foreign-exchange student, pretending they spoke Spanish to send his buddy on the wrong track.
It had been a hoot catching the others afterwards. They had one more lad to catch, but the American kid had to pass Travis’s room to get to his bound and gagged friends. That’s where the ‘gang of terrorists’ played cards waiting for their final prey to show. They could then enact their grand finale to scare the boys, pretending they would send them to human traders.
Andrew volunteered to go check on the lads after taking a pee. He opened the prefects’ room door—and froze. The chairs were empty, ropes strewn around them. The door at the other end was wide open. What the fuck? He stepped inside and got a second adrenaline rush: three boys grabbed him, taking him to the ground. One embraced his arms, another one his legs, and the last one, a big fellow, twisted his arm and kept it in a lock while handgagging him.
The young man spotted two others coming from the landing. They had zip ties, which they used to bind his ankles and knees, tightening them to the max, which hurt.
“Hmmmmm!”
“Hush”, Jason said, clamping his hand tighter over his lips. They seized his other arm and bound his wrists with two zip ties they used as cuffs, and they didn’t make them looser.
The hand left his lips and pulled his hood up. A balled-up sock muffled his scream and the South American kid handgagged him after he’d crammed it in. His big friend pulled the balaclava off so he could stick three turns of duct tape over Andrew’s lower face.
They dragged him across the room, and set him out of sight on the landing.
They got back in hiding, not speaking a word. The short blond boy kneeled at his sides and grabbed his ankles, pulling them towards his butt, and used a zip tie to hogtie him.
“It’s only the beginning, motherfucker,” he whispered in his ear.
Five minutes later, Andrew heard the door opening and a muffled yelp, which sounded like Cody. He was left on the landing as they all stepped inside the prefects’ room.
He wriggled around to get to the door. It was Cody indeed, but only two of the boys were handling him. The rest had gone out, which didn’t bode well for Travis and Josh.
Three minutes later, the prefect and his mate entered the room, frog-marched by an ecstatic and—now loud—bunch.
“Job done, guys,” Keith said. “Another attack thwarted by the Saint Sebastian lads!”
“And a treacherous prefect vanquished,” Lewis commented, patting Travis’s hair.
“The chairs look empty,” Billy added, “and all this rope on the floor begs for being used.”
“We’ve got a poo-load of dirty bastards to fix the issue,” Sora laughed.
The ten boys performed the best chair ties they could. The four young men were handled one by one; they kept Travis for last. The prefect witnessed the thorough roping of his friends . He should have rejoiced that the boys under his watch were having fun, but his own team’s demise made their glee hard to swallow.
Josh tried to fight them, which got him some resounding spanks from Philip, who ordered him to stay quiet in his most frightening tone.
When it was the prefect’s turn, the pupils proved they remembered every lesson he’d taught them. His arms were pulled tight behind him and the chair, his elbows welded together, his torso wrapped with tens of turns of ropes, and his legs bound at six different places.
How could they have missed the door at the back of the room? Cody was supposed to take the key off!
The younger boys’’ gloating left him little time for regrets.
“Here we are at last, soldiers. Lewis led you to victory once again,” the braggart started.
“Thanks a lot, general,” Billy said, a faint smile at the corner of his lips. “We have to decide what we do to these bullies.”
“You know how to handle them,” Jason testified.
The discussion went on. The first ten minutes were spent discussing tortures: pulling out their legs’ hair, caning them, leaving them on their chairs until they would soil themselves … Travis no longer found their creativity cute now he was the target.
He shouldn’t have protested behind the light gag they’d silenced him with. The lads then decided the prisoners should keep quiet, and all four young men got an extra sock crammed into their mouths, “so you get to experience the poor hygiene of two of your friends,” Lewis explained as they had their heads mummified by two rolls of Coban wrap each.
“Now they’re neutralized, we could resume the game,” Keith suggested.
“I’d love to,” Philip said, “but we’ve got to watch them closely. We know what happens when people get overconfident and let their guard down.”
“We could stay here together,” Lewis offered, “so the teams stay balanced. I mean, as far as numbers are concerned, I know the reds will miss me.”
“We’ll try to manage,” Keith smiled.
“I’ll regret not competing against you,” Nicholas added, “and please make sure that they pay for scaring me for a whole five minutes. Maybe I’ll give them a Spanish lesson when their gags are off.”
“I’ll see to it they remember their defeat,” Philip smirked, which made the four young men uncomfortable. “You may go ahead, no one can spoil the Saint Sebastian boys’ fun, especially not these silly pranksters!”
End of the episode
Last edited by Bondwriter 3 years ago, edited 2 times in total.
To turn the tables on older boys is the dream of many teens. Travis and his friends deserve it for disrupting such a great game...
I write and edit stories: https://www.deviantart.com/nchlsh
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Bondwriter
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They do. The comeuppance of older boys will remain a feature in these stories!
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Bondwriter
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 575
- Joined: 6 years ago
The second part is a bit short, but six full chapters are coming up soon.
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Ducttapemouth
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Really I love this amazing story. You're a great writer.
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Bondwriter
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I blushed. Thanks a ton for the kind comment. An stay tuned, a new adventure is coming to this thread this weekend!
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Bondwriter
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 575
- Joined: 6 years ago
Here is the new tale in the series. Thanks to Chloroboy for triggering the continuation. I hope Saint Sebastian Boys fans will all enjoy it. First of six chapters.
Quite a Boarding School:
The Great Tournament
Chapter 1
Philip leaped out of the shower scrubbed and freshened. He had run for two hours on the football field in the warm afternoon sun. He’d then spent another hour playing escape challenge with Lewis behind the football field’s hedgerow. They soon felt sticky and jumped in the stalls enthusiastically. Lewis was quicker cleaning up; Philip heard him dressing up.
“I’ll wait outside.”
Philip had won the challenge: after half an hour his friend still wriggled in his hogtie. The gag he couldn’t dislodge made him much less talkative.
“You earned a night in ropes, Lou,” Philip announced when the time granted to escape ran out. “I’ll release you so we may shower. I would take you inside the stall and clean you up myself, but other students could still pop up. It’s unlikely, but I won’t take the chance.”
Most of the Saint Thomas More students had gone home when school ended the day before; the Saint Sebastian boys stayed for a ‘Space Camp’ set up by Travis, their prefect. It was a ruse to convince their parents, of course. A tugs camp lay ahead.
Other extra-curricular clubs traditionally stayed an extra day for their end-of-the-year gatherings. The tie-up games would start officially on Sunday, when the school would be empty of other students.
Under the shower, Philip relished the prospect of an evening in charge of Lewis. He planned to take him to the bird-watching hut, knowing the other Saint Sebastian boys would split in small groups to have fun across the estate. There were enough secluded spots for the ten of them.
Philip smiled dressing up. The Glidor underwear felt smooth and a clean football kit always felt great. His black shorts were new; he paused to check in the mirror how they made his bum look. He approved the sight and went on . Jersey, socks, shoes … Philip was in a hurry to join his friend, bind him tightly, and have some naughty fun.
Sports bag in hand, Philip pushed the clubhouse doors and stepped into the sunset light. He froze on the threshold, shocked. He saw Lewis framed by two ... ninjas? Thin, wearing full-body, tight-fitting black suits and hooded with only their eyes visible, they held Lewis’s arms behind his back. One of them had him handgagged; only the faintest protest could be heard.
Philip didn’t have time to order the intruders to let his friend go: two pairs of hands seized him also, a leather-gloved one clamping on his mouth. He struggled, to no avail. Their size and strength weren’t from any of his friends or of people who had joined their games. A handkerchief wad came to his face. Philip thought they would stuff his mouth once his lips were uncovered. Only they didn’t: the white mass landed over his nostrils, with the hand gagging him keeping its hold. He smelled the sweet, chemical fume from the cotton stuff and knew this was no game.
Lewis was kicking and screaming behind the effective hand, but he was powerless. Philip took a breath, then another; he felt dizzy. As a last resort, he tried to hold his breath, . Eventually, he inspired slowly. His head spun, and he fell unconscious.
“You’re feisty, Lewis,” the man who’d just chloroformed Philip said, soaking the mass of cotton with more anaesthetic. “This is an asset for what we have in mind for you. But for now, good-bye…”
The men’s grip grew stronger as their accomplice set the intoxicating product over Lewis’s nose. No struggle or protest was possible; Lewis passed out soon.
***
Jason was on the last stretch of his jog. He trotted at a leisurely pace, breathing in deeply and cooling down in the summer’s lukewarm dusk. He reached the cricket field and walked the ten yards to the clubhouse to shower. This would be more private than the dorm, and Saint Peter’s Hall was nearby. Sora and Matt had invited him to a knot workshop in the building’s storage room.
The quaint brick building hosted a large reception room on the right and the locker room and showers for cricket players. It looked glorious in the sunset, which deepened its dark red colour. Jason pushed the door and stepped inside.
The assault didn’t completely take him by surprise. Being jumped and grabbed by three pairs of hands had happened a few times since he’d joined the gang. The tight, ruthless arm locks and the glove clamping his mouth shut didn’t belong to his friends, though. Jason started fighting. He was big and strong but not enough to face trained adults who knew their trade. They even used their legs to keep his immobile.
He saw a hand unscrewing a bottle and tilting it over a mass of handkerchiefs. He panicked. The assailants pulled his arms higher, making his motions painful to force him to stand still.
“Mmmmrgrgrmmmbbblllmm!”
“Nighty night …”
The hooded man pressed the pad against his face. The glove made his lips airtight; he had to breathe in through his nose. The chemical smell reminded him of paint thinner. His instincts kicked in further, and he twisted to break their hold. Alas, the wet mass on his nose felt cold and he knew what the men were doing.
Jason tried to hold his breath and move his head to get the glove off his mouth for a second. He was no match against the trained commando. He spaced out air intakes or at least he tried to. After the third one, he felt a veil fall down over his brain. By the fifth, he was out.
“We’d better rope in this one tightly; he’s the biggest of the bunch and he’s going to try getting loose.”
“He’s strong, that’s good for what he’ll be facing.”
The men kneeled to bind Jason’s inert body.
***
Billy ran up the stairs to Saint Sebastian’s dorm. Ben, Fred, and Keith were waiting for him to start the evening activities. Billy had helped the biology teacher clean up the lab before the holidays. His friends had called him a teacher’s pet; it was a lark and had a double meaning: they were in for tie-ups.
They’d decided to spread their 10-member club throughout the campus. Smaller groups meant discretion. In the dorm, they didn’t have to hide. Travis wasn’t there for the evening, though he was scheduled to come back to kick off their summer tugs camp. The others would stay at Saint Peter’s, in the bird-watching hut, and in Ann Boleyn Hall.
Billy couldn’t wait to change. He liked his tracksuit pants, but being in shorts with his friends was the first step of the ritual that started a good tie-up game. He reached the landing and flung the doors open, walking down the hall to enter his bedroom.
He stopped on the threshold, baffled by what he saw. Two pairs of arms dragged him inside.
“Helrgrmmmmmmrmmmmmrmmmph!”
A leather-gloved hand smothered his lower face, the palm pressing against his lips, its grip crushing his jaws. The two men held his arms in a tight lock and kept him immobile.
Billy struggled to no end, taking in the scene: Ben and Fred were bound to chairs and gagged with tons of tape. Keith was his mirror image, kept in two men’s grips. The intruders were dressed in black, one-piece outfits. They had balaclavas on concealing their features.
From behind the gloved hand, Keith tried to yell. He squirmed as much as he could, but the two men were at least four times his weight. Their control was total. Ben and Fred were also screaming from behind their gags.
One of Keith’s handlers pulled a large handkerchief from his suit; his accomplice poured a vial on the piece of cotton. He then brought it to Keith’s nose. This intensified the lad’s attempts at getting away .
Billy watched in horror as his friend twisted in the men’s hands. His body started getting weaker and his motions less ample and frequent. After a couple minutes, he moved no longer.
“Mmmmrmmmgrmmmmphbbllmmmm?!”
Billy had to endure the ordeal of seeing his friends chloroformed and captured. The two men placed his blond friend on the floor, holding his limp body and kneeling at his sides. They had rope at hand, and the skill they displayed made Billy more frightened. They weren’t amateurs.
