Tau Upsilon Gamma [M+/M+] [update - 3/15/24] NEW POLL

Stories that have little truth to them should go here.

Who should Mason save?

NATE: plug gag, gorilla tape bonds, nipple clamps
2
9%
CODY: duct tape gag, handcuffs, Icy Hot
5
23%
LEO: Hoss' sock gag, rope bonds, tickle torture
11
50%
RAY: bandana gag, slave harness, in his underwear
4
18%
HIMSELF
0
No votes
 
Total votes: 22

User avatar
KidnappedCowboy
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 959
Joined: 5 years ago
Location: USA
Contact:

Post by KidnappedCowboy »

Volobond wrote: 1 year ago I do hope Travis comes to his senses. I fucking hate bullies and if you're still a loser bully by the time you're in college, it's really hard to unlearn those behaviors, but not impossible. Hopefully Travis can break free, those Mountain assholes can be subdued, and the good Doctor can put DIX and the Mayor into the Hypnotron!

Hoss' ambush was brutal and his circumstances terrifying, but boy, is it hot to imagine him in a highwayman outfit!
Unfortunately, bullies are all around us still! In my senior year in college, I encountered two. It was a few decades ago, but I still remember the terror I felt, while they belittled and threatened me. It was at a crowded bar. I was still in the closet. One guy accused me of touching him (I didn't). He and his buddy threatened me and called me the usual. I could take care of myself, but thought discretion the batter part of valor, so I hightailed it out of there. I was too scared they had learned the secret I hoped no one would. After I came out, I realized there was no terror in being gay. The terror is in the hatred of those who have it towards a gay man like me.

So, I really hate what DIX is doing to Hoss, because of who he is. And I cannot wait for the big, sexy man to get his revenge on that fraternity living up to its name! Because, they really are dicks!
User avatar
gag1195
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1349
Joined: 4 years ago

Post by gag1195 »

I definitely agree with [mention]KidnappedCowboy[/mention] in wanting to see DIX taken down for all of this. Even if the capture of Hoss was enjoyable to read and picture. DIX is really showing the careful planning that I didn't think them capable of. And I have to respect their commitment to their capture theme. Like, there was absolutely no reason to make Hoss dress up like Prince Philip. They could have easily just ambushed him the moment he stepped into the studio. But they followed through with the costume and recreated the capture scene from the movie.

And poor Nate and Hoss, continually pulled apart by conspiring forces. I really hope they get some well deserved private time soon! Similar to the guilt that Cody will probably feel when the DIX purchases come back to bite TUG, I can see Nate feeling guilty about what happened to Hoss. Especially considering that poor Hoss is literally across the street, helpless and waiting!

Speaking of, I'm looking forward to see who will be taken down next, and how it will happen!
My M/M Stories Here
Image
User avatar
Guardianbound
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 686
Joined: 2 years ago

Post by Guardianbound »

I feel bad for Hoss, and I'm afraid it's only going to get worse before it gets better since maybe 2 more TUG members are additional targets for DIX.

Hopefully Nate will be able to console Hoss when he gets rescued. And I wonder how the advisor will play into this TUG vs DIX conflict, seems like a proxy war that has implications way beyond the school.
Banner by bondagefreak --- Link to my stories: Click Here

Image
User avatar
wataru14
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 658
Joined: 6 years ago
Location: Las Vegas, Nevada, USA

Post by wataru14 »

Conflagration part 4 – Mr. Cellophane

“Now I didn’t start off looking to become a member of TUG,” Milton said after putting down his coffee. He looked across the living room at Ray, who hadn’t touched his own cup. The burly freshman was sitting in a high-backed recliner chair, but hadn’t put the feet up. He was feverishly writing in his notebook, even though the digital recorder borrowed from Mason was going at full steam. “Quite the opposite, actually. I wasn’t planning on pledging anywhere, to be perfectly honest. Not really my scene. But things don’t always happen like you plan.”

Ray had torn into his research packet as soon as he got back to the dorms from the Parent’s Weekend Barbecue. Milton Chichester. That was his subject’s name. Married right after college. Height: average. Weight: average. Two kids, a boy and a girl. Unremarkable job in some kind of nebulous office environment that he held for 30+ years before retiring comfortably at 55. Lived in the suburbs of Metro City with his wife and family and was now a doting grandpa. Ray was fascinated at how unbelievably average he was. It was startling.

Milton had cheerily accepted Ray’s call the evening after the Car Wash and had arranged the interview for Tuesday afternoon. Ray didn’t bring his car when he came to college (Freshmen had a lottery for parking spaces and it wasn’t assured that you would get one, so he figured he’d wait until next year), so Shane graciously let him borrow his hybrid for the day. At first, Milton was surprised he had been chosen for a biography paper. “Frankly,” he had said after the introductions were over, “I’m shocked that you noticed me at all. My class was rather eclectic and tends to draw focus. But I get that a lot.”

“That’s the reason I chose you,” Ray said. “You stood out by not standing out. If that makes any sense?”

“It does,” Milton said. “I can see why someone who doesn’t stand out would catch your eye. Being anonymous isn’t something you’ve ever experienced, am I right?” Ray nodded. “Strong, athletic, handsome. You probably couldn’t be overlooked if you tried. I, however, made an art form of it. Most people have something or other that sets them apart. But I don’t. It's ironically remarkable that I’m so unremarkable. But that’s why they wanted me. They wanted to weaponize that ‘averageness.’ And it almost worked.”

“Weaponize?” Ray said. “I don’t understand. Why did TUG want to weaponize you? That doesn’t sound like them at all.”

“It isn’t,” Milton chuckled. “They’re not the ones who wanted me. It was DIX.”

---

“It was a tumultuous time and campus was packed to capacity,” Milton said. “In those days you got a draft deferment if you were a full-time college student, so EVERYONE enrolled at MCU. Even the ones who had no academic aspirations. Frankly, I was amazed that I even got accepted. But I did, and majored in Education. Now, I had noticed TUG very early on. How could you not? And frankly, I wasn’t impressed. They seemed… a little too much, if you catch my meaning. Hippies. Radicals. ‘THAT’ type. They caused quite a stir when they offered a Pledge Bid to Kareem. Not a lot of mainstream groups would have anything to do with someone like him in those days. Since I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to appreciate that act, but at the time, I’m embarrassed to say I held a lot of the same prejudices that most people did.”

“On one particular day early in the semester I was having lunch with some friends in the cafeteria while TUG was having some sort of anti-war protest/drum circle outside. We made our usual dismissive jokes, of course, and tried to tune them out, but something in me just couldn’t ignore them. There was an energy to them that I was secretly envious of. They had life and weren’t afraid to live it. But I was jealous, too. And that jealousy is what made me an easy mark for DIX.”

“I remember staying behind after my friends had left to go to class because I had some free time. I was doing homework when Chaz came over and sat down uninvited. Now today, TUG is very well respected. If not the top fraternity, they are always in the running. But it wasn’t the case back then. DIX were the Big Men on Campus. Everyone wanted to be like them. The two groups had developed a rivalry a decade or so ago, but it wasn’t like it is now. TUG was just a scrappy bunch of losers and freaks. No real competition for DIX. But they still didn’t take kindly to a bunch of upstarts with ‘ideas above their station.’ So when Chaz sat down across from me, I knew it wasn’t just because he saw an empty seat.”

“I looked up and saw him eyeing me. He was seated in a position so that I could see the drum circle over his shoulder out the window when I looked up. As soon as we made eye contact, he glanced over his shoulder and watched them, as well. ‘Look at those freaks,’ he said to me. ‘No respect for anything. Especially America. Doesn’t that just make your blood boil? It does mine.’”

“‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I guess so.’ I was more focused on the fact that Chaz had chosen to converse with me than with anything TUG was doing.”

“‘Good,’ Chaz said. ‘You know, we at DIX are always looking for pledges. Our bid ceremony is next weekend and someone like you could really go places wearing our letters. And it just so happens that we have a free spot. One that I think you would fit very well.’”

“‘Really?’ I said. “Now that was a shock. No one at DIX had ever paid me any attention before.”

“‘Oh, definitely,’ he said back. “There’s just something you would need to do to prove you’re really the type of man we’re looking for…”

---

I got to the party a little late. Everyone was already milling around, so no one really noticed me coming in. And TUG didn’t need to hand out invitations back then. They weren’t big enough to have to limit the crowd. It was a nice turnout, but it wasn’t the kind of people you would normally see at frat parties. More artists, intellectuals, counterculture people. They were actually having a Salon in the dining room when I arrived! I mingled for a little bit, of course, but I had a mission to accomplish. I told myself there would be enough parties when I was a member of DIX. This one wasn’t important.

Nobody really noticed me as I moved in and out of the house and its rooms. I had to apologize when I stumbled into more than one heavy makeout session in a study room here and there, but I just played it off like I was looking for the bathroom. The upper floors were off-limits, and they made sure everyone knew it, but I had no problems slipping up the stairs unnoticed. I passed by the bedrooms and such on my search. They weren’t what I was looking for, anyway. It took me a while to find my real goal, but I finally found it. The President’s Office on the third floor.

---

Ray gasped. “Wait,” he said. “The President’s Office? But that means…”

“Yes,” Milton smirked. “I was the first spy.”

---

The door was locked, of course, and that presented a problem. I was just a regular kid. I had no experience with picking locks, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to try and climb in through the window. I’d fall and break my neck! I needed the key. Now the president would have it on him, but he would be untouchable. He’d be outside in the thick of the crowd at all times. But Chaz had told me that the sergeant-at-arms of every fraternity had a master key that opened every door in the house. I needed to get that key. But how?

I began to circulate around the party, looking for my mark. I was totally out of my element here. This kind of cloak-and-dagger was not something I would have expected to be doing in a million years, but the adrenaline was keeping me pumped and alert, despite my fear. After a little while, I saw him in the pool. Now the sergeant-at-arms is always the biggest and toughest guy in his class. Based on the info that we get on the Pledge Classes from the Chapter each year, that will probably end up being your job, sonny. And this guy was no different. He was a star on the university’s boxing team. Thick, scrappy, and completely no-nonsense. Not the kind of guy you wanted to cross head-on. He had a first name, but no one ever used it. They just called him “Ramirez” or “Crusher.” So I definitely had my work cut out for me.

I watched him frolicking for a while, but then someone summoned him into the house. There was some kind of scuffle going on in the rec room. He bid the ladies that were accompanying him goodbye and hopped out onto the patio. He just slipped a pair of jeans on over his tiny speedo and headed into the house barefoot. I followed behind at a safe distance, along with a few others who were primed to see the show.

In the rec room, two guys who had too much to drink were getting loud and handsy with some of the female guests and Crusher was having no tolerance for that. After hearing everyone’s stories, he grabbed the two offenders by their shirt collars and dragged them to the front door. With barely an admonishment, he tossed them out into the street and wiped his hands on his pant legs as he came back inside. The crowd was expecting more of a scuffle, so they broke off in disappointment as Crusher made sure the ladies were all right. But I stayed behind. It was time to make my move.

The hallway was empty as Crusher came back out of the rec room. As he came near me, I started to groan and hold my stomach. “Urggh,” I said, blanching. “I don’t feel so good. I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Crusher stopped in front of me. “Well don’t do it here, little man,” he said. “Go to the bathroom.”

“I can’t,” I said. “Someone’s in there and there’s a line. BLLRGGG. Is there another one?”

Crusher thought for a second. “There’s a hall bath on the second floor,” he said. “It’s off-limits to guests, but I’ll take you up. Just this once.”

“Thanks,” I said, holding my stomach. As we walked, I leaned on him for support. His arms and shoulders felt like steel. I had to play this exactly right or he’d put me in the hospital. We got to the second floor hall bath and he led me inside and over to a stall. I staggered in and made a few retching sounds, but that was just to disguise my true intent. Chaz had given me a few things to help me in my infiltration and I needed to get everything ready. I slipped the glass vial out of the back pocket of my jeans and the white hanky out of my front pocket. I folded the hanky into a thick pad and doused it with the liquid from the vial. He was tough and strong, so I’d need a lot of it. When I got a whiff of the fumes, I got a little woozy, and more than a little scared. He had to have smelled it, too. But he made no indication that anything was wrong. He just said, “Hey, you OK in there?”

I just said, “I… I… need help! It hurts! I think I’m going to pass out.” Hearing that, Crusher lept to action. He opened the stall door and came over to where I was kneeling in front of the bowl. As soon as he knelt down to inspect me, I struck. I slapped the pad over his mouth and nose. He was off-balance from kneeling, so he couldn’t get enough leverage to fight me effectively in close quarters. But he was still several powers of magnitude stronger than I was. I managed to pin him against the stall wall and barely held him there as the fumes took effect. This was pretty powerful stuff, whatever it was. Crusher bucked and flailed for a moment, but the chemical was potent enough to put him down quickly. He almost managed to fight me off, but he was growing too weak. It was only 7 seconds even though it felt like an hour, but his eyes began to flutter and after that he slumped down to the floor, blissfully asleep.

I dragged him by his barefoot ankles over to the shower area. It was walled-off, so I could stash him there in case someone came to use this bathroom. But I had no idea how long he would be out. I needed to take more precautions. But Chaz hadn’t given me anything for that. In a near-panic, I ran out of the room and looked around the hall. I needed a supply closet or something. But it was mostly bedrooms on this floor. The room right next to the bathroom didn’t look like a living space, though, so I ran in, desperate to find something to help. And boy, did I!

This was the second-floor study room. At first, all I saw were desks and typewriters. Some bookshelves. Nothing useful. I turned to leave, but then my eye caught the display cabinet in the corner. What was this? Chaz never mentioned anything about this. I came over in the half-light and looked close. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing! Ropes of all sizes, handcuffs, chains… all there carefully arranged in the case. What in the bloody hell was THIS doing here? But I didn’t have time to think. I didn’t know how long Crusher would be out, so I grabbed whatever was in the front of the case and ran back to the bathroom.

Crusher was still out cold, but for how long? With his no-doubt iron Constitution, he could wake up at any moment. So I had to work quick. Who knows when someone else would come up here to use the bathroom? I flopped Crusher onto his stomach and brought his hands behind his back. Now I had never done anything like this before. At least not for real. Cops and Robbers as a kid didn’t count. But I had seen enough Westerns in the movies and on TV to get the idea. I made a loop around one end of the rope and slipped it over his right wrist, then pulled it tight. I brought that wrist over the other one and just started looping the long end of the rope around like mad. In, out, under, around, through, you name it. His hands were trapped behind his back in a literal mound of rope. But that wasn’t enough. If he woke up, he could still stand up and come after me.

The rest of the ropes I had brought were too short for what I needed, but I had managed to snag a few thick belts. Military-grade with rivets for holes and double buckles on the end. I put one around his thick chest and cinched it as tight as I could. After I buckled it closed, I did another one around his midsection that also served as a way of trapping his arms to his body. But was the job good enough? No. No matter how well I restrained him, he still might get up and hop out into the hall. I needed to find a way to discourage that. Then it came to me.

I reached down and carefully slipped his jeans off him, tossing them aside in the shower stall. Then I carefully took the waistband of his speedo and pulled it down, around his ankles, and off. Buck naked, he’d definitely think twice about leaving the room. I couldn’t help but stare, as well. He was quite well endowed. I’m sure that organ had earned him the “Crusher” nickname many times over. I couldn’t resist the urge to reach down and cop a quick feel, in spite of myself. Now, I prefer women, but I would be lying if I said I was never curious. My own junk was nothing to be ashamed of, but it was nothing spectacular. Not like what I saw before me. As I explored him a little, I heard Crusher purring and mewling softly in his sleep. I wondered what he was dreaming about.

But I finally had to tear myself away. I had wasted too much time already. I added three more belts: one to his lap, one to his knees, and one to his ankles. Once they were locked closed, I knew he wasn’t going anywhere on his own. If he was going to leave this room, he’d have to wiggle on his belly like a worm. But that still wouldn’t stop him from calling for help. Would anyone hear him up here over the din of the party? I didn’t know, but it was best not to risk it. Grabbing the discarded speedo, I balled it up and stuffed it into Crusher’s mouth, adding one final belt to secure it in place. And just in time. As soon as the buckle locked, he began to stir.

It took him a second to realize his state, but when he did he squirmed and thrashed like mad. But luckily the belts held. Try as he might, he couldn’t dislodge them or slip free. Thank heavens for small miracles. After a second or two he realized attempting escape was hopeless and he settled down. “Sorry, man,” I said, fishing through the pocket of his jeans and retrieving the master key. “Nothing personal. You just had something I needed.” He grunted through his gag, but couldn’t stop me from turning and heading for the door. I switched out the light before leaving. “Someone will find you soon enough, but by then I’ll have what I need. And DIX sends their regards.” And I left.

---

I found what I needed in the office pretty quickly. The key worked on both the door and the locked drawer of the President’s Desk, just like Chaz said. Inside the drawer was a box of books and papers. TUG’s private handbook and notes. Ritual explanations. Contact information for VIP alumni. Lore and secrets. A goldmine of information for DIX. There was also a manila folder, but I didn’t open that. There wasn’t time. I stuffed the loot under my arm and raced for the door. I had to go back down to the first floor and out with my prize without being noticed. It would be easy for me to do that, I knew, but I couldn’t jerk around. But I got a big shock on the second floor.

When I came down, I noticed that the bathroom door was open. Shit! It was closed when I left. I knew it. And I had to pass the room to get to the stairs going down. I carefully crept past and was almost at the stairwell when he grabbed me. Or should I say “they” grabbed me.

I could tell the first set of hands was Crusher’s. There was no mistaking that pair of steel vice-grips. But he wasn’t alone. There were at least three other pairs of hands. One immediately clamped over my mouth to keep me quiet, another grabbed the box and folder, and two more held my hands behind my back before applying a pair of steel handcuffs. When I was properly subdued and fully restrained, the hands released me. I stood in embarrassed silence as Crusher, still buck naked, handed the box and folder to Jerome, the chapter president. Clearly I had underestimated Crusher’s modesty. He stood at attention like absolutely nothing was wrong, his titanic privates swinging in the wind for all to see.

“DIX sends their regards, eh?” Jerome said. He was a scrawny little thing. Around my height, but rail thin. He had a scraggly moustache and soul patch and was bedecked in hippie jewelry. He wore bellbottom jeans with rainbow patches and an unbuttoned paisley shirt. His shoulder-length hair was tied back and he wore a black beret on his head. “We’re very lucky that Kareem needed to use the facilities and found Crusher like you left him. Very lucky, indeed.” I didn’t respond.

Jerome looked at me. His gaze was deep, but sympathetic at the same time. “I assume Chaz put you up to this,” he said. “But did he tell you what this stuff is?”

I decided to answer. Being belligerent wasn’t going to get me anywhere. “No, he didn’t tell me,” I said.

Everyone around didn’t seem surprised by that at all. “Well, let me show you,” Jerome said. He put the box down and opened the folder. It contained photos. Photos of him… and Chaz. They were holding hands in one. Kissing playfully in another. I was floored!

“They’re from Freshman year,” Jerome said. “Chaz and I had a brief fling, but he broke it off, afraid his Brothers would find out. I keep them as insurance. We would never use them for extortion, but we let Chaz know we have them as a means of keeping DIX away from our pledges. You don’t want to know what they threatened to do to us for allowing Black members into our family. A lot of people around here still favor segregation, you know. Chaz being one of them.” My stomach turned. “If he had this, it would be open season on us. It’s the only thing that keeps the wolves at bay. Let me guess: he offered you a spot in DIX if you got these for him, correct?”

My face was red with shame. “Yes, he did,” was all I could say.

“Well I don’t need to tell you that offer was bullshit,” Jerome said, drawing assent from the others. “He would have discarded you as soon as you handed it over. And that’s only if he didn’t think you saw them. If he suspected you did… well, it’s best not to think about that.” I didn’t need to think twice about it. I knew that was true now. “I know how hard it is to be alone out there. And I know how strong the need to belong is. I don’t blame you for doing what you did. None of us do.” Crusher put his hand on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know. I never would have done this if I did.”

“I know,” Jerome said. “You’re a good person. I can see that. You’d be miserable in DIX.” He chuckled. “If you want to be part of a Brotherhood, we’d be happy to take you in. Clean slate. No questions asked. The choice is yours.”

Standing there, in the weirdness of the whole situation, I didn’t know what to say. This was a crew that I never would have saw myself joining in a million years: hippies, radicals, counterculture “freaks…” But they had something. A bond. A REAL bond. One that I wanted. With them I wouldn’t be invisible anymore. I just knew it. “Yes!” I said, almost instinctively. “Yes!!!”

“Good,” Jerome said. “I thought you would. So welcome to the 1968 Pledge Class. But before we let you free, there’s a little something we need to do. Come with us, if you will.” I felt Crusher and Kareem gently push me forward and down the stairs. Back on the first floor, the party was still going. It was odd being paraded through the crowded living room with my hands cuffed behind me, but it didn’t seem to raise anyone’s eyebrows. I found that odd, but also a little alluring at the same time. I was a little apprehensive when they opened the front door and escorted me onto the porch, but when I saw Chaz standing in the DIX yard across the street, waiting for me to emerge with the goods, I knew immediately why.

“Hey Chaz!” Jerome called. “We caught your little spy.” He held up the box and folder for Chaz to see. “Nice try, man, but no dice. Better luck next time.” Chaz hurled expletives from across the street, but stayed where he was. Crusher, still naked, had taken a prominent place next to me and Chaz wasn’t about to tangle with that. “You know, I think we’re going to keep this one,” Jerome taunted. “Show him what a real family is like. Not use him and spit him out like you were planning. He’ll be a good fit for us. Thanks for the gift. It was very kind and thoughtful of you.” And with that, the Brothers all flipped Chaz off and led me back inside.

---

“And that’s how the spy game started,” Milton said. “The following year DIX tried again, but their choice wasn’t as skilled as I was and got caught quickly. The president after Jerome decided to create the binding ritual that year. A punitive measure to show DIX that TUG was much more than anyone thought. And it just snowballed from there. Other fraternities try it from time to time, just for bragging rights, but it’s almost always a DIX spy. As far as I know, those photos are still in the desk. And they are still the prime target. I don’t know what the other frats would think if they ever got their hands on them. They wouldn’t even know what they had. Probably wouldn’t even look twice. But to DIX they are everything.”