The boy tried positive-thinking; maybe Travis had friends pull a prank on the Saint Sebastian boys. A surprise kidnapping would not be a first. Yet they used chloroform, which was always deemed too dangerous for their games. The men were methodical in laying out the ropes, restraining all the limb’s joints with four turns of cotton rope. Keith was trussed up in less time he’d needed to faint.
Billy never stopped struggling, even more so when the attackers turned to Fred and Ben. Using the handkerchief of doom, they first put to sleep the handsome, black-haired Adonis. Ben was next.
Billy kept twisting around to no end. He wouldn’t quit fighting for his friends. The four-man commando kept working in silence, ignoring all his attempts to steer them from their nefarious deeds.
They paid no attention to Billy’s muffled pleas and went back to Keith with another handkerchief and a roll of duct tape. They were rather mild in stuffing the unconscious boy’s gob, yet this didn’t soothe his friend. The man with the duct tape then plastered strip after strip on Keith’s lips, with two final turns around the head that would prevent removal.
The men nodded at each other they were done. The thug with the handkerchief and vial came approached the remaining conscious boy. The other one looked at Billy, his index finger commanding silence. Billy didn’t comply and jerked around, with his attackers strengthening their hold.
The sickly smelling pad landed on his nose. Like his friends, he tried to keep from breathing, but he could only last thirty seconds without oxygen. The first intake didn’t feel incapacitating. He had to go for a second a bit quicker, and he understood he was doomed. His brain no longer reacted as usual. After the next intake, he drifted off and his sight faded to black.
“Plucky bunch, aren’t they?” the man who’d knocked Billy out commented, grabbing a piece of rope as his goons lowered the boy onto the wooden floor. “We’ll truss this one up well, there are still three more to go …”
***
Sora had just had the last band practice. They played all their small orchestra’s hits for over an hour. They said goodbye around refreshments and sandwiches; some of the students left just after, their parents attending to take them back home.
Sora had enjoyed this communal moment and greeted all the friends he would next see again in two months. Thankfully, his summer would be filled with other social interactions—of the tugs kind. He headed to Saint Peter’s for his appointment with Matt and Nicholas. They planned to kidnap Jason, who’d fallen for a knot-workshop ruse. Jason had taunted them on Wednesday after managing to escape from a hogtie. As a full-fledged member of their club, he had to expect retaliation if he challenged them!
Sora pictured an evening of knots, tape, and friendship, an interlude between the finishing school year and the summer tugs they’d dreamed about for weeks. He picked up the bag he’d stored in the bike shed outside Saint Peter’s Hall with all the equipment needed for their endeavour.
He walked down the flight of stairs on the building’s side. He heard the familiar moans of gagged boys, which had him frown. They started without him?
He opened the door and saw Matt and Nicholas in the traditional shorts and jerseys, squirming on the floor in tight hogties. The strapping tape on their lower faces sealed their mouths, packed with either socks or underwear.
Sora dropped his bag and looked around for Jason.
“Crapcakes, guys, the biter is bit! Jason got you before you caught him!”
“Mrrrgrmmm!”
“Gmmmrmmmmgrgrphmmm!”
“Are you trying to say something? Too bad, I can’t understand.”
He stepped closer to taunt his friends but kept an eye out for, Jason. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a pair of bound legs sticking out under the table next to Matt. The big shoes belonged to Jason, the thick calves also.
Sora looked at Matt and Nicholas, whose eyes flashed warnings. He caught on too late.
The four attackers sprung from the walls like ghosts. They were very real, though, with strong limbs and bodies Sora couldn’t run through as he attempted darting off. They didn’t make a sound; neither did their victim, whom they handgagged right away.
The wriggling captives could do nothing but watch Sora get chloroformed. He gave a good fight, which was bound to end with the victory of the more numerous enemies. Once their curly-haired friend was sedated, the men turned back to them.
Matt was first. Nicholas picked up the smell; from what he’d read, it had to be chloroform. He experienced its effects soon enough. Two men held him down while a third one pressed the wet piece of fabric against his nose. It didn’t go as fast as the time he’d been put to sleep for surgery; he drifted into slumber eventually.
“Good job, gentlemen. Let’s bind this last one and load the van.”
“I’ll make sure the cargo is fastened well and won’t move during our drive.” The accomplice smiled, having removed his hood while preparing a coil of rope to bind the latest intruder.
TBC
Quite a Boarding School:
The Great Tournament
Chapter 1
Philip leaped out of the shower scrubbed and freshened. He had run for two hours on the football field in the warm afternoon sun. He’d then spent another hour playing escape challenge with Lewis behind the football field’s hedgerow. They soon felt sticky and jumped in the stalls enthusiastically. Lewis was quicker cleaning up; Philip heard him dressing up.
“I’ll wait outside.”
Philip had won the challenge: after half an hour his friend still wriggled in his hogtie. The gag he couldn’t dislodge made him much less talkative.
“You earned a night in ropes, Lou,” Philip announced when the time granted to escape ran out. “I’ll release you so we may shower. I would take you inside the stall and clean you up myself, but other students could still pop up. It’s unlikely, but I won’t take the chance.”
Most of the Saint Thomas More students had gone home when school ended the day before; the Saint Sebastian boys stayed for a ‘Space Camp’ set up by Travis, their prefect. It was a ruse to convince their parents, of course. A tugs camp lay ahead.
Other extra-curricular clubs traditionally stayed an extra day for their end-of-the-year gatherings. The tie-up games would start officially on Sunday, when the school would be empty of other students.
Under the shower, Philip relished the prospect of an evening in charge of Lewis. He planned to take him to the bird-watching hut, knowing the other Saint Sebastian boys would split in small groups to have fun across the estate. There were enough secluded spots for the ten of them.
Philip smiled dressing up. The Glidor underwear felt smooth and a clean football kit always felt great. His black shorts were new; he paused to check in the mirror how they made his bum look. He approved the sight and went on . Jersey, socks, shoes … Philip was in a hurry to join his friend, bind him tightly, and have some naughty fun.
Sports bag in hand, Philip pushed the clubhouse doors and stepped into the sunset light. He froze on the threshold, shocked. He saw Lewis framed by two ... ninjas? Thin, wearing full-body, tight-fitting black suits and hooded with only their eyes visible, they held Lewis’s arms behind his back. One of them had him handgagged; only the faintest protest could be heard.
Philip didn’t have time to order the intruders to let his friend go: two pairs of hands seized him also, a leather-gloved one clamping on his mouth. He struggled, to no avail. Their size and strength weren’t from any of his friends or of people who had joined their games. A handkerchief wad came to his face. Philip thought they would stuff his mouth once his lips were uncovered. Only they didn’t: the white mass landed over his nostrils, with the hand gagging him keeping its hold. He smelled the sweet, chemical fume from the cotton stuff and knew this was no game.
Lewis was kicking and screaming behind the effective hand, but he was powerless. Philip took a breath, then another; he felt dizzy. As a last resort, he tried to hold his breath, . Eventually, he inspired slowly. His head spun, and he fell unconscious.
“You’re feisty, Lewis,” the man who’d just chloroformed Philip said, soaking the mass of cotton with more anaesthetic. “This is an asset for what we have in mind for you. But for now, good-bye…”
The men’s grip grew stronger as their accomplice set the intoxicating product over Lewis’s nose. No struggle or protest was possible; Lewis passed out soon.
***
Jason was on the last stretch of his jog. He trotted at a leisurely pace, breathing in deeply and cooling down in the summer’s lukewarm dusk. He reached the cricket field and walked the ten yards to the clubhouse to shower. This would be more private than the dorm, and Saint Peter’s Hall was nearby. Sora and Matt had invited him to a knot workshop in the building’s storage room.
The quaint brick building hosted a large reception room on the right and the locker room and showers for cricket players. It looked glorious in the sunset, which deepened its dark red colour. Jason pushed the door and stepped inside.
The assault didn’t completely take him by surprise. Being jumped and grabbed by three pairs of hands had happened a few times since he’d joined the gang. The tight, ruthless arm locks and the glove clamping his mouth shut didn’t belong to his friends, though. Jason started fighting. He was big and strong but not enough to face trained adults who knew their trade. They even used their legs to keep his immobile.
He saw a hand unscrewing a bottle and tilting it over a mass of handkerchiefs. He panicked. The assailants pulled his arms higher, making his motions painful to force him to stand still.
“Mmmmrgrgrmmmbbblllmm!”
“Nighty night …”
The hooded man pressed the pad against his face. The glove made his lips airtight; he had to breathe in through his nose. The chemical smell reminded him of paint thinner. His instincts kicked in further, and he twisted to break their hold. Alas, the wet mass on his nose felt cold and he knew what the men were doing.
Jason tried to hold his breath and move his head to get the glove off his mouth for a second. He was no match against the trained commando. He spaced out air intakes or at least he tried to. After the third one, he felt a veil fall down over his brain. By the fifth, he was out.
“We’d better rope in this one tightly; he’s the biggest of the bunch and he’s going to try getting loose.”
“He’s strong, that’s good for what he’ll be facing.”
The men kneeled to bind Jason’s inert body.
***
Billy ran up the stairs to Saint Sebastian’s dorm. Ben, Fred, and Keith were waiting for him to start the evening activities. Billy had helped the biology teacher clean up the lab before the holidays. His friends had called him a teacher’s pet; it was a lark and had a double meaning: they were in for tie-ups.
They’d decided to spread their 10-member club throughout the campus. Smaller groups meant discretion. In the dorm, they didn’t have to hide. Travis wasn’t there for the evening, though he was scheduled to come back to kick off their summer tugs camp. The others would stay at Saint Peter’s, in the bird-watching hut, and in Ann Boleyn Hall.
Billy couldn’t wait to change. He liked his tracksuit pants, but being in shorts with his friends was the first step of the ritual that started a good tie-up game. He reached the landing and flung the doors open, walking down the hall to enter his bedroom.
He stopped on the threshold, baffled by what he saw. Two pairs of arms dragged him inside.
“Helrgrmmmmmmrmmmmmrmmmph!”
A leather-gloved hand smothered his lower face, the palm pressing against his lips, its grip crushing his jaws. The two men held his arms in a tight lock and kept him immobile.
Billy struggled to no end, taking in the scene: Ben and Fred were bound to chairs and gagged with tons of tape. Keith was his mirror image, kept in two men’s grips. The intruders were dressed in black, one-piece outfits. They had balaclavas on concealing their features.
From behind the gloved hand, Keith tried to yell. He squirmed as much as he could, but the two men were at least four times his weight. Their control was total. Ben and Fred were also screaming from behind their gags.
One of Keith’s handlers pulled a large handkerchief from his suit; his accomplice poured a vial on the piece of cotton. He then brought it to Keith’s nose. This intensified the lad’s attempts at getting away .
Billy watched in horror as his friend twisted in the men’s hands. His body started getting weaker and his motions less ample and frequent. After a couple minutes, he moved no longer.
“Mmmmrmmmgrmmmmphbbllmmmm?!”
Billy had to endure the ordeal of seeing his friends chloroformed and captured. The two men placed his blond friend on the floor, holding his limp body and kneeling at his sides. They had rope at hand, and the skill they displayed made Billy more frightened. They weren’t amateurs.
The boy tried positive-thinking; maybe Travis had friends pull a prank on the Saint Sebastian boys. A surprise kidnapping would not be a first. Yet they used chloroform, which was always deemed too dangerous for their games. The men were methodical in laying out the ropes, restraining all the limb’s joints with four turns of cotton rope. Keith was trussed up in less time he’d needed to faint.
Billy never stopped struggling, even more so when the attackers turned to Fred and Ben. Using the handkerchief of doom, they first put to sleep the handsome, black-haired Adonis. Ben was next.
Billy kept twisting around to no end. He wouldn’t quit fighting for his friends. The four-man commando kept working in silence, ignoring all his attempts to steer them from their nefarious deeds.
They paid no attention to Billy’s muffled pleas and went back to Keith with another handkerchief and a roll of duct tape. They were rather mild in stuffing the unconscious boy’s gob, yet this didn’t soothe his friend. The man with the duct tape then plastered strip after strip on Keith’s lips, with two final turns around the head that would prevent removal.
The men nodded at each other they were done. The thug with the handkerchief and vial came approached the remaining conscious boy. The other one looked at Billy, his index finger commanding silence. Billy didn’t comply and jerked around, with his attackers strengthening their hold.