“Still?” Ray asked. “But why? So much time has passed. I can’t see why they would be so hot to get them after all these years.”

“You haven’t guessed?” Milton said. “Chaz is still active in the alumni circles, as is his son. His grandson… his TWO grandsons, are both active members right now.”

Ray gasped. “Clay and Travis,” he said to himself.

“You got it,” Milton chuckled. “Those photos weren’t the start of the rivalry, but they are certainly one of the things that keeps it going. I’ve long since advocated for them to be destroyed, but no one listens to me, it seems.” He shrugged. “Par for the course, sadly.”

Ray took a second to process this new information. If the existence of these photos was fueling the rivalry, maybe Milton had a point about getting rid of them. What purpose did they serve now, anyway? He’d have to talk about that with Brett and bring it up for a vote at the next meeting if necessary? Could Pledges even do that? No, he thought, remembering the handbook. They couldn’t. Not until the second semester when Pledgeship was officially over. He’d talk to Shane about bringing it up. But for now, he had the information he needed for his paper. He said his goodbyes to Milton and Mrs. Chichester and headed home to write.

---

The morning after Hoss’ capture, everyone at the TUG house went to class like normal. They passed the DIX house on the way to campus, blissfully unaware that their Brother was a prisoner in the basement. So close, but yet so far at the same time. Sometime around 11 a.m., the main phone line began to ring. No one was around to answer, so the call went to voicemail.

“Brett?” the voice said. “Or Danny? Jaquan? Omar? Is anyone there? Shit. This is Officer Santucci of Metro City PD. Look, I have some bad news. We found an abandoned jeep in a parking lot downtown and the plates are a match for Hoss’. Has anyone seen him today? Give me a call. You have my cell and my desk extension. I have a bad feeling about this.”

Coming Soon: Conflagration part 5 – Dog Day Afternoon
User avatar
Volobond
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1697
Joined: 4 years ago

Post by Volobond »

Milton's story is a sweet one - ironically capture results in true freedom for him. Even if he isn't a standout, he's fascinating in his own way. And, gosh, I'm glad Santucci caught wind of this! Hoss needs a rescue ASAP!
Image

You can find my M/M stories here: https://tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?p=38809#p38809
User avatar
gag1195
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1349
Joined: 4 years ago

Post by gag1195 »

TUG certainly has a way of bringing out the best in their pledges! Even wallflowers like Milton! He's far to humble about himself. Everyone calls him normal, uninteresting, average, but he's literally the first spy! He's the inspiration for one of their main traditions! That's not nothing, that's not average!

Also, yes, thank goodness for Officer Santucci!I hope his message lights a fire under the rest of the house so they can mount a rescue mission! Poor Hoss has no doubt already suffered enough!
My M/M Stories Here
Image
Wedgieboy69
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 308
Joined: 3 years ago

Post by Wedgieboy69 »

I can't beleive that they would be so quick to accept someone who just tried to steal from them. they are far too trusting, especially with dix so close by
User avatar
Guardianbound
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 686
Joined: 2 years ago

Post by Guardianbound »

This history would make Ray's paper an interesting one to read. Can't wait for Hoss' rescue, or if two more TUG members get captured.
Banner by bondagefreak --- Link to my stories: Click Here

Image
User avatar
KidnappedCowboy
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 959
Joined: 5 years ago
Location: USA
Contact:

Post by KidnappedCowboy »

Wonderful tale of bygone bondage from Milton, [mention]wataru14[/mention]!

I feared, however, Milton may have still been a spy for DIX after all those years, and he was about to get the drop on Ray for them to join Hoss in their frat's basement! :o :shock: :o
User avatar
wataru14
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 658
Joined: 6 years ago
Location: Las Vegas, Nevada, USA

Post by wataru14 »


Conflagration part 5 – Dog Day Afternoon

“HWZ CDY DOIN AT WRK?”

Scott sent the text to Wade and took a bite of his sandwich as he waited for a response.

“That was almost English. Based on the lack of vowels, I’m guessing this is Scott.”
“Rather rude to not identify yourself, but you know I have to forgive you since you’re so adorable.”
“But I’m seeing a severe lack of discipline welling up in you and that needs to be rectified.”
“You can swing by the shop after hours tonight and I can take some ‘corrective action,’ if you’ve a mind.”

“1 TRCK MND”
"SNDZ FUN"
“GNNA ANSR?”

“He’s exemplary. And I see you haven’t damaged him too badly yet. There’s hope.”

“GD. C U 2NITE”

Wade’s response was just a picture of a leather jockstrap and harness on a mannequin and a riding crop.

Scott chuckled and turned off his phone. With everything he was dealing with right now, he needed a little levity. Something to get his mind off the tension in the House. When Trey got home from classes and heard Santucci's message he sounded the alarm and everyone rushed home to deal with the emergency. Scott and Brett had skipped afternoon classes and met up with the officer at the site to identify the vehicle. It was Hoss'. No doubt. But there was no sign of a struggle and no unexpected fingerprints. It just looks like it was left there. The keys were even left in the glove compartment.

“He said he was going home for family reasons?” Santucci asked.

“That’s what the text said,” Brett answered, showing him. “But we called his mother after we got your message and she said he wasn’t there.”

“DIX did this,” Scott said. “No fucking question. They did something to him, I know it!”

“You’re probably right,” Santucci said. “And that’s the problem. He was probably grabbed on-campus, and thanks to a new law signed into effect by our shitstain of a mayor, that takes it out of our hands at MCPD. It’s an internal university issue and in the hands of campus police. Unless the Dean of Student Discipline asks for our help, we can’t intervene without hard evidence.”

“And since that Dean is a DIX alumnus,” Brett said glumly, “there is 0 chance of that happening in this case. We’re on our own.”

“Exactly,” Santucci said. “But don’t you boys go and do anything drastic in response. He’ll be sure to call us in if you assault any of his boys. Or break into their house.”

“Maybe we can send Leo to do some recon?” Scott suggested.

“I’ll think about it,” Brett said. “But it’s risky. If they catch him they’re equally likely to take him as well or alert the Dean on him. I don’t want to risk him getting expelled…” he looked at Santucci, “or worse.”

There wasn’t much to say after that. Scott drove Hoss’ jeep back to the House while Brett set up 24/7 surveillance of DIX. Someone would be watching them at all times using whatever gadgets Bryan had available, and they had drones going, as well. But they doubted it would lead to anything. They had been too careful up to this point and a random slipup seemed too much to hope for. “This is a whole other level for them,” Brett said at the emergency meeting. “They’re showing a degree of organization and teamwork they’ve never been capable of before. And the convenient signing of the Campus Police Law is more than suspicious. The Mayor is involved in this. Absolutely no question. He’s the one calling the shots.”

Brett had shut down any talk of bringing the advisor into the mix, however. “That’s exactly what they’re hoping we’ll do,” he warned. "It's what they want." Even though a compelling argument was made that he was the only one with the cunning to fix this, Brett was absolutely firm. “He’ll be doing whatever he can via official channels. Which isn't much. Student discipline leaves a lot of gray area when it comes to 'fraternity pranks,' and that's what they'll claim this is if caught. Right now all we can do is wait. And watch.”

Everyone was on edge, but it hit Scott the hardest. He and Hoss had become very close during their Pledgeship and remained best friends as the years went on. Despite their play-fighting and constant jibes at each other, the two were inseparable. Scott reacted very badly to the suggestion that the Pledges not be told, saying it was unfairly cruel to Nate. It was his argument that shot that plan down. The Pledges were alerted to the situation by him, personally, and were warned not to go anywhere alone. Actives would escort them to classes, if necessary. Ray, Cody, and especially Leo, chafed at the idea of a babysitter, but the look in Scott’s eyes made it clear that this matter was NOT up for debate. Nate was just numb. He had no doubts as to Hoss’ safety (DIX were assholes but not murderers…), but he shuddered to think of what he was enduring at their hands, and what they had planned coming up. He took the rest of the day off from classes and walked around in an almost fugue state the rest of the day.

Scott had just been relieved by Gavin from his monitoring shift when he came down for some food and texted Wade. He needed something to lep him shake off the tension of what was going on and his old Big Bro was always in his corner. He, himself, had spent most of the day after delivering the bad news trying to cheer up Cody, who blamed himself for the whole thing. “I should have known when Matt and Clay came in to buy gear that it was for something like this,” he said after punching a hole through the wall of his dorm room. “I should have turned them away. Or called Wade. Or SOMETHING!”

“Nothing you could do, broski,” Scott had said. “You told Brett what happened right away. Don’t blame yourself. If they didn’t get the gear from you, they would have gotten it somewhere else. You had no hand in this, brother man.” But Cody didn’t seem very encouraged. When Scott left, Cody was at least calm, and he figured that was the best it would get until he could sleep on it.

When his sandwich was done, Scott’s nerves were shot, so he headed out to the porch for a smoke. He found that his pack was empty when he got outside so he had to bum from Trey, even though he hated menthols. The pair watched the comings and goings at the DIX House from their seats on the porch and were floored at how “normal” they were all being. Acting like nothing at all was going on. Scott didn’t think they had it in them. That there would be some telltale sign in their movements or actions. But there wasn't. After a long while of nothing, Scott couldn’t take it anymore and grabbed his skateboard. “Going to the campus store,” he said brusquely to Trey as he jetted off, ignoring his friend’s reminder not to go alone. He had been running on fumes all day and needed some "me time." He’d be back in ten minutes. Nothing to worry about.

---

Before going into the 7-Eleven knockoff that the University had contracted to serve campus, Scott did a few kickflips over the curb in the light of the streetlamp. He needed to get his mind off of things. But he was off his game and missed more than he landed. Grumbling at himself, he scooped up his board and stepped over the threshold to the sound of the familiar bell tone. “Jenae! How you doin’ tonight, beautiful?” he called out before looking up. He and the usual evening clerk were on a first-name basis and he had been trying to get her number unsuccessfully for some time now. She was always working weeknights from 4 to midnight, so he was shocked to see someone else behind the counter.

“Thanks, hot stuff,” the smirking 19-year old boy at the register said. “But you’re not my type. Jenae called out. Her son is sick. So I’m covering.”

“Oh, right,” Scott fumbled. “Sorry, bro.” Awkwardly, Scott headed for the snack aisle and grabbed a few bags of chips and some snack cakes. Danny would give him hell for that, but he needed comfort food.

“Is that all for ya?” the clerk asked when Scott got to the counter.

“Can I get two packs of Reds, my good man?” Scott said, fishing for his wallet.

“Sure thing,” the clerk said. Scott watched him as he turned and went to the rack against the back wall, but his attention was diverted by the door’s tone as two men stepped into the store.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Scott tensed. The sight of two giant men in ski masks will do that to you. They were dressed in nondescript jeans and hoodies, but both had leather gloves on their hands. One engaged the safety lock on the door while the other pulled a shiny black handgun from his waistband. Time seemed to slow down for Scott as his fight-or-flight response kicked in. For all his bluster, though, Scott was no hero. He was always quick to give a verbal smackdown to DIX, but only when he had someone else in his corner backing him up. It's easy to be a big man when Hoss has your back. But alone and exposed like this and faced with a gun? Not the time for heroics, Scott thought. Slowly, he moved his hands away from his pockets and held them up at shoulder level. Was this really happening on campus? How stupid were these guys?