The sickly smelling pad landed on his nose. Like his friends, he tried to keep from breathing, but he could only last thirty seconds without oxygen. The first intake didn’t feel incapacitating. He had to go for a second a bit quicker, and he understood he was doomed. His brain no longer reacted as usual. After the next intake, he drifted off and his sight faded to black.
“Plucky bunch, aren’t they?” the man who’d knocked Billy out commented, grabbing a piece of rope as his goons lowered the boy onto the wooden floor. “We’ll truss this one up well, there are still three more to go …”
***
Sora had just had the last band practice. They played all their small orchestra’s hits for over an hour. They said goodbye around refreshments and sandwiches; some of the students left just after, their parents attending to take them back home.
Sora had enjoyed this communal moment and greeted all the friends he would next see again in two months. Thankfully, his summer would be filled with other social interactions—of the tugs kind. He headed to Saint Peter’s for his appointment with Matt and Nicholas. They planned to kidnap Jason, who’d fallen for a knot-workshop ruse. Jason had taunted them on Wednesday after managing to escape from a hogtie. As a full-fledged member of their club, he had to expect retaliation if he challenged them!
Sora pictured an evening of knots, tape, and friendship, an interlude between the finishing school year and the summer tugs they’d dreamed about for weeks. He picked up the bag he’d stored in the bike shed outside Saint Peter’s Hall with all the equipment needed for their endeavour.
He walked down the flight of stairs on the building’s side. He heard the familiar moans of gagged boys, which had him frown. They started without him?
He opened the door and saw Matt and Nicholas in the traditional shorts and jerseys, squirming on the floor in tight hogties. The strapping tape on their lower faces sealed their mouths, packed with either socks or underwear.
Sora dropped his bag and looked around for Jason.
“Crapcakes, guys, the biter is bit! Jason got you before you caught him!”
“Mrrrgrmmm!”
“Gmmmrmmmmgrgrphmmm!”
“Are you trying to say something? Too bad, I can’t understand.”
He stepped closer to taunt his friends but kept an eye out for, Jason. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a pair of bound legs sticking out under the table next to Matt. The big shoes belonged to Jason, the thick calves also.
Sora looked at Matt and Nicholas, whose eyes flashed warnings. He caught on too late.
The four attackers sprung from the walls like ghosts. They were very real, though, with strong limbs and bodies Sora couldn’t run through as he attempted darting off. They didn’t make a sound; neither did their victim, whom they handgagged right away.
The wriggling captives could do nothing but watch Sora get chloroformed. He gave a good fight, which was bound to end with the victory of the more numerous enemies. Once their curly-haired friend was sedated, the men turned back to them.
Matt was first. Nicholas picked up the smell; from what he’d read, it had to be chloroform. He experienced its effects soon enough. Two men held him down while a third one pressed the wet piece of fabric against his nose. It didn’t go as fast as the time he’d been put to sleep for surgery; he drifted into slumber eventually.
“Good job, gentlemen. Let’s bind this last one and load the van.”
“I’ll make sure the cargo is fastened well and won’t move during our drive.” The accomplice smiled, having removed his hood while preparing a coil of rope to bind the latest intruder.
TBC
Still love it
But didn't you forget to post the final chapter of the previous series?
But didn't you forget to post the final chapter of the previous series?
The Brotherhood
The best human pilot in the galaxy
My Bondage Academia
The best human pilot in the galaxy
My Bondage Academia
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Bondwriter
- Centennial Club
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Thanks for pointing it out. I've added the missing 900 words to the previous post, for those who'd been left in distress by my mistake.
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Bondwriter
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 575
- Joined: 6 years ago
The Great Tournament
Chapter 2
Nicholas was having a strange dream. He drifted in and out of slumber, remotely aware of what was going on in brief outbursts. Like a nightmare, it refused to end. The helplessness from being restrained and silenced for good never went away. Confused feelings agitated the exchange student, though he never fully resurfaced from the depths of chemically induced sleep.
When he opened his eyes at last, a rush of adrenalin broke the spell. His friends were all there, sitting in a circle, straitjacketed and gagged. They sat at one-person desks with a small tablet.
He looked down: the same white canvas outfit was on him. His forearms were pulled across his chest, his hand under his armpits. Straps held them there in a self-hug. Other pieces of white canvas also wrapped his thighs and lower legs. He looked up and saw the others had their calves also wrapped in white stuff.
He squirmed to assess the tightness. The restraints were attached to the chair and desk; he couldn’t move his shoulder blades from the back of the seat, and his thighs were pinned down. The desks were bolted to the floor, so he couldn’t even get the furniture to move.
Most of his friends still had their eyes closed. His look crossed Fred’s, who faced him.
“Mgrmmmbllm,” the cute, black-haired teen greeted him across the circle.
His tongue was kept immobile by a rubber plug, the black leather strap keeping it inside his mouth pulled tight. It sealed his lips. Nicholas could spot buckles at the nape of his friends’ necks and the locks keeping them shut.
“Grmmmmm,” Fred replied. They both struggled again, communicating they could not get loose and displaying their fighting spirit.
The large room they were in had a high ceiling and a wall covered with mirrors and lined with a bar at waist’s height. It reminded Nicholas of a dancing studio; there was one at Saint Thomas More, he remembered.
Nicholas inspected the circle: Matt, Ben, Sora, Jason … but who was the next guy? He went on. To his left he saw Philip, Ben, Lewis, and another mysterious guest. The two unidentified lads were still asleep. They looked their age. Nicholas withheld judgment on their looks until he’d see them with their eyes open and their mouth uncovered.
Matt woke up and traded glances of disbelief.
Over the following half hour, the rest of the boys woke up one by one. They all seemed in shock and grunted and writhed to assess the sturdiness of their imprisonment. They all had quizzical looks towards the two strangers, who acted as annoyed as the Saint Sebastian lads.
The grunts ceased, though the unknown lads quit last. Billy turned to Morse code and asked Lewis what had happened. ”K-i-d-n-a-p-e-d-b-y-n-i-n-j-a”–spelling and plural didn’t matter when ‘Morsing’. Matt made a similar answer.
The two strangers looked at each other, then at the other boys, moaning and grunting their discomfort. Billy tried to transmit ‘calm down’ but he got wider eyes in response and more desperate moans. The second lad joined his friend’s moaning. Billy asked who they were, but the boys didn’t seem to understand his question
A door opened at the back of the room. The hampered communication stopped. The clattering of the door had all twelve captives turn to the sound. Nicholas turned his head, the noise coming from behind him. A thin, wiry silhouette dressed in black Lycra entered his vision.
“You’re silent all of a sudden— good,” a man said with a foreign accent, stepping in the circle between Nicholas and Philip. “Pay attention to what I have to say, that is why you’re gagged in the first place.”
Annoyed, Keith couldn’t help it. “Grmmmmmgnnngmpbbblllmmmmmm!”
“A feisty Cowboy, no? I expected you to express such feelings, young man.”
He knew Keith’s nickname. The man lifted his arm, holding a white remote control. He pushed a button and two screens slid down from the ceiling at Nicholas’s left and right. The man’s showed all his muscles rippling underneath; it clung and shone to maximum effect.
“I imagine you are all wondering where you are and who I am, no? Be patient.”
He turned to one of the unknown boys and said something in a foreign language. Nicholas identified French, which explained the man’s accent. He knew enough to understand the man just translated what he’d said first.
The desks circle was wide enough for the man to walk inside, his gaze going from one boy to the other as he resumed speaking in English.
“I imagine Billy, Nicholas, and Sora understood I spoke French. You are having international adventures, Saint Sebastian boys! Meet Marc and Stéphane; they enjoy the tie-up games also. I’m sure they would love to welcome you to France if they could.”
Nicholas saw the boys’ nostrils flare, their eyes wide as saucers. Didn’t they understand what the man said?
“These two boys have convinced their boarding school’s mates to practice knots and tie-ups with them; they are not innocent lambs that you should feel bad for. You might ask: Why did you need these new friends? We needed two more people to join the famous Saint Sebastian TUGs brotherhood for a competition.”
Both Billy and Lewis couldn’t help letting out inquisitive grunts. Nicholas faced the black-clad man; the suit’s hood let only his grey eyes visible but he’d sworn he spotted a smile underneath.
“Your adventures have not been kept as confidential as you thought. Congratulations for never getting caught by the staff at Saint Thomas. Having an accomplice in Saint Sebastian’s hall must have helped. He has also reported your activities to the higher-ups in our little organization.”
Travis, their prefect, had made it possible for them to play safely and managed to get their dorm inhabited by boys who enjoyed TUGs. He’d also mentioned a tradition of tie-up games in Saint Sebastian.
“None of you wondered where all the tape, the ropes, the Glidor swimwear came from? We got them shipped to you. From our UK branch, of course.”
He turned to the French lads and said something Nicholas deemed a translation again.
“Your two new friends also came over our radar a while back, and we got them gear to run their club. They have not recruited as many members as you have, but they convinced their roommates. The head supervisor is one of us, so the kidnapping of their fellow-students was quite safe, no? You might meet them in the future, though they aren’t skilled enough yet for this challenge.”
The man turned to the foreigners and spoke in French. Nicholas understood he explained them who the Saint Sebastian boys were. He heard Billy’s name and got the full meaning in English afterwards.
“I’ll introduce you to Marc and Stéphane. Their English is not too good. Billy is the smart one, the bright student and the good-hearted leader,” he said, patting the boy’s hair. “He’s a good football player too, and his wits have gotten his friends out of messy situations.”
“Here is Lewis,” he said, moving to Billy’s neighbour. “He talks too much, which is why his friends often gag him. He is not too kind to his prisoners when they get in his clutches, so be warned.”
The bilingual introduction went on.
“Fred is the pretty boy of the bunch! He is good at sports, and he has been a member of the gang since day one. He is good at knots. Next is Matt, who got recruited by Billy. He is an expert at being kept prisoner for a long time, but always keen on revenge. Little Ben here got the whole thing started, since he brought Glidor swimwear to the game. He is a good student, and he’s clever when playing games, so beware! Sora is Matt’s pen friend. He came over from America at Christmas. He is a tape fiend, though he’s trained in knots.”
He moved to the bulkiest of the restrained lads, patting his crew-cut head.
“Jason is the big boy, no? I hope at some point you will be able to tell his exemplary story. He used to be a nasty bully. The Saint Sebastian boys abducted him to teach him one thing or two. Keith is Billy’s friend. Just look how cute the blond boy looks. But don’t be fooled! He is not any kinder to opponents when playing tugs”
Nicholas saw the man approaching him, bracing for his description.
“Likewise, watch out if you have to deal with Nicholas. He is trained in the martial arts. He may look scrawny but he is strong. He is from South America, where he practiced with a bunch of friends. He has proved a worthy player since he came over. And last but not least, here is Philip. He seldom smiles, but his black hair and blue eyes appeal to some of his friends, no?”
The man looked at Lewis.
“I have been told he enjoys getting his opponents to suffer, so better not fall in his hands.”
Throughout the description, the boys reacted to their portraying with unhappy grunts.
“You lads know enough about each other for now. You will have plenty of time to get acquainted, though some of you might be unable to tell personal anecdotes,” he said, casting a glance at Lewis. “Now, where are we and why did we bring you over? Welcome to the Manoir des Liens, home of the Grand Tournoi.”
He didn’t bother translating.
“We have run this competition for five years now. We invite promising TUG enthusiasts to assess their value.”
The word ‘invite’ triggered gagged protests.
“Is there a better way to enrol such experts? Our men went easy on you. They know immobilization techniques and can handle sedatives, which they demonstrated.”
Billy grunted his disagreement.
“You are miffed we chloroformed you, Billy? It is not safe? Well, our kind is. I will not go into chemical details only a couple of you would get, but this is a custom-made narcotic. It acts faster and is way less dangerous than actual chloroform. But it smells and feels just like it. Its effects are short-lived, but we used hypodermic shots to get you unconscious through the trip. You stayed strapped and gagged throughout. We cannot have a panicky guest make a fuss at the back of the van.”
The man slowly spun on his heel, watching the angry gagged faces of his “guests.”
“We will see if you lads refrain from using it in your competition. You will have access to sedatives as well as restraining accessories. If you do not use them, maybe the others will.”
He looked at Billy. His captive audience waited for explanations.
“Let me tell you about our tournoi—the tournament. It confronts three teams of four boys. The trials and games will run over two weeks.”
The plugs muffled gasps of surprise.
“No whining! You plotted to have a TUGs camp, so no one will wonder where you went, no?”
He turned to the French boys, explaining the same. Nicholas picked up that he was referring to the boys’ roommates, who had joined another camp. He then pressed the remote control. The screens lit up.
“Here is a video with the highlights of the competition from last year.”
“Great Tournament” appeared on the screen in letters of fire over a black background. It cut to three boys dressed in mock military uniforms binding another one dressed as a boy-scout. He tried to scream but one of his attackers kept his palm tight on the boy’s lips.
The video lasted almost three minutes, depicting boys being stuffed in large chests, taunted as they were tree-tied, walking in a line of five prisoners hobbled together with cotton rope, and one lad suspended to a tree branch by his ankles.
The captured lads all seemed gagged thoroughly, and moaned accordingly. The video ended.
“I hope you are inspired. Last year’s contestants were good and they gave a great show. You will get to see more of this if you’re still with us when the competition ends. We can’t spoil the games with letting you know too much. You will get detailed instructions for each game. You want to try hard: we score the team’s performance, but we also keep individual scores. You need to perform well in both categories if you want to climb on the podium. There are prizes worthy of your fight!”
The boys looked intently, expecting more information on the rewards.
“You cannot let me know you approve, my British friends, but you should ...”
The ”ninja” pressed another button on the remote. A video stream faded in on both large screens. The sight caused insults and threats the gags kept in check.
Travis sat on his desk chair. He was strapped to it with belts, ropes, and twine. His lower face was plastered with white sticky stuff. Two of the man’s goons framed the helpless prefect.
“While you are having your tugs camp, your prefect cannot be left on his own. But do not worry. We have planned two weeks of entertainment for Travis.”
The man switched the video feed off.
“I hope you lads will make the most of this stay and prove your worth as TUG players. Let the games begin!”
He walked back where he came from, leaving the twelve restrained boys to writhe and moan helplessly. The door shut behind him.
Nicholas heard some faint hissing sound coming from the tablet in front of him. A chemical smell surrounded him. A gas was being released that caused all his fellow-tuggers to struggle even more. His eyelids grew heavy, and he sunk into darkness again.
Chapter 2
Nicholas was having a strange dream. He drifted in and out of slumber, remotely aware of what was going on in brief outbursts. Like a nightmare, it refused to end. The helplessness from being restrained and silenced for good never went away. Confused feelings agitated the exchange student, though he never fully resurfaced from the depths of chemically induced sleep.
When he opened his eyes at last, a rush of adrenalin broke the spell. His friends were all there, sitting in a circle, straitjacketed and gagged. They sat at one-person desks with a small tablet.
He looked down: the same white canvas outfit was on him. His forearms were pulled across his chest, his hand under his armpits. Straps held them there in a self-hug. Other pieces of white canvas also wrapped his thighs and lower legs. He looked up and saw the others had their calves also wrapped in white stuff.
He squirmed to assess the tightness. The restraints were attached to the chair and desk; he couldn’t move his shoulder blades from the back of the seat, and his thighs were pinned down. The desks were bolted to the floor, so he couldn’t even get the furniture to move.
Most of his friends still had their eyes closed. His look crossed Fred’s, who faced him.
“Mgrmmmbllm,” the cute, black-haired teen greeted him across the circle.
His tongue was kept immobile by a rubber plug, the black leather strap keeping it inside his mouth pulled tight. It sealed his lips. Nicholas could spot buckles at the nape of his friends’ necks and the locks keeping them shut.
“Grmmmmm,” Fred replied. They both struggled again, communicating they could not get loose and displaying their fighting spirit.
The large room they were in had a high ceiling and a wall covered with mirrors and lined with a bar at waist’s height. It reminded Nicholas of a dancing studio; there was one at Saint Thomas More, he remembered.
Nicholas inspected the circle: Matt, Ben, Sora, Jason … but who was the next guy? He went on. To his left he saw Philip, Ben, Lewis, and another mysterious guest. The two unidentified lads were still asleep. They looked their age. Nicholas withheld judgment on their looks until he’d see them with their eyes open and their mouth uncovered.
Matt woke up and traded glances of disbelief.
Over the following half hour, the rest of the boys woke up one by one. They all seemed in shock and grunted and writhed to assess the sturdiness of their imprisonment. They all had quizzical looks towards the two strangers, who acted as annoyed as the Saint Sebastian lads.
The grunts ceased, though the unknown lads quit last. Billy turned to Morse code and asked Lewis what had happened. ”K-i-d-n-a-p-e-d-b-y-n-i-n-j-a”–spelling and plural didn’t matter when ‘Morsing’. Matt made a similar answer.
The two strangers looked at each other, then at the other boys, moaning and grunting their discomfort. Billy tried to transmit ‘calm down’ but he got wider eyes in response and more desperate moans. The second lad joined his friend’s moaning. Billy asked who they were, but the boys didn’t seem to understand his question
A door opened at the back of the room. The hampered communication stopped. The clattering of the door had all twelve captives turn to the sound. Nicholas turned his head, the noise coming from behind him. A thin, wiry silhouette dressed in black Lycra entered his vision.
“You’re silent all of a sudden— good,” a man said with a foreign accent, stepping in the circle between Nicholas and Philip. “Pay attention to what I have to say, that is why you’re gagged in the first place.”
Annoyed, Keith couldn’t help it. “Grmmmmmgnnngmpbbblllmmmmmm!”
“A feisty Cowboy, no? I expected you to express such feelings, young man.”
He knew Keith’s nickname. The man lifted his arm, holding a white remote control. He pushed a button and two screens slid down from the ceiling at Nicholas’s left and right. The man’s showed all his muscles rippling underneath; it clung and shone to maximum effect.
“I imagine you are all wondering where you are and who I am, no? Be patient.”
He turned to one of the unknown boys and said something in a foreign language. Nicholas identified French, which explained the man’s accent. He knew enough to understand the man just translated what he’d said first.
The desks circle was wide enough for the man to walk inside, his gaze going from one boy to the other as he resumed speaking in English.
“I imagine Billy, Nicholas, and Sora understood I spoke French. You are having international adventures, Saint Sebastian boys! Meet Marc and Stéphane; they enjoy the tie-up games also. I’m sure they would love to welcome you to France if they could.”
Nicholas saw the boys’ nostrils flare, their eyes wide as saucers. Didn’t they understand what the man said?
“These two boys have convinced their boarding school’s mates to practice knots and tie-ups with them; they are not innocent lambs that you should feel bad for. You might ask: Why did you need these new friends? We needed two more people to join the famous Saint Sebastian TUGs brotherhood for a competition.”
Both Billy and Lewis couldn’t help letting out inquisitive grunts. Nicholas faced the black-clad man; the suit’s hood let only his grey eyes visible but he’d sworn he spotted a smile underneath.
“Your adventures have not been kept as confidential as you thought. Congratulations for never getting caught by the staff at Saint Thomas. Having an accomplice in Saint Sebastian’s hall must have helped. He has also reported your activities to the higher-ups in our little organization.”
Travis, their prefect, had made it possible for them to play safely and managed to get their dorm inhabited by boys who enjoyed TUGs. He’d also mentioned a tradition of tie-up games in Saint Sebastian.
“None of you wondered where all the tape, the ropes, the Glidor swimwear came from? We got them shipped to you. From our UK branch, of course.”
He turned to the French lads and said something Nicholas deemed a translation again.
“Your two new friends also came over our radar a while back, and we got them gear to run their club. They have not recruited as many members as you have, but they convinced their roommates. The head supervisor is one of us, so the kidnapping of their fellow-students was quite safe, no? You might meet them in the future, though they aren’t skilled enough yet for this challenge.”
The man turned to the foreigners and spoke in French. Nicholas understood he explained them who the Saint Sebastian boys were. He heard Billy’s name and got the full meaning in English afterwards.
“I’ll introduce you to Marc and Stéphane. Their English is not too good. Billy is the smart one, the bright student and the good-hearted leader,” he said, patting the boy’s hair. “He’s a good football player too, and his wits have gotten his friends out of messy situations.”
“Here is Lewis,” he said, moving to Billy’s neighbour. “He talks too much, which is why his friends often gag him. He is not too kind to his prisoners when they get in his clutches, so be warned.”
The bilingual introduction went on.
“Fred is the pretty boy of the bunch! He is good at sports, and he has been a member of the gang since day one. He is good at knots. Next is Matt, who got recruited by Billy. He is an expert at being kept prisoner for a long time, but always keen on revenge. Little Ben here got the whole thing started, since he brought Glidor swimwear to the game. He is a good student, and he’s clever when playing games, so beware! Sora is Matt’s pen friend. He came over from America at Christmas. He is a tape fiend, though he’s trained in knots.”
He moved to the bulkiest of the restrained lads, patting his crew-cut head.
“Jason is the big boy, no? I hope at some point you will be able to tell his exemplary story. He used to be a nasty bully. The Saint Sebastian boys abducted him to teach him one thing or two. Keith is Billy’s friend. Just look how cute the blond boy looks. But don’t be fooled! He is not any kinder to opponents when playing tugs”
Nicholas saw the man approaching him, bracing for his description.
“Likewise, watch out if you have to deal with Nicholas. He is trained in the martial arts. He may look scrawny but he is strong. He is from South America, where he practiced with a bunch of friends. He has proved a worthy player since he came over. And last but not least, here is Philip. He seldom smiles, but his black hair and blue eyes appeal to some of his friends, no?”
The man looked at Lewis.
“I have been told he enjoys getting his opponents to suffer, so better not fall in his hands.”
Throughout the description, the boys reacted to their portraying with unhappy grunts.
“You lads know enough about each other for now. You will have plenty of time to get acquainted, though some of you might be unable to tell personal anecdotes,” he said, casting a glance at Lewis. “Now, where are we and why did we bring you over? Welcome to the Manoir des Liens, home of the Grand Tournoi.”
He didn’t bother translating.
“We have run this competition for five years now. We invite promising TUG enthusiasts to assess their value.”
The word ‘invite’ triggered gagged protests.
“Is there a better way to enrol such experts? Our men went easy on you. They know immobilization techniques and can handle sedatives, which they demonstrated.”
Billy grunted his disagreement.
“You are miffed we chloroformed you, Billy? It is not safe? Well, our kind is. I will not go into chemical details only a couple of you would get, but this is a custom-made narcotic. It acts faster and is way less dangerous than actual chloroform. But it smells and feels just like it. Its effects are short-lived, but we used hypodermic shots to get you unconscious through the trip. You stayed strapped and gagged throughout. We cannot have a panicky guest make a fuss at the back of the van.”
The man slowly spun on his heel, watching the angry gagged faces of his “guests.”
“We will see if you lads refrain from using it in your competition. You will have access to sedatives as well as restraining accessories. If you do not use them, maybe the others will.”
He looked at Billy. His captive audience waited for explanations.
“Let me tell you about our tournoi—the tournament. It confronts three teams of four boys. The trials and games will run over two weeks.”
The plugs muffled gasps of surprise.
“No whining! You plotted to have a TUGs camp, so no one will wonder where you went, no?”
He turned to the French boys, explaining the same. Nicholas picked up that he was referring to the boys’ roommates, who had joined another camp. He then pressed the remote control. The screens lit up.
“Here is a video with the highlights of the competition from last year.”
“Great Tournament” appeared on the screen in letters of fire over a black background. It cut to three boys dressed in mock military uniforms binding another one dressed as a boy-scout. He tried to scream but one of his attackers kept his palm tight on the boy’s lips.
The video lasted almost three minutes, depicting boys being stuffed in large chests, taunted as they were tree-tied, walking in a line of five prisoners hobbled together with cotton rope, and one lad suspended to a tree branch by his ankles.
The captured lads all seemed gagged thoroughly, and moaned accordingly. The video ended.
“I hope you are inspired. Last year’s contestants were good and they gave a great show. You will get to see more of this if you’re still with us when the competition ends. We can’t spoil the games with letting you know too much. You will get detailed instructions for each game. You want to try hard: we score the team’s performance, but we also keep individual scores. You need to perform well in both categories if you want to climb on the podium. There are prizes worthy of your fight!”