“You!” one of the robbers barked at Scott after his mind came back into focus. “I want to see you kissing tile in two seconds. And kick that skateboard away.” Scott stood straight forward, looking directly at the clerk, who had stopped in mid-step back to the counter and also had his hands up. The kid had a blank expression on his face. He seemed tense, but not afraid. Scott, himself, was shitting bricks, but didn’t dare let on. Unflappable insouciance was his normal defense mechanism, but he knew when to play it cool. Being a smartass or uncooperative would make things exponentially worse. He figured the more compliant he was, the quicker this would all be over, so he did what he did best and went with the flow. After toeing his skateboard away into a nearby display rack, Scott kept his hands raised as he slowly lowered himself to one knee, then both. After some more terse words from his captors, Scott placed his hands against the floor and lowered himself down onto his stomach.

He saw the heavy footfalls of work boots walk past him as he lay down face-first on the floor. He couldn’t see what was going on, as he kept his face pointed straight forward, but he did hear some shuffling around behind the counter. “You get the money,” the man looming behind him said, “I’ll tape up this jerkoff.”

“Great,” Scott thought. “I came here to get away from it all and now I have to spend the next however-long-this-takes playing Joe Hostage to a couple of gorillas who watched too many Guy Ritchie movies. He lightly tapped his forehead against the floor in frustration and didn’t offer any resistance as he felt two powerfully strong hands wrench his arms behind his back. “Just let them do what they want and they’ll get the hell out of here,” Scott thought. “Jesus Christ, why did this have to happen today?”

Scott’s nonchalance didn’t last, however. He laid there compliantly as his wrists were forcibly crossed behind his back by his unseen assailant, but he got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he felt the tape go on. He was expecting just simple duct tape. Basic and easy to get out of if you knew what you were doing. That’s what clowns like this used, right? Wrong, apparently. He knew what it was as soon as he felt it against his skin. The texture was off. The smell was off. This wasn’t the $1.99 silver tape special from the hardware store. This was gorilla tape! Thick, black, and very strong, this was the kind of tape plumbers and construction sites used for heavy-duty jobs. The kind that didn’t stretch, rip, or tear without the force of a mack truck behind it. The kind you needed a hacksaw to cut if you were ever unlucky enough to find yourself restrained by it. Which he now realized, much to his detriment, that he was.

Scott yelped slightly as the hairs on his wrists adhered to the tape and pulled as the sticky prison began to make its second pass around his crossed wrists. Then a third. And a fourth... He had hoped that he’d be able to free himself from the tape before the police arrived (he’d had more than enough practice doing that at TUG), but he realized that wasn’t in the cards for tonight. As the last pass was completed and the tape was torn off from the roll, Scott squirmed a little in discomfort. “Looks like my trip to Wade’s tonight is getting cancelled,” he thought. “It’s funny. I was expecting to get tied up this evening, but not like this.” He rolled his eyes at the irony as his captor kicked his feet together and started wrapping them in the tape, as well.

After a few more seconds, Scott was fully trapped. His jeans gave his ankles some relief from the powerful adhesive pinning them together, but his bare hands had no such protection. If he moved a muscle, he winced in pain as the hairs on his wrists got pulled by the tape. So he decided to lay as still as possible until the police came and cut him free. No other options, really. He felt a thick hand pat him on the shoulder after the tape was fully pressed down but he groaned when his ski-masked assailant knelt down in front of his face holding a folded-up washcloth. “Come on, dude,” Scott protested. “Is that really necessary? You’re wasting time. You already got me done up good. Didn't even need to do that, to be honest, but here we are. You should be finishing off Johnny Cashregister over there and getting the hell out of Dodge. You could be halfway to Vegas before you finished with the ga…” Scott’s argument was silenced and his words reduced to pathetic mumbles as the thick fabric was jammed deep into his open mouth. “OK, fine,” he grunted untintelligibly. “Have it your way.”

Scott grimaced as the dreaded gorilla tape appeared again. This time slapped solidly over his stuffed and mumbling mouth. The red TUG cap he wore was tauntingly knocked off his head as the hated substance was wound around his face. Four, five, times it went around before his captor finally tore it off. He had skipped shaving this morning, so it would be a real treat when he tried to remove the gag. Peachy. When his captor stood up, Scott squirmed again, but it was mostly out of instinct. He’d been restrained enough to know when he was in over his head, and this was one of those times. Nothing to do but lie here and ride this out. “At least I’ll have some company in a minute,” he thought, trying to make the most of it. He waited for the clerk to be escorted over and taped up next to him, but when that didn't happen, he got a weird feeling. “Hmmm? Wait a second…”

Something didn’t feel right. The direness of his situation nonwithstanding, something felt off with Scott. Why didn’t he hear the register open? Why wasn’t the clerk blabbering and spewing all the handbook phrases like “Just take what you want and go?” Both men behind the counter were calm and, Scott now realized, completely silent. No threats, no orders, no blubbering... Either this kid was a complete pro at this or… FUCK! It all made sense now. The timing, the needlessly heavy-duty gear, the complete focus on him and not the money… this wasn’t a robbery!

“You done down there?” the second masked man called from behind the counter.

“Yup,” Scott’s assailant replied, pressing his boot heavily down on Scott’s upper back. The captive wriggled and squirmed, but the tape would allow no more than that. “Target acquired.”

“You did good, Pledge,” the first assailant said. Scott was hauled up into a sitting position and he could now see clearly behind the counter. The clerk was standing with his arms crossed, calm as anything, with one of the “robbers’” hands on his shoulder. He had a big grin on his face. Scott gave a snarl through his gag and flared his nostrils as more of the tape was stretched across his chest and around his torso. He sat impotently as the heavy squelch from tape coming off the roll punctuated his captors' words.

“You said it would be easy,” the clerk said, “but I didn’t think it would be THIS easy!”

“Well this one isn’t the tough guy of the group,” the man taping Scott's upper body said as he continued his work. The tape was forming a wide and thick band across his chest, even further immobilizing him. “Just a doughy loser who doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. I bet even the scrawny one with the mohawk would have put up more of a fight. Even the queer Jew with the camera is more threatening than this one. You know what to do now, right?”

“Yup,” the clerk replied. “Erase the tape as soon as you’re gone and pretend this never happened. If asked about him, say that he came in, bought smokes, and left. Make sure the tape cuts out right before you come in so they can see that he was here.”

Scott continued to wriggle and thrash around, but a titanic hand grabbed him by the throat and dragged him to his feet. It took everything he had to remain balanced with his ankles taped like they were. “I bet this one’s all hot and bothered about his missing boyfriend,” Scott’s captor said. He added some more tape around Scott's knees to complete the picture. When Scott was thoroughly and mercilessly trussed to his satisfaction, the captor stowed the tape in the front pocket of his hoodie and reached up with his free hand to pull the ski-mask off his head. Randy. Because of course it was. That means Matt must be behind the counter. But Scott didn’t have any time to contemplate that as he felt himself being lifted off the floor like he weighed nothing and tossed over Randy’s broad shoulder. “Don’t worry, asshole, you’ll be joining him very soon. And Clay is still pissed at you for running your mouth the morning after that little party of yours. Not so tough now, are we? Without your meathead boyfriend to back you up, huh? Should have let us have the pledges when we asked, dude.”

Scott struggled and flailed in vain as Randy taunted him. But he was hopelessly outclassed. No way he was winning a strength contest against this roid freak. “Pop the trunk,” Randy said to Matt, who had left the counter and was moving rapidly for the door after collecting Scott’s cap and skateboard from the floor. “We gotta get this punk back to the house without being seen.” Matt unlocked the door and hurried out and Randy turned to follow. The last thing Scott saw before he was carried outside and dumped roughly into the trunk of Randy’s car was the Pledge clerk, flipping him off and calling out “DIX RULES!!!!”

---

The drone circling the DIX house, safely in the public street and not over their property, recorded Randy’s car coming over the hill with him and Matt inside. They seemed slightly tense, Brandon noticed through the monitor, but not overly so. He watched as the car turned onto the drive and disappeared behind the lowering garage door. “Hmm?” he noted. "They have a tail light out."

---

After the garage door had fully closed, Matt and Randy hopped out and opened the trunk. Scott had managed to kick out one of the tail lights and had done a halfway decent job of sawing through the tape around his wrists using random detritus from the trunk. Randy grabbed him by the face and hauled him out of the trunk on one fluid motion. “Bad move, bro!” he taunted, and socked Scott right in the gut. "You're gonna pay for that!" With the wind knocked out of him, Scott couldn’t resist as he was hoisted up and carried over Randy’s shoulder into the house and down the stairs into the basement.

At the bottom of the stairs, he was unceremoniously tossed onto the floor, landing hard face-down on the putrid, stained, and smelly area rug that covered the main floor. Applause broke out from the gathered men in the room as Scott positioned himself into something vaguely resembling comfort. He had just gotten his bearings when he saw a gruesome sight.

A short distance away, Hoss was still chained to the support pole. He was now fully aware, the drugs long since worked through his system, and was bellowing through his gag like a captive Norse God. The chain of his cuffs rattled mightily against the concrete pole as he struggled in vain against them. The tight ropes binding his legs and boots together strained from the pressure, but held fast. What the hell was he wearing? Leather pants and riding boots? "What was he doing when they grabbed him?" Scott thought. But there were more important things to think about right now. Hoss looked like he’d been beaten, with welts and bruises dotting the exposed skin on his chest and abs. Scott was grateful that he had at least managed to avoid such brutality during his own capture.

“Aw look,” Clay cackled. “The big dumb ox missed his boyfriend. Well, you’re together now! In fact…” Clay sauntered over and grabbed Scott by the hair. He dragged him over to Hoss and yanked him up so that their faces were level with each other. With a cruel sneer, he shoved Scott’s face into Hoss’ in a twisted mockery of a kiss. “Ain’t love beautiful?” Clay joked before dropping Scott to the floor. Clay turned and walked back over to where Travis, his face a pale green shade, was trying to act like he wasn’t horrified. Clay snapped his fingers as he walked and several DIX members approached Scott with scissors in their hands.

With surgical precision, Scott’s clothing was shredded and removed. As was the tape around his upper body, ankles, and knees. Every last scrap. T-Shirt, jeans, his Batman underwear, even his socks and skate shoes. All sliced to ribbons and tossed in a garbage bag. “Look at this!” Moses taunted. “I thought TUG guys were supposed to be all buff and shit. Vanity gym muscles. The clown looks like the only frat he’s pledging is KFC!” Scott’s average physique and slightly developing paunch were the subject of some good-natured jibing from his own body-conscious Brothers, but it was extra salt in the wound to hear it from these musclebound lunkheads. But he wasn’t exactly able to provide one of his world-famous burning retorts with his mouth sealed shut with gorilla tape. He kicked wildly with his legs, trying to force his captors away from him and attempt to stand up, but powerful hands pushed him back to the floor.

Two DIX men grabbed the naked Scott and dragged him across the carpet over to a second support pole. The half-frayed tape around his wrists was cut, but strong hands from every direction held him fast against the pole. He struggled in vain to slip free, but was unable to and sat helplessly as the handcuffs were locked around his wrists. He looked apologetically over at Hoss, who was impotently raging against his own bonds.

Satisfied that Scott was sufficiently shackled, the assembled DIX Brothers began to crowd around. Randy had the gun he had wielded during the fake robbery pointed directly at him. His eyes grew wide and he screamed in terror as Randy pulled the trigger...