The boys looked intently, expecting more information on the rewards.
“You cannot let me know you approve, my British friends, but you should ...”
The ”ninja” pressed another button on the remote. A video stream faded in on both large screens. The sight caused insults and threats the gags kept in check.
Travis sat on his desk chair. He was strapped to it with belts, ropes, and twine. His lower face was plastered with white sticky stuff. Two of the man’s goons framed the helpless prefect.
“While you are having your tugs camp, your prefect cannot be left on his own. But do not worry. We have planned two weeks of entertainment for Travis.”
The man switched the video feed off.
“I hope you lads will make the most of this stay and prove your worth as TUG players. Let the games begin!”
He walked back where he came from, leaving the twelve restrained boys to writhe and moan helplessly. The door shut behind him.
Nicholas heard some faint hissing sound coming from the tablet in front of him. A chemical smell surrounded him. A gas was being released that caused all his fellow-tuggers to struggle even more. His eyelids grew heavy, and he sunk into darkness again.
-
Bondwriter
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The Great Tournament
Chapter 3
Nicholas slowly came to his senses. Becoming aware of his predicament triggered a rush of adrenaline. He had a blindfold on and his limbs were held behind him. He’d been put in a tight hogtie.
His mouth was free, which surprised him. Nothing inside his gob, no tape plastered over his lips … He heard some motion a few feet away.
“Hey? Anybody there?”
“Hey, Nick,” he heard Billy reply in a drowsy voice. “Glad you’re here.”
“I wish I wasn’t, but yeah, glad we’re on the same team.”
“I’m hogtied and these people know their knots.”
“So am I,” the exchange student replied, “but we have our teeth to undo the knots. Don’t move; I’ll help you out.”
Nicholas had practiced moving while bound many times during his semester in England. He crawled towards the voice, realizing the clothes he wore were tight.
“It’s not like I can run,” Billy replied.
Nicholas bumped into an inert body.
“There’s somebody else. It must be Ben.”
He knew his friends’ smell well enough. He’d made contact with his chest and identified the boy’s breath.
“The ninja guy told us there would be three teams, so there must be someone else,” Billy said. “Let’s hurry up and free them.”
“Ugh?” another voice grunted.
“You’re up, Lou?” Billy asked. One syllable was enough to identify Lewis as the fourth team member.
“Not exactly, since I’m held in a nasty hogtie and lying on my belly. I’m awake though. These clowns didn’t gag us, we’ll be out of their ropes in no time.”
“We had the same idea. I’m on my way to free Billy,” Nicholas said.
“Little Nicky is in my team,” Lewis said. “Good lad. Get busy, I don’t want to wait for too long like this.”
Nicholas’ head touched a body.
“That’s my butt, Nicky,” Billy said. “I’ll get on my side so you can reach my wrists.”
Nicholas felt a shorted buttock brush against his thick black hair.
“No naughty stuff, randy runts! We’ve got a mission to fulfil,” Lewis scolded.
“Hey, guys,” they heard Ben say. “How is everybody?”
“We’re fine,” Lewis answered. “It’s Billy, Nick, you, and I. Nick is looking for a knot to release Billy’s hands.”
“He found it,” Billy announced, feeling the strong teeth pick a knot and loosen it.
“It’s high time,” Lewis sighed, “I’d like to get free and start kicking our kidnappers’ butts.”
“Their drugs didn’t put you down,” Billy commented.
“I feel a bit drowsy but I’ve been mad as hell since these pyjama guys grabbed us. We’re going to teach them a lesson.”
“I wish,” Ben said weakly, “but they outnumber us and are much stronger.”
“We’ve got you, Billy, and Nicky. You have brains, that’s all it takes to defeat our opponents. How’s the release going?”
“One knot off,” Nicholas informed his team.
“It’s the right one,” Billy said. “I think I’ve got it … left wrist free! And off with the blindfold … Just the ankles now. So, our team is the Boy-Scouts the guy talked about. You look great in uniform, Lewis. The shorts are brown, but they’re not corduroy. They look like Glidor.”
He reached his own behind with his freed hand.
“Definitely Glidor. Done, I’ll release Nick.”
When Nicholas recovered his sight, he spotted Lewis and Ben hogtied; the shorts looked good and departed from the traditional boy-scouts look. The neckerchiefs were silk, and they wore ankle boots with beige socks going up to their knees. He relished the uniform adaptation by fetishists of shiny fabrics–he was one of them after all.
They wore the same blindfold he’d just removed: it was a piece of leather, the shape of a sleeping mask, with a wide, stretchy canvas strap that kept it tight over the head.
“Can you hurry, Billy? I’m not used to waiting for so long.”
“Hold on, Lou. If you don’t behave, we’ll leave you here to wriggle around like a helpless worm.”
“I’ll free him,” Ben said, starting to slip over the carpet.
“I’m kidding! We’ve got to stick together to get out of this mess,” Billy reassured him.
Nicholas was free of ropes and jumped to his feet. He stepped forward to remove Lewis’s blindfold.
“Thanks, Nick,” Lewis said. “The shorts are Glidor indeed.”
Nicholas stood above the hogtied lad, his crotch visible from an interesting angle.
“Count yourself lucky we’ve got more important things to do, otherwise I would just get the blindfold back on.”
“Your neckerchief would also make a good gag,” Ben added.
Once free, the four ‘boy-scouts’ stood up and took in their surroundings. They had been left at the corners of a woollen carpet that lay in the middle of a large room. The walls had dark panels of wood, with stuffed heads of deer, boars, and foxes staring back at them. There was a large fireplace at the end of the room and a table to seat fifteen or twenty people with crates on it. Big windows let daylight in, but they were too high to see anything but the blue sky of a summer day.
The only door was on the left of the hearth. Lewis rushed towards the exit but stopped as he lowered the handle.
“Wait! Don’t go out on your own, Lou. There’s a letter on the table.”
The impatient player listened to the voice of reason and joined his friends; two large boxes lay under the sheet of paper Billy picked up.
“You are the Boy-Scouts. As experts in knots and living outdoors, your base camp is the building you’re in—the hunting lodge. The Football Players’ is the clubhouse and the Soldiers’ is a barn. The base camps are sanctuaries: once a prisoner is brought inside, no one can enter and rescue him. Your mission is to capture as many of the other team members as you can.”
“Travis must be in on this,” Lewis commented. “It sounds like one of his set-ups.”
Billy cast a bored glance.
“Catching prisoners will be achieved with ropes, stealth, cunning, and team work. Silencing them is essential. You start with the content of the boxes. The playing field features bonus materials. The Great Tournament offers two panel gags, two inflatable ones, and two mouth corsets for worthy players. There are also five rolls of tape and three pairs of handcuffs scattered throughout the estate. These complimentary items have a golden label to help make them visible.”
“A scavenger hunt …” Lewis dreamily stated.
“Shut up,” Ben scolded, “let Billy finish.”
Nicholas clamped a hand on Lewis’s lips.
“I want to hear what Billy’s got to say too.”
“A bell will ring at eleven to start the game and another one will end it at nine tonight. Let the best ones prevail,” Billy ended.
Nicholas let go of his mock handgag. “What’s in these boxes?”
He opened them and got the loot out.
“Eight super long coils of rope, that’s two per person, and three rolls of duct tape. There’s a cell phone too … It doesn’t seem to work.”
Billy inspected the device.
“This is a challenge we can win, Lewis. Ben, Billy, and I are smart and fast. You’re a worthy player too,” Nicholas cheered his teammate.
“Of course, any team that has me as its leader wins,” Lewis replied in a hushed voice, “but we should keep quiet or discuss this outside. Walls have ears.”
Lewis had learned caution since his room had been bugged. The gang went out the door. It opened on a short corridor that led to the entrance. The wall to their left featured windows letting them see the lawn and woods outside, and the one on the right had two doors displaying familiar pictograms. Ben opened them to get a peek.
“A toilet and a shower,” he confirmed.
Lewis opened the entrance door, letting the bright sun in. The quartet gathered a few yards away from the likely bugged lodge, staying in the warm glow. They looked around the clearing the building was in, but the trees were close and they couldn’t see beyond them.
“What do you think, then? Isn’t it a typical Travis trick?” Lewis asked.
“It could be,” Ben said, “but this is very elaborate. Are we really in France? The trees look like English ones.”
“Look at the building,” Billy said. “I’ve stayed some time here in France with my parents. If you ask me, Travis isn’t the mastermind of all this. Sure, he pulled a fast one on Nicky at Easter with his friends, but this goes one notch higher. How could Travis have managed this, Lou?”
“I heard the pyjama man. I think he told the truth. Travis is a henchman for rich pervs who enjoy dressing us up in kinky clothes.”
They all paused, looking closer at each other, then at themselves. Their thighs were on full display and the clingy Glidor highlighted their curves.
“Think of all the stuff we got delivered,” Lewis resumed. “The stockpile of shorts, the Glidor swimwear, and then shirts or hoods made-to-measure.”
“And Travis received leather cuffs and harnesses six weeks ago,” Nicholas added.
In the distance, a bell tolled. The four friends looked at each other; the game had begun.
“Our ‘benefactors’ abducted us, then,” Lewis sighed before hollering: “We’re going to show them!”
“That’s the spirit,” Billy approved. “With the gear from the boxes, we’re prepared if we meet someone. Let’s scout the estate!”
He led the way, following a path that went into the woods. Lewis was last, which gave him another opportunity to admire the interesting shorts. All four treaded carefully, keeping eyes and ears open.
Ben raised his hand and tapped on Billy’s shoulder, stopping the group. He pointed to their left. They heard underbrush rustling a few tens of yards away. He crouched, his team members following his example.
The group duck walked a few feet to the left of the path, hiding among a clump of ferns. The faint steps of a single visitor came towards them. Billy gestured who had to take care of what in subduing the wanderer.
Philip thought he was stealthy. However, thirty seconds before the assault he moved a branch out of his way, which made a rustling racket. He cursed himself. It was too late, he’d been spotted.
One hour before, he had woken up in a cozy sports locker-room, sitting against a pole, his hands cuffed and locked behind his back. The plug gag was on, so he couldn’t speak to Keith, Sora or one of the French guys, Stéphane, who were all bound and gagged the way he was. They were dressed with football kits, the four jerseys bearing the numbers 10, 11, 12, and 13.
He tried to greet his team members. Sora was too busy twisting around and fumbling with his wrists to reply. Soon, the Florida native’s wrists came to the front. He unbuckled his gag.
“It’s an easy one; the code is your jersey number.”
Philip contortioned to see the lock. It had a dial with numbers from 1 to 99; this wasn’t a serious piece of hardware. He set it on 13 and freed himself.
The game’s instructions sat on a bench. Keith convinced the team to explore as much as they could following the four points of the compass before gathering back at their base camp to strategize.
Philip picked south. He heard the bell signalling the start of the competition and walked another half-mile. Then the assault occurred.
He saw a flash of beige as four boys crashed into him, bringing him face down to the ground. Philip knew his goose was cooked; eight arms had grabbed him. He couldn’t win against four Saint Sebastian boys, regardless of the group’s makeup.
The hand gagging him was Lewis’s; Billy and Nicholas had his wrists pinned between his shoulder blades, and Ben clung to his legs, sitting on his calves and embracing his thighs. He identified their smell and their touch.
Philip struggled, but his thighs were wrapped in rope and soon so were his ankles. Ben joined his friends and lashed the wrists crossed at the top of his back. He made it strict.
Nicholas sat on his bum to prevent unwanted motion while Ben removed their prisoner’s sneakers and socks. They were long but very thin. Ben brandished them, Lewis giving him a thumbs-up. Billy kneeled next to Lewis, ready to assist for longer-term silencing.
“Calm down, my handsome friend,” Lewis whispered. “We decided to take part in these pervs’ interesting contest. With Billy and I in the same team, there’s no way we can lose. I know you’re going to try to call your friends, but you’ve been foolhardy, wandering in the woods on your own. The injudicious ones always end up paying for their misdeeds.”
Ben joined the gagging squad, bringing the socks close to Philippe’s nostrils.
“You haven’t worn them for long, so no whining,” he said, letting his prey judge for himself.
“I’ll remove my hand but don’t even think of making a sound.”
Philip was as competitive as his friends.
“Helmmmmmgmmmmbbllmmm.”
Ben had skilled fingers and good pacing. He crammed the first sock in; Lewis assisted in pushing the fabric inside his friend’s gob.
Nicholas hovered above the group, duct tape in hand, looking if the faint, short scream had been heard. No one.
“There’s room for the other sock before we tape his lips,” he pointed out.
The black-haired boy’s suggestion was silently approved with smiles and winks. Philip struggled before he let Ben stuff the second garment. He acquiesced for now; he stood a better chance at turning the tables standing, as his team members would see him.
Billy made room for Nicholas, who used the tried and proven method to tape a prisoner’s lips: a wide strip sealing the lips, an X crossing above them, and three more horizontal strips to plaster the lower face.
Lewis and Ben got the captive on his feet so Nicholas could complete the taping with two turns around his head.
Billy lengthened the ropes hobbling their prisoner so he could take small steps.
“We need to be super cautious bringing him to the lair, there could be others around.”
“Why don’t we split in two groups?” Ben suggested, “I’ll go with Nick make another prisoner while you secure Phil inside our headquarters.”
Lewis cast him a sorry look.
“You two will overpower Jason? I don’t think so.”
“For once, I agree with you, Lou,” Billy said. “The football team wasn’t too smart to split up. See Phil! He scouted and he found scouts!”
TBC
The Great Tournament
Chapter 3
Nicholas slowly came to his senses. Becoming aware of his predicament triggered a rush of adrenaline. He had a blindfold on and his limbs were held behind him. He’d been put in a tight hogtie.
His mouth was free, which surprised him. Nothing inside his gob, no tape plastered over his lips … He heard some motion a few feet away.
“Hey? Anybody there?”
“Hey, Nick,” he heard Billy reply in a drowsy voice. “Glad you’re here.”
“I wish I wasn’t, but yeah, glad we’re on the same team.”
“I’m hogtied and these people know their knots.”
“So am I,” the exchange student replied, “but we have our teeth to undo the knots. Don’t move; I’ll help you out.”
Nicholas had practiced moving while bound many times during his semester in England. He crawled towards the voice, realizing the clothes he wore were tight.
“It’s not like I can run,” Billy replied.
Nicholas bumped into an inert body.
“There’s somebody else. It must be Ben.”
He knew his friends’ smell well enough. He’d made contact with his chest and identified the boy’s breath.
“The ninja guy told us there would be three teams, so there must be someone else,” Billy said. “Let’s hurry up and free them.”
“Ugh?” another voice grunted.
“You’re up, Lou?” Billy asked. One syllable was enough to identify Lewis as the fourth team member.
“Not exactly, since I’m held in a nasty hogtie and lying on my belly. I’m awake though. These clowns didn’t gag us, we’ll be out of their ropes in no time.”
“We had the same idea. I’m on my way to free Billy,” Nicholas said.
“Little Nicky is in my team,” Lewis said. “Good lad. Get busy, I don’t want to wait for too long like this.”
Nicholas’ head touched a body.
“That’s my butt, Nicky,” Billy said. “I’ll get on my side so you can reach my wrists.”
Nicholas felt a shorted buttock brush against his thick black hair.
“No naughty stuff, randy runts! We’ve got a mission to fulfil,” Lewis scolded.
“Hey, guys,” they heard Ben say. “How is everybody?”
“We’re fine,” Lewis answered. “It’s Billy, Nick, you, and I. Nick is looking for a knot to release Billy’s hands.”
“He found it,” Billy announced, feeling the strong teeth pick a knot and loosen it.
“It’s high time,” Lewis sighed, “I’d like to get free and start kicking our kidnappers’ butts.”
“Their drugs didn’t put you down,” Billy commented.
“I feel a bit drowsy but I’ve been mad as hell since these pyjama guys grabbed us. We’re going to teach them a lesson.”
“I wish,” Ben said weakly, “but they outnumber us and are much stronger.”
“We’ve got you, Billy, and Nicky. You have brains, that’s all it takes to defeat our opponents. How’s the release going?”
“One knot off,” Nicholas informed his team.
“It’s the right one,” Billy said. “I think I’ve got it … left wrist free! And off with the blindfold … Just the ankles now. So, our team is the Boy-Scouts the guy talked about. You look great in uniform, Lewis. The shorts are brown, but they’re not corduroy. They look like Glidor.”
He reached his own behind with his freed hand.
“Definitely Glidor. Done, I’ll release Nick.”
When Nicholas recovered his sight, he spotted Lewis and Ben hogtied; the shorts looked good and departed from the traditional boy-scouts look. The neckerchiefs were silk, and they wore ankle boots with beige socks going up to their knees. He relished the uniform adaptation by fetishists of shiny fabrics–he was one of them after all.
They wore the same blindfold he’d just removed: it was a piece of leather, the shape of a sleeping mask, with a wide, stretchy canvas strap that kept it tight over the head.
“Can you hurry, Billy? I’m not used to waiting for so long.”
“Hold on, Lou. If you don’t behave, we’ll leave you here to wriggle around like a helpless worm.”
“I’ll free him,” Ben said, starting to slip over the carpet.
“I’m kidding! We’ve got to stick together to get out of this mess,” Billy reassured him.
Nicholas was free of ropes and jumped to his feet. He stepped forward to remove Lewis’s blindfold.
“Thanks, Nick,” Lewis said. “The shorts are Glidor indeed.”
Nicholas stood above the hogtied lad, his crotch visible from an interesting angle.
“Count yourself lucky we’ve got more important things to do, otherwise I would just get the blindfold back on.”
“Your neckerchief would also make a good gag,” Ben added.
Once free, the four ‘boy-scouts’ stood up and took in their surroundings. They had been left at the corners of a woollen carpet that lay in the middle of a large room. The walls had dark panels of wood, with stuffed heads of deer, boars, and foxes staring back at them. There was a large fireplace at the end of the room and a table to seat fifteen or twenty people with crates on it. Big windows let daylight in, but they were too high to see anything but the blue sky of a summer day.
The only door was on the left of the hearth. Lewis rushed towards the exit but stopped as he lowered the handle.
“Wait! Don’t go out on your own, Lou. There’s a letter on the table.”
The impatient player listened to the voice of reason and joined his friends; two large boxes lay under the sheet of paper Billy picked up.
“You are the Boy-Scouts. As experts in knots and living outdoors, your base camp is the building you’re in—the hunting lodge. The Football Players’ is the clubhouse and the Soldiers’ is a barn. The base camps are sanctuaries: once a prisoner is brought inside, no one can enter and rescue him. Your mission is to capture as many of the other team members as you can.”
“Travis must be in on this,” Lewis commented. “It sounds like one of his set-ups.”
Billy cast a bored glance.
“Catching prisoners will be achieved with ropes, stealth, cunning, and team work. Silencing them is essential. You start with the content of the boxes. The playing field features bonus materials. The Great Tournament offers two panel gags, two inflatable ones, and two mouth corsets for worthy players. There are also five rolls of tape and three pairs of handcuffs scattered throughout the estate. These complimentary items have a golden label to help make them visible.”
“A scavenger hunt …” Lewis dreamily stated.
“Shut up,” Ben scolded, “let Billy finish.”
Nicholas clamped a hand on Lewis’s lips.
“I want to hear what Billy’s got to say too.”
“A bell will ring at eleven to start the game and another one will end it at nine tonight. Let the best ones prevail,” Billy ended.
Nicholas let go of his mock handgag. “What’s in these boxes?”
He opened them and got the loot out.
“Eight super long coils of rope, that’s two per person, and three rolls of duct tape. There’s a cell phone too … It doesn’t seem to work.”
Billy inspected the device.
“This is a challenge we can win, Lewis. Ben, Billy, and I are smart and fast. You’re a worthy player too,” Nicholas cheered his teammate.
“Of course, any team that has me as its leader wins,” Lewis replied in a hushed voice, “but we should keep quiet or discuss this outside. Walls have ears.”
Lewis had learned caution since his room had been bugged. The gang went out the door. It opened on a short corridor that led to the entrance. The wall to their left featured windows letting them see the lawn and woods outside, and the one on the right had two doors displaying familiar pictograms. Ben opened them to get a peek.
“A toilet and a shower,” he confirmed.
Lewis opened the entrance door, letting the bright sun in. The quartet gathered a few yards away from the likely bugged lodge, staying in the warm glow. They looked around the clearing the building was in, but the trees were close and they couldn’t see beyond them.
“What do you think, then? Isn’t it a typical Travis trick?” Lewis asked.
“It could be,” Ben said, “but this is very elaborate. Are we really in France? The trees look like English ones.”
“Look at the building,” Billy said. “I’ve stayed some time here in France with my parents. If you ask me, Travis isn’t the mastermind of all this. Sure, he pulled a fast one on Nicky at Easter with his friends, but this goes one notch higher. How could Travis have managed this, Lou?”
“I heard the pyjama man. I think he told the truth. Travis is a henchman for rich pervs who enjoy dressing us up in kinky clothes.”
They all paused, looking closer at each other, then at themselves. Their thighs were on full display and the clingy Glidor highlighted their curves.
“Think of all the stuff we got delivered,” Lewis resumed. “The stockpile of shorts, the Glidor swimwear, and then shirts or hoods made-to-measure.”
“And Travis received leather cuffs and harnesses six weeks ago,” Nicholas added.
In the distance, a bell tolled. The four friends looked at each other; the game had begun.
“Our ‘benefactors’ abducted us, then,” Lewis sighed before hollering: “We’re going to show them!”
“That’s the spirit,” Billy approved. “With the gear from the boxes, we’re prepared if we meet someone. Let’s scout the estate!”
He led the way, following a path that went into the woods. Lewis was last, which gave him another opportunity to admire the interesting shorts. All four treaded carefully, keeping eyes and ears open.
Ben raised his hand and tapped on Billy’s shoulder, stopping the group. He pointed to their left. They heard underbrush rustling a few tens of yards away. He crouched, his team members following his example.
The group duck walked a few feet to the left of the path, hiding among a clump of ferns. The faint steps of a single visitor came towards them. Billy gestured who had to take care of what in subduing the wanderer.
Philip thought he was stealthy. However, thirty seconds before the assault he moved a branch out of his way, which made a rustling racket. He cursed himself. It was too late, he’d been spotted.
One hour before, he had woken up in a cozy sports locker-room, sitting against a pole, his hands cuffed and locked behind his back. The plug gag was on, so he couldn’t speak to Keith, Sora or one of the French guys, Stéphane, who were all bound and gagged the way he was. They were dressed with football kits, the four jerseys bearing the numbers 10, 11, 12, and 13.
He tried to greet his team members. Sora was too busy twisting around and fumbling with his wrists to reply. Soon, the Florida native’s wrists came to the front. He unbuckled his gag.
“It’s an easy one; the code is your jersey number.”
Philip contortioned to see the lock. It had a dial with numbers from 1 to 99; this wasn’t a serious piece of hardware. He set it on 13 and freed himself.
The game’s instructions sat on a bench. Keith convinced the team to explore as much as they could following the four points of the compass before gathering back at their base camp to strategize.
Philip picked south. He heard the bell signalling the start of the competition and walked another half-mile. Then the assault occurred.
He saw a flash of beige as four boys crashed into him, bringing him face down to the ground. Philip knew his goose was cooked; eight arms had grabbed him. He couldn’t win against four Saint Sebastian boys, regardless of the group’s makeup.
The hand gagging him was Lewis’s; Billy and Nicholas had his wrists pinned between his shoulder blades, and Ben clung to his legs, sitting on his calves and embracing his thighs. He identified their smell and their touch.
Philip struggled, but his thighs were wrapped in rope and soon so were his ankles. Ben joined his friends and lashed the wrists crossed at the top of his back. He made it strict.
Nicholas sat on his bum to prevent unwanted motion while Ben removed their prisoner’s sneakers and socks. They were long but very thin. Ben brandished them, Lewis giving him a thumbs-up. Billy kneeled next to Lewis, ready to assist for longer-term silencing.
“Calm down, my handsome friend,” Lewis whispered. “We decided to take part in these pervs’ interesting contest. With Billy and I in the same team, there’s no way we can lose. I know you’re going to try to call your friends, but you’ve been foolhardy, wandering in the woods on your own. The injudicious ones always end up paying for their misdeeds.”