The warm water hit Scott in the face and dripped down his nose. Wait. The assembled DIX Brothers guffawed as Randy unloaded the rest of the water gun's payload onto Scott. "Dumb fuck couldn't even spot a fake gun when he saw it!" Randy taunted, tossing the empty watergun onto the table. But they weren't done with him yet. Scott winced as the first egg crashed against his chest and exploded. The runny goo and pieces of shell dripping down his chest were joined by ketchup and mustard being squeezed onto him from two feet away out of plastic bottles. “Bitch eats so many hamburgers, might as well make him into one!” Moses taunted as he smashed another egg directly onto the top of Scott’s head.

---

Travis sat motionless on the couch across the room as Clay plopped down next to him. “Two down, one to go,” he said, affectionately tousling his brother’s hair.

“What happens after you get the third?” Travis asked, hiding his distaste. “We’re not going to keep them forever, I hope.”

“It would serve them right,” Clay scoffed. “But no. We have something very public planned. But we need all three to do it.”

“Public?” Travis asked. “Isn’t that kinda dangerous? I mean, you did kidnap these guys. Like, in the complete legal sense. If they want to press charges…” Travis was hoping to go into pre-law and his mind was churning rapidly with unpleasant outcomes.

“Don’t matter if they do,” Clay smirked. “The Mayor has our back. This whole thing is legally considered a ‘Fraternity Prank,’ and is not prosecutable. Unless someone dies or something. And do you really think we'd go THAT far? They may wish they were dead after we’re done with them, but that’s it. The worst that could happen is that Student Discipline makes us shingle some roofs for the rest of the semester. But that would be worth it, don’t you think? To pay these assholes back for what they put you through? What they put grandpa through?”

Travis wasn’t so sure, but gave a halfhearted agreement. “It’s late,” he said, getting up from the couch. “I have Spanish in the morning so I’m going to bed. And I won’t be here tomorrow night. I have a scene to shoot for that movie I’m doing.”

“Sucks for you,” Clay said. “Tomorrow night is when we bag Number Three. And he’s the biggest prize of them all.”

Coming Soon: Conflagration part 6 – Stay Hip, Daddy-o
Last edited by wataru14 1 year ago, edited 1 time in total.
User avatar
Guardianbound
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 686
Joined: 2 years ago

Post by Guardianbound »

I wonder when Travis is going to turn on DIX to join TUG, and poor Scott, seems like all DIX does is to degrade everyone, including their own members. The eventual showdown between TUG and DIX is going to be fascinating, and the Mayor vs Advisor battle will also be interesting. Can't wait!
Banner by bondagefreak --- Link to my stories: Click Here

Image
User avatar
KidnappedCowboy
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 959
Joined: 5 years ago
Location: USA
Contact:

Post by KidnappedCowboy »

“Tomorrow night is when we bag Number Three. And he’s the biggest prize of them all.”
Brett?

Excellent, my friend...Just Excellent:

Sense of foreboding... :(

A certain sense of helplessness... :o

And the sense of danger! :twisted:
User avatar
blackbound
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1057
Joined: 5 years ago

Post by blackbound »

Man, DIX really are dicks... oh, I see what you did there.
User avatar
Volobond
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1697
Joined: 4 years ago

Post by Volobond »

Oooof, I really do hate DIX, and I hope for an appropriate punishment for them - not the least of which for depriving us of a night spent watching Wade dominate Scott! Come to your senses, Travis. You grandpa was a fuck, and so is your brother, but you can be better!
Image

You can find my M/M stories here: https://tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?p=38809#p38809
User avatar
gag1195
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1349
Joined: 4 years ago

Post by gag1195 »

I mean, Trey did warn him not to go alone, though given DIX's method of capturing Scott, it might have resulted in another TUG guy joining Scott and Hoss in the basement!

Like others, I have to think that the third big target is Brett... I suspect it's because he's the leader, and has a close relationship with DIX's real target, the advisor. But I have to wonder if DIX or perhaps the Mayor might suspect some of the deeper connections between Brett and the Advisor...
Volobond wrote: 1 year ago Oooof, I really do hate DIX, and I hope for an appropriate punishment for them - not the least of which for depriving us of a night spent watching Wade dominate Scott!
Agreed! I was really looking forward to seeing Wade at work! I guess Scott will just have to make it up to him when all of this is over!
My M/M Stories Here
Image
User avatar
wataru14
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 658
Joined: 6 years ago
Location: Las Vegas, Nevada, USA

Post by wataru14 »


Conflagration part 6 – Stay Hip, Daddy-o

Mason hated being in places like this. The cold, sterile smell of cleaning supplies, the beeping of the machinery, the overall grim attitude of everyone around. His family made regular visits to a retirement home like this to see his own grandmother and it always… for lack of a better word… creeped him out. But all of his initial misgivings about coming here for his interview melted away as soon as he met his subject. Jonathan Davis wasn’t like most nursing home residents.

“Johnny Rocket” was 83 but still had the vitality of a 20-year-old. Wheelchair-bound for several years now, he still broke all the rules, and more than a few widowed grannies’ hearts. At the moment, he was being closely watched by staff since he got caught trying to steal the Senior Center van to take the men of his floor to a local strip club. How he would drive it when he couldn’t get into the driver’s seat didn’t occur to him, but he tried nonetheless.

The first thing Johnny did when he brought Mason into the room was compliment him on his hairdo. “My son had one like it in ’79,” he chuckled. “He seemed pretty pissed that I didn’t hate it. I guess that was the whole point in getting it, huh? Piss off ‘The Man?’ But where he got the idea that I was ‘The Man,’ I’ll never know.” Johnny’s own hair had been gelled into a neat pompadour, complete with duck tail. “Still got my hair,” he said proudly. “Don’t know what I’d do if I went bald. Probably pull my own plug. Nothing gets the ladies hot like a man with good hair. But you probably already know that. Heh heh.”

Johnny’s room at the Senior Home looked more like a college dorm room than Mason’s own did. Posters of half-naked women and classic cars covered the walls, and a huge TUG banner hung proudly on the wall. Mason didn’t understand why Johnny started laughing when he sat down in the large, wide chair in the corner, but when his leg absently bumped into the commode pan on the underside, it all became clear. “You might want to find a different seat, Sonny,” Johnny said. “I blew that up all to hell this morning! HAHAHAHAHA!!!!”

Chuckling, Mason switched over to the desk chair and switched on his recorder. “So tell me about TUG, in the old days,” he said.

“OLD!?!?!” Johnny said, feigning insult. “Why I oughta… But yeah, ’57 must seem like the Stone Age to you kids. But some things never change. From what I’ve been hearing you boys still have problems with DIX, huh?” Mason nodded gravely. He was sure they were going to plan something in retaliation for losing the Car Wash Wars, but he had no idea what. “Well, I gotta be honest,” Johnny said. “That’s all my fault.”

---

“What’re we gonna do, Johnny?” the terrified pledge asked, huffing and puffing and barely able to keep up. He was still holding the egg carton, even though he had been told a while back to ditch it. “This is a dead end!”

Johnny hated to admit it, but his friend was right. The group had zigged when they should have zagged and were trapped in an alley behind the library that ended in a solid wall. He felt a little bad for getting his Pledge Brothers into this mess, but they needed something to shake them up a little. Their lives were too ordered. Too by-the-book. They needed to get out and live a little. There was a whole world of fun and adventure out there and the only future they were making for themselves was 30 years in a gray office and an early grave. No way he was going to let that happen! Johnny had taken a leadership role in the Pledge Class early on, much to everyone’s surprise, and the Chapter President had encouraged it. Someone needed to get these boys out of their shells and he was just the man to do it.

They offered a lot of protest and resistance when Johnny handed them each a carton of eggs and said they were going to do a little “decorating” around campus. But he accepted no backtalk, and after the first egg crashed against the wall of the dining hall, the thrill of being bad kicked in and his fellow pledges were laughing and letting loose. It was good for them, Johnny thought. But once campus police had caught wind of them, he began to feel a little guilty about exposing his friends to that aspect of delinquent-hood. They weren’t ready for that yet. So the mass egging had been cut short and the group had been running for their lives around campus, pursued by a pair of MCU’s “finest.” They had done a pretty good job of it so far, but their luck had run out when they barreled into this dead-end.

There was only one thing for Johnny to do. Without saying a word, he grabbed the nearest pledge and begin lifting him up. The boy understood and grabbed onto the top of the wall. He hoisted himself up and sat down on the flagstones, his legs dangling over the edge on Johnny’s side. Good thing this pledge had built up some muscles on the farm he came from. With the two of them working together, the other three pledges were quickly pulled up and over the wall to safety. Only Johnny was left, but just as the pledge atop the wall reached down for him, time ran out and the cops appeared at the other end of the alley. But that was really the plan. The cops had to catch someone or they’d keep pursuing everyone. Someone had to take the fall and Johnny was used to that. The others weren’t. As soon as the fourth pledge had made it over the wall, Johnny signaled the one remaining on top to jump down and run. They didn’t want to leave him, but he would take no argument. The last pledge hopped down to freedom as the two campus cops reached Johnny.

“Top of the mornin’ to ye!” Johnny said, leaning against the wall with a roguish smirk. “How are we doing this fine day, my good officers?”

“Can it, punk,” one of the policemen said, taping his baton against his hands. “Your delinquent buddies may have escaped but we’re still going to run your ass in! Drop those eggs!”

Johnny deposited the carton into the nearby garbage pail and waited. In a flash, the two lawmen were on him. They grabbed him by the collar of his leather jacket and slammed his face into the brick wall. “Now now!” Johnny said. “No need for violence. I surrender!”

“If I had my way, I’d black both of your eyes and give you a nice split lip to remember me by,” one of the officers said as he pulled his handcuffs from his belt pouch. “Teach your greaser ass some respect for the law. But we’re not allowed to do that anymore. It’s a crying shame.” Johnny had no time for a retort as his arms were roughly pulled behind his back and held in an unnatural position. With a ratcheting clank, the cuffs were slapped on his wrists and locked, exceptionally tightly. These two were trying to make a point, Johnny thought. Once his hands were secured behind his back in their steel bracelets, Johnny was dragged away from the wall. His pockets were emptied and their contents confiscated. Then he was dragged by the collar out of the alley and into the plaza.

Quite a crowd had gathered to watch the action, and Johnny decided to play it up for his audience. He put on his best bad-boy snarl and struggled valiantly against the cops’ grip on his upper arms as he was perp walked past a gathering crowd of looky-loos. “I was framed, I tells ya!” he shouted, flashing a wink and a smile at a group of co-eds, who blushed and hid their smiling faces behind their books. The cops were less than impressed.

“Knock it off, Romeo,” one said, slapping Johnny in the back of the head as he shoved him roughly into the back of the patrol car. “No date night for you. The only place you’re going is the clink!”

---

“Ah, the old holding cell,” Johnny thought as he sat on the bench leaning against the grimy wall. “They should start charging me rent here pretty soon.” The cell was large, meant to store up to ten perps at once. The campus police station didn’t have individual cells, and Johnny had spent more than a few nights in this particular suite. Squirming uncomfortably, he shifted his position to take some of the stress off his arms. Normally they uncuffed you after they brought you in, but his arresting officers were apparently having a very bad day, so they decided to leave him restrained while in lockup. He had been there for several hours already and wasn’t scheduled to be released that day. So he figured he’d better get used to the cuffs for a while. The TUG Chapter President had come by to smooth things out with the authorities after the others got back to the House, but he wasn’t in a very forgiving mood. Johnny had earned himself campus cleanup duty for two weeks for his little stunt, and the President decided it would teach him a lesson to let him stew in the cell for the rest of the night. “I kinda deserve this,” Johnny thought, accepting his punishment, but remembering the rush of excitement in his fellow Pledges’ faces. “But it was worth it.”

After another few hours of boredom, the door to the outer hall opened and an officer came in escorting someone. Someone who wasn’t very happy. The man was unfettered, and dressed in chinos and a buttondown shirt. A sweater was tied around his shoulders and he had a look of smug horror on his face. Like someone accustomed to looking down his nose at people.

Johnny stood up and jangled his cuffs. “You gonna take these off me anytime soon?” he asked.

“Maybe tomorrow if you behave yourself,” the officer barked. “But not right now. You’re getting a roommate for the night, so sit your greaser ass down before I sit you down myself.” Johnny rolled his eyes and took his seat, watching the cell door curiously.

“I have to stay in here?” the student standing next to the officer said, incredulous. “With the lowlifes and thugs? That is unacceptable. If there are no private cells, I demand to be placed in the staff lounge.”

“Sorry, princess,” the officer said. “The bridal suite is occupied so you’ll have to make do.” He unlocked the door and waved the haughty man in.

With a snarl, he entered the holding cell. “My father will hear about this,” he threatened. “I hope you enjoy unemployment because you’ll be losing this job very soon. This is all an egregious misunderstanding and I shouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah yeah, I’ve heard that before,” the officer said, before locking the cell door and leaving. “A misunderstanding. I guess a genie put the answer key to that History exam in your backpack, huh?” The new arrival didn’t respond as he strolled into the cell with a cocky swagger. Johnny wanted to knock that haughty scowl off his face, but with the cuffs still on, that wasn’t in the cards. The new arrival looked around in horror at the grimy accommodations, then found a reasonably clean seat on a bench across the room from Johnny.

“Hey,” Johnny said, sliding into an upright position after the officer locked the cell door and left. “Got a cigarette? They took mine.”

“Certainly not!” the new arrival said. “And even if I did, I certainly wouldn’t share with the likes of you. You probably deserve to be in here. I’m here because of a misunderstanding. One that will soon be rectified.”

“Yeah, I head,” Johnny said, clicking the heels of his engineer boots together in boredom. “Daddy will fix everything, huh?”

Johnny’s cellmate sensed the implications of that statement. “I know fatherly concern is an alien concept to you,” he scoffed. “You probably don’t even know who your father is. Common scenario with the lower social classes, sadly.” With a haughty smirk, he removed a handkerchief from his pants pocket and began polishing a gold pin on his shirt front. From where Johnny sat, it looked like it was the letters “DIX.” This was clearly being done as a boast, of some sort, but the meaning was lost on Johnny. He just rolled his eyes and turned away.

For the rest of the evening, the two avoided each other. Or at least, Johnny did. Orson, as his name happened to be, was not a stunning conversationalist and ignored any attempts at chatting that he didn’t shoot down with a direct insult. “What’s this guy’s problem?” Johnny thought. “What did I ever do to him? Rich asshole. Thinks that average Joes like me are the dirt on his fancy designer shoes.” After a while, Johnny gave up trying to converse and retreated to the corner to get some sleep. It was getting late in the day. Almost time for lights out.

Orson noticed that, too. And he didn’t like it. When the officers came in after dark to announce lights out, he howled and threatened, asking after his father, but the jailers weren’t impressed. “Sorry, your majesty,” one said, “But your daddy’s secretary said that he’s in an important meeting and won’t be able to come down here and give us what for after all. Pity. She will be arriving tomorrow morning to sign you out on his behalf. So it looks like you’ll be our guest for the evening.”

“What?” Orson bellowed. “That is completely unacceptable! I demand you release me immediately. There’s no way I’m sharing a space with a delinquent all night!”

The officer banged his baton against the bars. “Pipe down in there or you’ll get your wish. An 8x8 bunk in isolation. We don’t have private cells but we do have that. Is that what you want?” Orson glared, but backed down. He returned to his seat, sulking. “And as for you, Johnny, in order to teach you some much-needed manners, your Chapter President has decided that you will be here with us all weekend. Now since this is Friday, that means you get to stay here for two whole days. He just collected your stuff and decided to leave you here to learn a lesson. Isn’t that nice of him?”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Neat-o,” he said, lightly banging the back of his head against the wall behind him. “Are you at least going to take the cuffs off at some point?”

“I was thinking about it, but since you just left a nasty grease spot on my clean wall, you can stay in ‘em until morning,” the officer said. “Nighty-night, boys.” And with that, he switched off the overhead lights and left. In the dim light that remained, Johnny could see Orson, fuming across the room. “Looks like we’re roommates tonight,” he joked.

Orson got up and stormed across the room. He bent down and put his finger in Johnny’s face. “You will not talk to me, you will not come near me, you will not even LOOK at me,” he said, jabbing Johnny in the chest. “My family can buy and sell lowlifes like you many times over. I’m having a bad enough day without your bullshit!”

“You know,” Johnny said. “You’re a real piece of work. If my hands weren’t cuffed I’d knock a few of your teeth out to teach you some respect.”

“But they are cuffed, Johnny,” Orson taunted. “They are. So you are going to sit there and take it like the delinquent scum you are. People like you… [blah blah blah]…”

Johnny was an affable fellow, but he was approaching the limits of his patience. He had taken about all that he could stand. While Orson was berating him, Johnny began twisting his cuffed wrists behind his back just so. Not enough for anyone to notice, but enough to get some wiggle room. He hadn’t planned on doing this, but with circumstances being what they were, he was now forced to get nasty. Orson needed to be taught a lesson and he was going to do it. As Orson’s rant continued, Johnny flattened his thumb and slid it flush against his palm. A little shimmy here, a little wriggle there, and… bam! His hand slipped out of the steel bracelet. He held the empty shackle in his fingers while he got to work on his other hand. By the time Orson had finished his tirade, Johnny was free of his handcuffs, but held them behind his back as if he were still secured.

He sat rolling his eyes as Orson finished and stormed back to his seat again. He sat watching as Orson rolled his sweater into a makeshift pillow and laid down. Orson’s breathing became slow and even as he drifted off into sleep. After suitable time had passed, Johnny stood up and stuffed the handcuffs into his pants pocket. Barely making a sound, he crossed the room and bent down over his sleeping cellmate. After a quick look to make sure no one was coming into the room, he plastered his hand over Orson’s mouth. Orson awoke with a start and began thrashing and grunting. Now Johnny wasn’t muscular, but he was strong and scrappy. And he had Orson at a disadvantageous position. “Now what was that about my hands being cuffed?” Johnny said with a sneer.

---

When morning came, the attending officer came in the check on the prisoners, who were both still asleep. On one side was a jeans-and-t-shirt-clad punk with his hands cuffed behind him, sleeping soundly with his face to the wall. On the other was a well-dressed young man sleeping with his arms crossed over his face. His hair had become unmade during the night and was a tangled mess. Behind the officer was a smartly-dressed young woman in her early 20s. “There he is,” the officer said to her. “Sleeping like a baby. But from what the night guys said he was real mouthy when they brought him in.”

“Yes, he’s like that,” the woman said sharply. “A real nasty piece of work. Doesn’t like keeping his hands to himself when he comes to visit the office. If it were up to me I’d let him rot in there.”

“What does his father think about that?” the officer said.

“Very little,” she replied. “I got so sick of it that I tendered my resignation. This is my last official duty before I leave that awful job. I’m enrolling here next semester.”

“Understood,” the officer said. He banged his baton against the bars. “Wake up!” he cried. The delinquent squirmed and mumbled, but didn’t turn over. “No matter,” the officer thought. “Not here for him anyway.” The well-dressed boy sat up and stretched. His matted hair hung down in a curtain over his face. “Up an at ‘em, your majesty,” the officer called, “Your carriage awaits.”

The officer opened the cell door and the groggy former prisoner stood up. He yawned, polished his pin once or twice and haughtily strode past the officer and through the open cell door. As he passed the secretary, she stopped him, a confused look on her face. Johnny’s heart almost stopped as she flipped his messy hair, unseen by the officer, and stared him right in the face. Then she winked.

“You’re a mess,” she said. “You can’t meet your father looking like that. Go home and take a shower.”

Johnny nearly melted. “Thanks a million, doll,” he whispered. He shot her a double thumbs-up. “You’re a real cool kitten.” And he strutted down the hallway to freedom.

---

Once Johnny was safely out of the Campus Police Building, he hauled ass as fast as his feet would take him. After he had jumped Orson in the night, Johnny applied a quick sleeper hold and the arrogant ass was out for the night. It was a simple matter to switch their clothes after that. He didn’t switch their shoes, though. His jeans and t-shirt he could leave, but engineer boots were expensive. “Not gonna waste a ton of cash on a punk like Orson,” Johnny thought as he came to rest behind the Math Building. He had been concerned that someone would notice they were wearing the wrong shoes, but the officer didn’t seem to pick up on that. He was positive the secretary did, though. That chick was sharp. And classy. And smoking hot! He’d have to look her up when she arrived after Christmas Break. He giggled to himself as he imagined Orson’s revulsion at being forcibly dressed up as a member of the hated working class. “Probably hates it as much as I hate this preppy monkey suit,” he thought as he tried to fix his hair into something presentable.

By now the cops would have realized what had happened. By know they’d have found out that the cuffed figure on the bench was Orson, secured to the slats in the bunk by his belt and gagged with that white hanky of his. The one that he used to polished the fancy pin on his sweater. And that hanky was held in place with the filthy bandana that Johnny kept perpetually hanging from his back pocket. The one he wiped his hands on after tuning up cars. The one that hadn’t been washed in… lord knows how long. By now Orson would be fuming at the ex-secretary, who would claim that she had no way of knowing since the person who left had his face concealed by his matted hair. But he was long gone.

Johnny’s attention turned to his stuffy and overpriced new clothes. Definitely not his style. He took off the sweater and buttondown, leaving himself in just his chinos and a white tank top. “That’s better,” he thought. He tossed the sweater in a trash can and was about to dispose of the shirt when he saw the shiny pin on the breast. “DIX?” he thought. “Wait, I’ve heard of them! Another fraternity. It’s all jocks and preppies and rich types. Jerks like Orson.” He took the pin off and held it in his fingers before discarding the shirt into the can. “This looks like it’s a pretty big deal for them. They’d be pretty steamed if it got lost. Well, too damn bad.” And the tossed it into the sewer grate nearby as he walked back to the TUG house with his head held high.

---

“Wait,” Mason said. “Was that pin what I think it was?”

“Yes indeedy,” Johnny said. “It was a Founder’s Pin, passed on from Brother to Brother since DIX was established. TUG has them, too, but we’re not pretentious like DIX. I believe mine is currently entrusted to someone named Shane. We only wear them on formal and special occasions. Not around town like a piece of costume jewelry. Orson learned how bad of an idea that was. He got expelled from DIX for losing it. Good riddance, I say. He got what was coming to him.”