Ben joined the gagging squad, bringing the socks close to Philippe’s nostrils.
“You haven’t worn them for long, so no whining,” he said, letting his prey judge for himself.
“I’ll remove my hand but don’t even think of making a sound.”
Philip was as competitive as his friends.
“Helmmmmmgmmmmbbllmmm.”
Ben had skilled fingers and good pacing. He crammed the first sock in; Lewis assisted in pushing the fabric inside his friend’s gob.
Nicholas hovered above the group, duct tape in hand, looking if the faint, short scream had been heard. No one.
“There’s room for the other sock before we tape his lips,” he pointed out.
The black-haired boy’s suggestion was silently approved with smiles and winks. Philip struggled before he let Ben stuff the second garment. He acquiesced for now; he stood a better chance at turning the tables standing, as his team members would see him.
Billy made room for Nicholas, who used the tried and proven method to tape a prisoner’s lips: a wide strip sealing the lips, an X crossing above them, and three more horizontal strips to plaster the lower face.
Lewis and Ben got the captive on his feet so Nicholas could complete the taping with two turns around his head.
Billy lengthened the ropes hobbling their prisoner so he could take small steps.
“We need to be super cautious bringing him to the lair, there could be others around.”
“Why don’t we split in two groups?” Ben suggested, “I’ll go with Nick make another prisoner while you secure Phil inside our headquarters.”
Lewis cast him a sorry look.
“You two will overpower Jason? I don’t think so.”
“For once, I agree with you, Lou,” Billy said. “The football team wasn’t too smart to split up. See Phil! He scouted and he found scouts!”
TBC
-
Bondwriter
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 575
- Joined: 6 years ago
The Great Tournament
Chapter 4
The quartet framed their captive to escort him to the hunting lodge. Lewis and Nicholas walked in front, while Ben and Billy followed the convict with a hand on his shoulders to thwart any attempt of running away. They started seeing their destination through the trees when Nicholas raised his hand to stop the troop. He pointed to a small green canvas bag in a shrub. It had a tiny golden label attached.
He took five steps through the underbrush and picked up the bag, which clattered. A pair of chrome steel handcuffs was inside. The boys exchanged silent thumbs-up and resumed their walk.
For his part, Philip tried to stall his opponents by taking smaller steps. Maybe Keith or Sora would come to his rescue before he entered the sanctuary.
“Not very smart,” Ben whispered in his ear. “Reluctant captives get a spanking.”
He felt the boy’s hand pushing him further.
“No dawdling,” Billy scolded, prodding their prey.
Lewis and Nicholas scrutinized the hunting lodge’s surroundings. No one was in sight. They ran to the door.
Philip didn’t walk fast enough to his keepers’ taste. They grabbed him under the armpits and dragged him across the lawn before the entrance.
“The coast is clear,” Lewis said from the threshold, ushering them in. He cautiously closed the door behind the group. “Let’s truss up our football player, interrogate him, and go capture the rest of his team.”
“They got interesting uniforms,” Billy said.
“I wish my national team had a kit like this. I would like watching football even more,” Nicholas added.
Philip didn’t mind being praised for his looks. He enjoyed how the football kit looked on his teammates; it was clingy, yet it let him move easily––until these boy-scouts caught him. In contrast, his enemy’s outfits were somewhat silly; making fun of his clothing brought the words pot and kettle to his mind—and black, as were his shorts.
“We could truss him up on the toilet, so we can leave him for a long time,” Ben suggested.
“What about us if we need to go?” Nicholas asked. “We’d better handcuff him to the curtain rod in the shower. It’s solid.”
“I like keeping him in the bathroom; it’s cold and damp and fit for the scoundrel. But what a waste of the handcuffs, my sub-tropical friend! They’ll be more useful hunting for his fellow-sissy football players,” Lewis objected.
“We’ve got enough practice with rope to ensure total immobility,” Billy said, annoyed to agree with Lewis again. “And there’s plenty to tie him up with. Let’s save the cuffs for Keith.”
“Or Jason,” Nicholas offered.
They stayed in the hall where they had space to work their collective magic. They surrounded Philip and undertook a classic tie-up, deemed both effective and efficient.
They untied his wrists from the stringent position between his shoulder blades. Lewis and Nicholas worked on binding them crossed at the small of his back. Ben and Billy wove a body harness wrapping his torso, from the back of his nape to his crotch. A crotch rope was a must so the net didn’t slip.
While kneeling, Billy tackled the legs, starting at the top of the thighs with two turns and a square knot, and a criss-crossing to go down to his ankles, with tight horizontal turns every four inches or so.
Lewis tied a rope to pull Philip’s elbows closer, and wrapped it around his chest to pin his arms tightly to his body.
“Nice work, my henchmen. Now let’s hang him out to dry.”
They dragged the bundle inside the bathroom, which was tiled. The shower tray was enamel, and it felt cold.
Ben threw a rope over the curtain rod. He worked with Lewis only, as there wasn’t enough room for them all. Nicholas and Billy watched with interest, though. The two ends were threaded through the harness, behind their prisoner’s back. The audience couldn’t see it all but the technique was familiar. They saw Ben and Lewis pull on the ends, lifting Philip slowly. The rope started sliding along his shorted butt crack until it became a nasty wedgie.
“Mrrgrrmmmrmmmph!”
“Hush,” Lewis commanded, smacking the bottom loudly. “You’ve stayed on tiptoes before, this is good training.”
“You’ll get some slack if you answer our questions,” Billy said, playing the nice cop. “First, we need to know your teammates. Are you going to tell us?”
Philip considered his opponents; Lewis was still holding a grudge for the strict tie-up and torture he’d submitted him to the week before. The three others were keen on winning at all costs.
“Hmm,” he surrendered.
Billy ran the interrogation. He was the best at eliciting information offering binary choices. The task was fastidious, but less than five minutes later he learned the other Football Players were Keith, Sora, and Stéphane, the French newbie. Philip also informed of their strategy to go explore on their own. He then gave the general directions to their camp, which was next to a tennis court, not a football field.
“You’ve proved cooperative. We’ll make you comfier,” Billy assessed.
“I hope you’re not deceiving us,” Nicholas said, loosening the ropes from the curtain rod, “because we’ll be back.”
The teen left enough slack to release the tension, but the rope still pulled Philip’s shorts up his crack if he let the balls of his feet touch the tiles.
“Should we hunt his teammates or scout to find the third team’s camp?” Ben asked.
His three fellow Boy-Scouts thought finding the Football Players’ clubhouse and watching it closely made more sense. The team had split and lonely wanderers were easier to seize.
“We’ll catch and hide them, then we’ll tackle the Soldiers,” Billy concluded.
“This is a plan I can agree with,” Lewis said. “It’s simple yet well thought out. You avoid the pitfall of going against our army lads. Their team features Jason. If we have to subdue the Boar, he’d better be alone. You’re smart, Billy. Don’t great minds think alike?” he asked Philip, holding his chin with three fingers and looking straight into his eyes.
“When we’re back with all these clowns as our prisoners, I’ll take care of you myself. In the meanwhile, you may spend this time alone to imagine what I have in store.”
The four brown- and beige-wearing lads left the hunting lodge, borrowing the same path as the first time. They walked slowly, avoiding branches that would crack. They all were on the lookout for a noise or a sight revealing an enemy.
They passed the place where they’d grabbed Philip. They kept going along the path, which crossed a meadow five minutes later. Each boy-scout watched a quadrant to avoid any surprise attack and spot potential watchers. They reached the other side without detecting a threat.
The path led them through a wooded area again; it wound around and went down. Close to the edge of it, they saw a building in the distance. A large red rectangle next to had to be the tennis court.
They were getting ready to cross the open field and reach a coppice close to the building when they heard shouting that stopped them in their tracks.
“Help! Let me go crapcrrrmmmmmmm!”
Looking at each other, the boy-scouts silently confirmed the voice: Sora had just been caught. They turned to the source of the sound on their left. The lad and his attackers were a few tens of yards away at the most, but the shrubs and bushes along the edge were tall and hid them.
Billy led, crouching. They were really close, though foliage still prevented them from seeing. The noise had receded, but they heard Sora’s angry “mmphs.” Billy got down on all fours, followed by his teammates, who were treated with Glidor-clad bums to look at.
At last, Billy saw Marc and Fred from under a thick flourishing laurel tree. The two Soldiers were straddling their prisoner, getting busy with ropes and whispering. Fred made lots of signs. The handsome eastern-looking friend was avoiding making noise. The interactions with his fellow-soldier were entertaining to watch. They had language issues.
The task’s purpose was clear enough for the binders, though. They wove ropes, threaded and knotted eagerly, ensnaring their victim in a web of white cotton rope.
Billy felt his ”patrol” lining up silently at his sides, keen to watch the show. The Soldiers’ uniforms weren’t shiny, but they clung tightly to the skin nonetheless. They wore khaki shorts that went almost down to their knees and tight light brown shirts. Black bovver boots with big woollen socks went up to their knees. The latter were bright red and contrasted with the rest of the outfit, which allowed blending in the field.
This time, Nicholas could appreciate Marc’s facial features in full. He looked fifteen or sixteen, tall, with a mop of straight brown hair tentatively parted on the right. His eyes were light brown or green, he couldn’t tell. His big and red lips would be a pleasure to plaster with tape.
Lewis tapped Billy’s shoulder; it was time to act. The patrol leader raised his head slowly, silently mobilizing his three friends. With small finger motions, he shared out the responsibilities. The two Soldiers were moving their prey onto his belly and had their backs to their invisible foes. Billy mouthed “one, two, three,” and they leaped out from the cover of the leaves.
Nicholas and Ben grabbed the French guy before he even heard them coming. Fred, whose sixth sense had alerted to something happening behind him, was about to shout when Lewis crashed into him, knocking the air out of his lungs. Billy’s hand covered Fred’s lips before he could shout.
Marc wasn’t faring any better. He was lying face down, with Nicholas sitting between his shoulder blades, holding his head and handgagging him. Ben sat on his thighs; he’d caught his wrists, crossed and pulled them apart strongly, ensuring any motion was difficult, even painful.
Lewis snapped the handcuffs on Fred. Rope in hand, he slid towards the boy’s feet. He wrapped rope around his thighs and redid the same with the calves, just above the boots, which he removed.
Marc didn’t fight for long. While keeping the flesh seal tight on the new boy’s lips, Nicholas turned his head towards the other group so he could witness Fred’s demise. The immobilized lad had his socks removed, so his assailants could tackle the next stage.
Billy went to their captive’s head, holding a rolled-up sock. It was big, but it would fit.
“Fred, my boy, you’d better behave and let young Billy do what he has to do,” Lewis hissed in his ear.
Fred tried to alert his team nonetheless, which caused his assailant to tighten the grip on his hair. Billy had no trouble stuffing the balled-up wool through his lips, which killed the scream before it went out.
“We thwarted your call, and you’ve earned a punishment for later,” Lewis said, his hand keeping the sock in while Billy unrolled a strip of tape to seal Fred’s lips with. Seven more strips swathed his lower face with shiny grey plastic before Billy did the final two turns that would make the gag stay.
“Get him trussed up quick, our new friend is very squirmy,” Nicholas whispered.
It was unusual seeing Lewis and Billy cooperate in roping up their lanky friend, but they did a great pair threading, cinching, and knotting like pros. They bound his forearms together, linking them to a solid chest harness. A temporary hogtie kept him still while they went to give Ben and Nicholas a hand.
Marc was in no position to get the boys off his back, but pride forced him to try. With the reinforcement, he experienced the full power of the Saint Sebastian boys holding each of his limbs and keeping his mouth shut. He had to surrender.
He felt the extra hands deprive him of his footwear, which announced the cramming of socks in his gob. His understood enough English to obey Lewis’s “not a noise” order. He followed his teammate’s example and didn’t comply. His short-lived shout earned him a severe hair-pulling and the forceful introduction of the sock. He couldn’t believe how smelly it was, considering the short time he’d worn it.
The taping went the same as with his accomplice; the cumulative effect of the layers spread across his lower face and the final turns around his head ensured silence.
They bound his arms with his hands palm to palm and his elbows almost touching. They hobbled his legs ready for the walk to their lair.
Ben kept an eye on the other prisoners and the woods around them, afraid to be caught by surprise.
“Sora’s trying to escape,” he whispered.
Ben rose to his feet and grabbed Sora’s hands, using the freshly unknotted rope to bind them back together. Two extra turns of duct tape over it made picking the knots impossible.
The Boy-Scouts stood up, looking at the three bound forms at their feet.
“Well done, boys, we’ve proved the best again! Let’s get them into jail,” Lewis whispered without vibrating his vocal cords. “It’s nice they’ve packed Huckleberry up for us.”
“Not too well,” Ben whispered back, checking the other ropes binding Sora were knotted properly.
The quartet quickly had the three hostages on their feet and hobbled. They used one of the five coils of rope the boys had with them to collar their captives and keep them in a chain gang less than three feet between each boy.
“No trying to run,” Billy instructed. “You don’t want to end up strangled.”
TBC
Chapter 4
The quartet framed their captive to escort him to the hunting lodge. Lewis and Nicholas walked in front, while Ben and Billy followed the convict with a hand on his shoulders to thwart any attempt of running away. They started seeing their destination through the trees when Nicholas raised his hand to stop the troop. He pointed to a small green canvas bag in a shrub. It had a tiny golden label attached.
He took five steps through the underbrush and picked up the bag, which clattered. A pair of chrome steel handcuffs was inside. The boys exchanged silent thumbs-up and resumed their walk.
For his part, Philip tried to stall his opponents by taking smaller steps. Maybe Keith or Sora would come to his rescue before he entered the sanctuary.
“Not very smart,” Ben whispered in his ear. “Reluctant captives get a spanking.”
He felt the boy’s hand pushing him further.
“No dawdling,” Billy scolded, prodding their prey.
Lewis and Nicholas scrutinized the hunting lodge’s surroundings. No one was in sight. They ran to the door.
Philip didn’t walk fast enough to his keepers’ taste. They grabbed him under the armpits and dragged him across the lawn before the entrance.
“The coast is clear,” Lewis said from the threshold, ushering them in. He cautiously closed the door behind the group. “Let’s truss up our football player, interrogate him, and go capture the rest of his team.”
“They got interesting uniforms,” Billy said.
“I wish my national team had a kit like this. I would like watching football even more,” Nicholas added.
Philip didn’t mind being praised for his looks. He enjoyed how the football kit looked on his teammates; it was clingy, yet it let him move easily––until these boy-scouts caught him. In contrast, his enemy’s outfits were somewhat silly; making fun of his clothing brought the words pot and kettle to his mind—and black, as were his shorts.
“We could truss him up on the toilet, so we can leave him for a long time,” Ben suggested.
“What about us if we need to go?” Nicholas asked. “We’d better handcuff him to the curtain rod in the shower. It’s solid.”
“I like keeping him in the bathroom; it’s cold and damp and fit for the scoundrel. But what a waste of the handcuffs, my sub-tropical friend! They’ll be more useful hunting for his fellow-sissy football players,” Lewis objected.
“We’ve got enough practice with rope to ensure total immobility,” Billy said, annoyed to agree with Lewis again. “And there’s plenty to tie him up with. Let’s save the cuffs for Keith.”
“Or Jason,” Nicholas offered.
They stayed in the hall where they had space to work their collective magic. They surrounded Philip and undertook a classic tie-up, deemed both effective and efficient.
They untied his wrists from the stringent position between his shoulder blades. Lewis and Nicholas worked on binding them crossed at the small of his back. Ben and Billy wove a body harness wrapping his torso, from the back of his nape to his crotch. A crotch rope was a must so the net didn’t slip.
While kneeling, Billy tackled the legs, starting at the top of the thighs with two turns and a square knot, and a criss-crossing to go down to his ankles, with tight horizontal turns every four inches or so.
Lewis tied a rope to pull Philip’s elbows closer, and wrapped it around his chest to pin his arms tightly to his body.
“Nice work, my henchmen. Now let’s hang him out to dry.”
They dragged the bundle inside the bathroom, which was tiled. The shower tray was enamel, and it felt cold.
Ben threw a rope over the curtain rod. He worked with Lewis only, as there wasn’t enough room for them all. Nicholas and Billy watched with interest, though. The two ends were threaded through the harness, behind their prisoner’s back. The audience couldn’t see it all but the technique was familiar. They saw Ben and Lewis pull on the ends, lifting Philip slowly. The rope started sliding along his shorted butt crack until it became a nasty wedgie.
“Mrrgrrmmmrmmmph!”
“Hush,” Lewis commanded, smacking the bottom loudly. “You’ve stayed on tiptoes before, this is good training.”
“You’ll get some slack if you answer our questions,” Billy said, playing the nice cop. “First, we need to know your teammates. Are you going to tell us?”
Philip considered his opponents; Lewis was still holding a grudge for the strict tie-up and torture he’d submitted him to the week before. The three others were keen on winning at all costs.
“Hmm,” he surrendered.
Billy ran the interrogation. He was the best at eliciting information offering binary choices. The task was fastidious, but less than five minutes later he learned the other Football Players were Keith, Sora, and Stéphane, the French newbie. Philip also informed of their strategy to go explore on their own. He then gave the general directions to their camp, which was next to a tennis court, not a football field.
“You’ve proved cooperative. We’ll make you comfier,” Billy assessed.
“I hope you’re not deceiving us,” Nicholas said, loosening the ropes from the curtain rod, “because we’ll be back.”
The teen left enough slack to release the tension, but the rope still pulled Philip’s shorts up his crack if he let the balls of his feet touch the tiles.
“Should we hunt his teammates or scout to find the third team’s camp?” Ben asked.
His three fellow Boy-Scouts thought finding the Football Players’ clubhouse and watching it closely made more sense. The team had split and lonely wanderers were easier to seize.
“We’ll catch and hide them, then we’ll tackle the Soldiers,” Billy concluded.
“This is a plan I can agree with,” Lewis said. “It’s simple yet well thought out. You avoid the pitfall of going against our army lads. Their team features Jason. If we have to subdue the Boar, he’d better be alone. You’re smart, Billy. Don’t great minds think alike?” he asked Philip, holding his chin with three fingers and looking straight into his eyes.
“When we’re back with all these clowns as our prisoners, I’ll take care of you myself. In the meanwhile, you may spend this time alone to imagine what I have in store.”
The four brown- and beige-wearing lads left the hunting lodge, borrowing the same path as the first time. They walked slowly, avoiding branches that would crack. They all were on the lookout for a noise or a sight revealing an enemy.
They passed the place where they’d grabbed Philip. They kept going along the path, which crossed a meadow five minutes later. Each boy-scout watched a quadrant to avoid any surprise attack and spot potential watchers. They reached the other side without detecting a threat.
The path led them through a wooded area again; it wound around and went down. Close to the edge of it, they saw a building in the distance. A large red rectangle next to had to be the tennis court.
They were getting ready to cross the open field and reach a coppice close to the building when they heard shouting that stopped them in their tracks.
“Help! Let me go crapcrrrmmmmmmm!”
Looking at each other, the boy-scouts silently confirmed the voice: Sora had just been caught. They turned to the source of the sound on their left. The lad and his attackers were a few tens of yards away at the most, but the shrubs and bushes along the edge were tall and hid them.
Billy led, crouching. They were really close, though foliage still prevented them from seeing. The noise had receded, but they heard Sora’s angry “mmphs.” Billy got down on all fours, followed by his teammates, who were treated with Glidor-clad bums to look at.
At last, Billy saw Marc and Fred from under a thick flourishing laurel tree. The two Soldiers were straddling their prisoner, getting busy with ropes and whispering. Fred made lots of signs. The handsome eastern-looking friend was avoiding making noise. The interactions with his fellow-soldier were entertaining to watch. They had language issues.
The task’s purpose was clear enough for the binders, though. They wove ropes, threaded and knotted eagerly, ensnaring their victim in a web of white cotton rope.
Billy felt his ”patrol” lining up silently at his sides, keen to watch the show. The Soldiers’ uniforms weren’t shiny, but they clung tightly to the skin nonetheless. They wore khaki shorts that went almost down to their knees and tight light brown shirts. Black bovver boots with big woollen socks went up to their knees. The latter were bright red and contrasted with the rest of the outfit, which allowed blending in the field.
This time, Nicholas could appreciate Marc’s facial features in full. He looked fifteen or sixteen, tall, with a mop of straight brown hair tentatively parted on the right. His eyes were light brown or green, he couldn’t tell. His big and red lips would be a pleasure to plaster with tape.
Lewis tapped Billy’s shoulder; it was time to act. The patrol leader raised his head slowly, silently mobilizing his three friends. With small finger motions, he shared out the responsibilities. The two Soldiers were moving their prey onto his belly and had their backs to their invisible foes. Billy mouthed “one, two, three,” and they leaped out from the cover of the leaves.
Nicholas and Ben grabbed the French guy before he even heard them coming. Fred, whose sixth sense had alerted to something happening behind him, was about to shout when Lewis crashed into him, knocking the air out of his lungs. Billy’s hand covered Fred’s lips before he could shout.
Marc wasn’t faring any better. He was lying face down, with Nicholas sitting between his shoulder blades, holding his head and handgagging him. Ben sat on his thighs; he’d caught his wrists, crossed and pulled them apart strongly, ensuring any motion was difficult, even painful.
Lewis snapped the handcuffs on Fred. Rope in hand, he slid towards the boy’s feet. He wrapped rope around his thighs and redid the same with the calves, just above the boots, which he removed.
Marc didn’t fight for long. While keeping the flesh seal tight on the new boy’s lips, Nicholas turned his head towards the other group so he could witness Fred’s demise. The immobilized lad had his socks removed, so his assailants could tackle the next stage.
Billy went to their captive’s head, holding a rolled-up sock. It was big, but it would fit.
“Fred, my boy, you’d better behave and let young Billy do what he has to do,” Lewis hissed in his ear.
Fred tried to alert his team nonetheless, which caused his assailant to tighten the grip on his hair. Billy had no trouble stuffing the balled-up wool through his lips, which killed the scream before it went out.
“We thwarted your call, and you’ve earned a punishment for later,” Lewis said, his hand keeping the sock in while Billy unrolled a strip of tape to seal Fred’s lips with. Seven more strips swathed his lower face with shiny grey plastic before Billy did the final two turns that would make the gag stay.
“Get him trussed up quick, our new friend is very squirmy,” Nicholas whispered.
It was unusual seeing Lewis and Billy cooperate in roping up their lanky friend, but they did a great pair threading, cinching, and knotting like pros. They bound his forearms together, linking them to a solid chest harness. A temporary hogtie kept him still while they went to give Ben and Nicholas a hand.
Marc was in no position to get the boys off his back, but pride forced him to try. With the reinforcement, he experienced the full power of the Saint Sebastian boys holding each of his limbs and keeping his mouth shut. He had to surrender.
He felt the extra hands deprive him of his footwear, which announced the cramming of socks in his gob. His understood enough English to obey Lewis’s “not a noise” order. He followed his teammate’s example and didn’t comply. His short-lived shout earned him a severe hair-pulling and the forceful introduction of the sock. He couldn’t believe how smelly it was, considering the short time he’d worn it.
The taping went the same as with his accomplice; the cumulative effect of the layers spread across his lower face and the final turns around his head ensured silence.
They bound his arms with his hands palm to palm and his elbows almost touching. They hobbled his legs ready for the walk to their lair.
Ben kept an eye on the other prisoners and the woods around them, afraid to be caught by surprise.
“Sora’s trying to escape,” he whispered.
Ben rose to his feet and grabbed Sora’s hands, using the freshly unknotted rope to bind them back together. Two extra turns of duct tape over it made picking the knots impossible.
The Boy-Scouts stood up, looking at the three bound forms at their feet.
“Well done, boys, we’ve proved the best again! Let’s get them into jail,” Lewis whispered without vibrating his vocal cords. “It’s nice they’ve packed Huckleberry up for us.”
“Not too well,” Ben whispered back, checking the other ropes binding Sora were knotted properly.
The quartet quickly had the three hostages on their feet and hobbled. They used one of the five coils of rope the boys had with them to collar their captives and keep them in a chain gang less than three feet between each boy.
“No trying to run,” Billy instructed. “You don’t want to end up strangled.”
TBC