“No wonder they’re so pissed,” Mason said. “That was a piece of their history. And you just threw it in the sewer.”

“Actually, I didn’t,” Johnny said with a wry smile.

“But you just said…” Mason stammered.

“That’s what I told everyone,” Johnny said. “Thought it was a pretty badass thing to do. Everyone else thought so, too. But the truth is, I didn’t throw it away. You think a guy like me who never had anything worth real money in his life is going to throw away something made of gold? Not a chance. I kept it secret all these years. As my personal trophy. I still have it.”

“You WHAT?” Mason said, dumbfounded.

“See for yourself. Johnny said. “On top of my dresser is a box. Open it up.” Mason got up and did what Johnny instructed. He opened the wooden chest on the dresser top and sorted through the various mementos. Finally, under a wedding photo of Johnny and someone who looked suspiciously like a former secretary, he found it. Shiny as the day it was made. “She wanted me to give it back, but I never did. But now I have no need of it anymore. So why don’t you take it? I’m sure a smart one like you can figure out something fun to do with it.”

Mason turned the pin over in his hand. “This is BIG!” he thought. “If this is the reason the rivalry started, maybe it can help to end it, as well.” Mason stuffed the pin in his pocket. “Thank you, sir, for telling me your story,” he said to Johnny. “You’ve given me a lot to write about, and even more to think about.”

“Glad to hear it,” Johnny said, after admonishing Mason for calling him “sir.” “Now you’d better get going. Visiting hours in the Gulag are almost over. But we’ll see each other again. The warden is letting me out for the big TUG Christmas Alumni dinner this year. Time off for good behavior.”

“Good behavior?” Mason said with an eyebrow raised.

“Well, good as far as THEY know,” Johnny chuckled. “It’ll be nice to see what the house looks like now. Lotsa memories there.”

“Yes, there certainly are,” Mason said, collecting his things. “Say, whatever happened to Orson?”

“You’re worried about him?” Johnny said, chuckling. “Don’t be. He did all right for himself. No fraternity would touch him after our little run-in, but he still graduated and all that. With honors and bells and whistles. He’s on the board of some evil corporation or other. Still. One of those cantankerous old fucks who won’t move on. Got a family and all that.” Johnny looked Mason over. “But it tells me a lot about you that you’re concerned. That you still can show pity for a wretched elitist jerk like him. Says a lot about the kind of men TUG is recruiting. You make me proud, sonny.”

Mason didn’t know what to say. His own grandfathers had passed away when he was a little kid and he didn’t know them very well. And his parents were… “Say, Johnny,” he said as he stood in the doorway. “You look like you’re wasting away in here. What do you say to me stopping by and visiting every once in a while? Maybe sneak you out of here from time to time to raise some hell on the outside?”

“Sonny,” Johnny said. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Coming Soon: Conflagration part 7 - Formal Terms of Surrender


The next chapter will be somewhat delayed. My birthday is next week and I have plans here and there, so writing will have to wait a little bit.
User avatar
Volobond
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1697
Joined: 4 years ago

Post by Volobond »

Happy upcoming birthday, daddy-o! You're a real swell guy. A hip cat, even. One might even say... groovy. 8-)

Johnny's not my kind of guy, but I admire his confidence and cunning to pull off that switcheroo on Orson. And it was cute to see how he went steady with that former secretary.
Image

You can find my M/M stories here: https://tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?p=38809#p38809
User avatar
gag1195
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1349
Joined: 4 years ago

Post by gag1195 »

I only wish we could have experienced Orson's reactions when he finally woke up, bound and gagged in the cell, wearing commoner's clothes! What a sight! I also have to wonder if Johnny got into any trouble back at TUG for skipping out on his little detention? Or if he was congratulated for his ingenuity? Mason needs to bring Leo next time he visits! The Greaser and the Punk surely have a lot to talk about!

I'm really hoping Mason is able to use that pin to help end this feud. After a bit more bondage and kidnappings of course!
My M/M Stories Here
Image
User avatar
Pup Wingletang
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 824
Joined: 3 years ago
Location: Devon, UK

Post by Pup Wingletang »

Just caught up on Hoss and Nate's photoshoot and it definitely didn't disappoint. I love the way that Hoss really pushed himself out of his comfort zone to give Nate the opportunity to take charge. Hoss's initial nervousness and uncertainty was great but he soon got over that once the ropes came out and it was great to see him get into character. Nate's natural authority really comes out when he's put in a situation he's familiar with. Brilliant ending complete with anachronistic Norse rug.
A pup is for life but especially for bondage so get out the sleepsack and muzzle.

Don't miss out on the final chapter of Lovingly Zipped Up (M/M)

All my M/M stories can be found HERE.
User avatar
KidnappedCowboy
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 959
Joined: 5 years ago
Location: USA
Contact:

Post by KidnappedCowboy »

“Say, Johnny,” he said as he stood in the doorway. “You look like you’re wasting away in here. What do you say to me stopping by and visiting every once in a while? Maybe sneak you out of here from time to time to raise some hell on the outside?”

“Sonny,” Johnny said. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
I love Mason/Sonny! :)

Orson was such a PWE! :evil:

Enjoy your birthday and time away, my friend! :D :D
User avatar
blackbound
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1057
Joined: 5 years ago

Post by blackbound »

Happy birthday, [mention]wataru14[/mention] and thank you for gracing us with this story.
User avatar
wataru14
Centennial Club
Centennial Club
Posts: 658
Joined: 6 years ago
Location: Las Vegas, Nevada, USA

Post by wataru14 »

It took longer than expected (a lot happened this past week), but the next chapter is finally ready!


Conflagration part 7 – Formal Terms of Surrender

“You have two choices,” the email said. It was accompanied by an attached picture of Hoss and Scott, tethered to the support poles and surrounded by grinning DIX Brothers giving the thumbs up. Both looked as proud and defiant as they could, being in various states of undress and securely gagged. “You turn yourself over to us without complaint and we stop. Refuse and we continue hunting you. The next step will be your pledges. And we WILL get them. No matter how you try to prevent it, we will get them. We have more resources than you can imagine. The choice is yours.”

Brett lowered the cover of his laptop and turned his ring twice. He had promised he wouldn’t use it needlessly, but this was not a needless time. He slowly felt the edge begin to melt away and he closed his eyes for a moment. The look on the faces of the remaining Seniors said that they were not going to criticize him right now. The rest of the email dictated the terms and conditions of Brett’s delivery to DIX, but that was just extraneous detail.

“You’re not seriously considering this?” Danny shouted. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Danny,” Shane said, “I really don’t see any alternative. We can’t be everywhere at once and the pledges can’t miss classes for this. We can’t hide them and we can’t escort them everywhere. And who’s to say an Upperclassman escort would stop them? If they did decide to get physical? They did with Hoss and we have no chance fighting them without Him.”

“Are you saying the 13 of us aren’t enough to protect five kids?” Danny shouted. “Then I’ll get Victor, Tony, and Benjamin to help. Hell, they’ll get the whole ROTC on board!”

“Stop it, Danny,” Brett said. “We can’t involve outside groups. We can’t escalate it. They’re looking for us to get desperate and things are already almost beyond our control. Do you want your gym friends to get screwed over by Student Discipline? The real problem is the mayor. He’s the one behind all this. He’s the one that’s planning and backing them. Without him, the whole thing crumbles.”

“So we need to take him down,” Danny said. “And how do you propose we do that? Goes pretty far beyond the scope of frat pranks, don’t you think?”

“That’s exactly right,” Brett said. “And WE aren’t going to do anything. The advisor is working on that right now. He even called in some outside help. Someone with far more resources than the mayor has, believe me. But they need time. Which is what this will buy us. Let them have this small victory. Once they simmer down, we’ll have more room to maneuver.”

“And what about Mason’s idea?” Danny said.

“I would love for that to work,” Brett said. “But we haven’t been able to verify authenticity yet. If it’s not real and we move on that, it makes things even worse.”

“You’re saying he kept a fake all these years?”

“He’s almost 90 fucking years old,” Brett snapped. “He might have picked it up somewhere decades ago and got confused. Or he had it made and gave it to Mason because he thinks it would help. Come on, Danny. He’s one of the most popular choices for the bio papers for the last 40+ years. And he never mentioned that pin to anyone else before?”

“Mason is special,” Danny said, after an angry pause.

“I agree 1,000%,” Brett said. “If anyone could get Johnny Rocket to tell the truth, it would be him. Which is why I’m having it looked into. Unfortunately our expert on historical artifacts is giving a symposium in Lima and won’t be back Stateside for a few days. We just don’t have the time.”

Danny grumbled and punched the table. But he couldn’t argue anymore. There was no point. Brett made up his mind and it was ultimately his decision. “And you think they’ll keep to their word?” he snorted.

“Yes,” Brett said. “The mayor wouldn’t cross that line. He’s playing it straight, if dirty. He wants everything to be on the up-and-up before his final strike. If he goes back on his word, then the advisor doesn’t need to play by the rules either. And if he’s allowed to go off script… well, things could get bloody.”

Danny grumbled, but swallowed his arguments. Once Brett made a decision, he wasn’t going to be talked out of it.

“Until this is over,” Brett said, “You’re in charge, Danny. I trust you to keep the pledges safe during my ‘absence.’ To keep them from trying anything rash.”

“My guess is that DIX is going to want to do something very public with you three,” Danny said. “And I don’t want them seeing that. We’ll call them over here and keep them under wraps when things go down.”

“Good call,” Brett said. He took off his ring and put it in a velvet bag, which he handed to Danny. “Hold onto this for me. I should be good for a few days, at least. I’ve been using it less and less recently.” Danny grimly nodded. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready.”

---

The mood in the TUG foyer was tense and angry as the brothers waited for Brett to come downstairs. The entire DIX house had assembled on their lawn across the street and looked like they were attending some sort of carnival. They all had blue-and-white warpaint on their faces and all wore their fraternity letter shirts. No one at TUG said a word. They weren’t used to being on the losing end of a scheme and no one really knew what to say, anyway. After a bloated, awkward silence, Brett finally emerged from the second floor. He adjusted his cufflinks as he descended the stairs.

Brett was dressed in a full tuxedo. Like he was going to an awards dinner. Pressed black slacks, double-breasted jacket, pearl shirt buttons, the works. A diamond stud earring, a new addition Brett had done when he got his TUG tattoo, adorned his left lobe. He looked like a million bucks. “This is what the email stated,” he said awkwardly. “They want the ‘Rich Boy’ to be in his finery.” He said. “I probably won’t get this outfit back, but it’s a small price to pay for some much-needed time.”

“You sure you want to do this?” Omar asked. He had a length of rope folded over in his hands.

“I have no choice,” Brett said glumly. “Danny is in charge until I get back, but I want the pledges brought here and secured until tomorrow night. I don’t want them involved in this. We’ll let them go tomorrow night when this is all over and we can all discuss our next plan of action. The advisor and his contact are close to getting something we can use and hopefully should have a report by then.”

Omar nodded as Brett cracked his neck and stoically crossed his wrists behind his back. The other Brothers exchanged awkward looks and then began to surround him. No one needed to hold Brett’s arms into position, as resistance wasn’t in the cards. He positioned his arms parallel to each other and the floor, across the small of his back. Wrist to elbow. Rope was applied on both ends, pinning his arms into an uncomfortable “=” shape. A third rope was added to the middle of his forearms, holding them tight in place. The strain was intense, but Brett had been working on flexibility in the gym, so he was able to endure it with much less hardship than most. Someone like Hoss would have had his shoulders dislocated by this position. As the ropes tightened, Brett thought about Hoss. He had been in that grungy basement and subjected to whatever indignities DIX could think of for two days now. And he was most likely taken down thinking he was going to have a rendezvous with Nate, which made it all the more bitter. “We’ll make it up to you, buddy,” he thought to himself.

Nate had gotten over his initial numbness quickly, and replaced it with righteous anger. He had advocated going to Student Discipline or the police right away, but Brett had to tell him what he had discussed with Santucci when Hoss’ car was found. That it wouldn’t do any good and that they were on their own. Rather than let that discourage him, Nate just cryptically said “then we have other people we can turn to” and left it at that.

Nate had kicked Cody out of the room the previous day, saying he needed to do something that Cody couldn’t be present for. “I don’t like the sound of that,” Cody had said, “but I trust you. I’ll stay with Ray and Mason tonight, I don’t mind. But you’re kinda scaring me. Don’t do anything rash.” Nate appreciated the concern and told Cody so, and made sure to reassure him that he wouldn’t be doing anything dangerous. Cody only half bought it. After he had packed a change of clothes for the night and headed out into the hall, Cody thought he heard a really weird sound coming from the room. Like one of those old dial-up modems, but supercharged. He sighed, hoping Nate knew what he was doing.

After his arms were secured, Brett spread his stance apart and squared his shoulders. He didn’t need to test the ropes on his wrists – he knew they would hold. He didn’t look down, staring straight ahead at the door, as the ropes were threaded under his carriage and around his waist. An intricate harness was being woven around his hips, forming a base for the chest harness that would follow and markedly framing his crotch. The harness formed an inverted triangle around his package, making it almost resemble a vagina. That was intentional, he thought. A subtle dig that he didn’t think DIX was capable of grasping. As more ropes began to envelop his torso, he realized that underestimating them had been a grave mistake.

Brett stayed still as ropes were threaded around his arms, chest, and abdomen. A beautiful pattern of interwoven diamonds began to form, the silky white rope contrasting nicely with the silky black of his tuxedo jacket. He felt the prison of cords getting snugger and tighter across his chest, sealing his fate more and more with each successive knot. When it was mostly complete, he finally looked down and had to admire the craftsmanship. Some of the guys enjoyed doing fancy designs with their harnesses and were really outdoing themselves here. In different circumstances he’d have had Nate take pictures for posterity. They were really doing fine work. But that gave him little comfort.

After the harness was done, a hobble was put on his legs. Rope was looped and secured around each ankle and only two feet of slack separated them. He’d be able to walk, but slowly and with an embarrassingly shuffling gait. A further humiliation for him. But there were two final indignities left. A rope collar was wound around his throat. It was done in such a way, secured to the harness on his shoulders, that it wouldn’t choke or hurt him. At least not physically. Brett’s confidence wavered as the rope leash was affixed to the front of the collar. But there was one final jab left: the gag.

With a disdain you could almost taste, Danny approached Brett after the others had finished their bindings and stepped away. He held a blue-and-white DIX novelty bandana in each hand. Both had been purchased from the School Store this afternoon, as instructed in the email, and Danny was holding them away from his body like they were about to explode. He folded one into a tightly-packed wad and held it up. Steeling his resolve, Brett slowly opened his mouth and waited as Danny gingerly inserted the hated cloth into his maw. Once it was in, Brett moved it with his tongue into a relatively comfortable position. The sound of slow drums began to rise from outside. DIX was ready. And getting impatient. With an angry scowl, Danny folded the other bandana into a thick band, making sure that the DIX letters were visibly emblazoned on the front face, as instructed. After a nod from Brett, Danny carefully placed the band over the president’s mouth, straightened it out so that the letters were clearly visible, and tied it off behind Brett’s head.

Brett gave a few weak mumbles as the drums grew louder. It was time. He nodded at Shane, who opened the front door. He took a step and the rest of the group fell into formation behind him. With one final steeling of his will, Brett marched over the threshold, head held high.

The entire DIX house was assembled on the lawn across the street, with an air of barely-suppressed glee. The pledges were drumming in a steady cadence as Clay emerged from the crowd and stood with his arms folded across his chest, a look of smug victory on his face. The rest of TUG assembled on the porch in formation as Brett began to descend the stairs. The walk across the street was achingly slow. Time itself felt like it was dilating as Brett shuffled proudly off the sidewalk and onto the asphalt. Drawn by the sound of the drums, members of the neighboring houses had gathered on their porches to watch. A few found it humorous, but most watched the scene with disgust. DIX certainly wasn’t winning any popularity contests with this stunt, but Brett didn’t think they cared too much. They were sending a “this is what happens when you fuck with us” message that the other fraternities were receiving loud and clear.

When he got to DIX’s side, Brett blinked twice and stepped up onto the curb. As soon as his toes touched the lawn, they were on him. A throng of overmuscled ogres surrounded him en masse and started shoving him around. Taunting him. Twisting his nipples through his jacket and cupping his framed crotch with cruel sneers. Trey and Brandon started to break formation and make a move for the stairs, but Shane and Danny stopped them. “This has to happen,” Shane said soothingly. “This is Brett’s call and he knows what he’s doing.”

After letting the Brothers have their fun for a moment, Clay stepped in and moved them aside. “So,” he said to Brett with a cocky smirk. “We’ve managed to capture the Scion.” Brett was taken back by the use of this word, but Clay didn’t seem to grasp it’s implication. He was probably called that by the mayor and Clay just thought it sounded cool. That made him relax, although just a tad. “And didn’t even have to break a sweat to do it. I thought that loser Scott was an easy bag but you just handed yourself over to us like the pussy you are.” Brett grunted angrily, but the ropes binding him were too secure for him to do anything else. The assembled DIX brothers gave a rowdy cheer as Clay grabbed the rope leash and yanked hard, forcing Brett to impotently hobble behind him as he ascended the stars into the house.

---

Brett expected to be brought to the basement right away, but he was thrown for a loop when he was marched over towards the president’s office. The DIX house was a mirror of TUG’s, so he new exactly where they were headed when he was dragged through the living room and down the hall. Clay opened the door of the darkened room just enough to shove Brett inside and then follow him, closing the door behind them. The high-backed chair of the desk was turned to face the window. Clay pulled out one of the visitor chairs and roughly shoved Brett down into it. He landed hard, his bound arms banging painfully against the back of the chair and pinned there by his body weight. Clay took the leash and tethered it to the crossbar under the seat, forcing Brett’s head down, bowed in a position of supplication.

“He’s secured,” Clay said aloud. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“That will be fine, Clay,” came a voice from the high-backed chair. “Go join the others downstairs. Have your celebration and start getting everything ready for tomorrow. I’ll call you when I want this filth removed from my sight.”

Clay nodded and left the room, locking the door behind him. Brett heard Clay’s footfalls die away down the hall. After a suitably tense period, the chair turned around. Seated across the desk from him, Brett saw the mayor of Metro City, his hands folded across his chest and an arrogant smirk on his face.

“Comfy?” he taunted. Brett squirmed in his ropes and feebly grunted through his gag. The mayor let the feeble mpphhgs fade into silence before continuing. “A bit overdramatic, I know, but I wanted you to experience the same situation that I found myself in a few short years ago.” The mayor leaned forward to savor his catch. His eyes fell on the DIX letters plastered across Brett’s gag and he smiled. “Those colors look good on you,” he said. “In another world we could have used someone like you. But life doesn’t always go the way we’d like. Besides, you’re a TUG Legacy. Well, not really, but you were always destined to be a part of that group. It’s in your blood, so to speak.”

Brett froze. He didn’t like the implications of the mayor’s words. It sounded like he knew… but he couldn’t, could he?

“I’d prefer to have someone else… well, three someones… bound and helpless before me,” the mayor said, getting up from the chair and pouring himself a brandy from a snifter on a nearby bookshelf. “But I guess you’ll do. Revenge is better when it’s against the ones who wronged you, but revenge by proxy can be just as sweet. If the right subject is chosen. Am I right, sonny?”

Now Brett was struggling in earnest. There was a dark venom in the mayor’s words that scared him. This was going beyond the scale of a fraternity prank. Even an elaborate one. For the first time, Brett was actually afraid for his safety.

The mayor watched gleefully as Brett vainly raged against his bonds. But they weren’t going to budge. The mayor knew what he was doing when he ordered the TUG Brothers to apply the restraints. “Please,” he scoffed. “You know as well as I that you’re not getting out of that. You apes over at TUG do one thing right, at least.” He gave a small chuckle. “And I know too well what it feels like to be bound and at the mercy of an evil mastermind. Don’t I? Debased. Humiliated. Almost had my life and career destroyed by him. Do you know how much therapy it took to remove that Mozart suggestion he planted in me?”

Brett’s blood froze. The mayor could only be talking about one person. His grandfather. But how could he possibly know Brett’s lineage? That was kept under better wraps than the nuclear launch codes. What the hell did he do to get the resources to find out that secret?

“I can see your confusion,” the mayor said, taking a slow sip. “But I’ll lay it all out. Yes. I know who you are. I know WHAT you are. The flesh-and-blood grandson of Dr. Calamity himself! Imagine my surprise when I discovered that! And no, I won’t tell you how I found out. Monologuing is HIS trademark, not mine. I knew he would have tried to create something like you at some point. He’s nothing if not supremely vain. His longevity is one thing, but I figured he’d try to pass on his legacy in some manner. I was expecting you to be some sort of unholy synthetic being cooked up in a vat somewhere. A possible body for him to use in the future. I was floored when I found out he did it the normal way. A flesh-and-blood human baby boy. Didn’t think he had it in him.”

Brett started bucking and fighting against his ropes like mad. The chair slid a few inches across the floor and almost tipped over. “Stop!” Brett thought. “Focus! You’ll never get anywhere freaking out like that.” The mayor sat quietly while Brett worked the panic out of his system.

“But I don’t care about you,” the mayor said. “You didn’t have anything to do with what happened to me at his hands. It would be wrong to punish you for that. I’m still going to do it, of course. But it’s not personal. I know that doesn’t make it any better, but that’s what you’re supposed to say to your victim in this situation, isn’t it? I know he’s a big fan of all the tropes, so maybe that passed on to you in some way? But regardless. You and your friends will be all right when this is over. Of course I’m going to completely destroy TUG in the process, but by tomorrow evening you’ll be home free. Isn’t that nice of me?” Brett didn’t respond.

“The antics of a few college fraternities should be beneath my notice, but your group means so much to that pink monstrosity that burning it to ashes would be the perfect way to get back at him. He’s sadly beyond my normal reach. I can’t destroy him directly, but I can destroy all the things he loves. Starting with his formative sanctuaries. Did you know I bought up that tenement building and drag bar and had them both demolished? They’re now a pay-to-park megaplex. Petty, I know. But I don’t think it’s unwarranted. And as for dear old grandpappy… I can’t do anything to him with that husband of his around, so I have to be more subtle. More careful. Let’s just say that when I’m done, the whole world will know that the good doctor still draws breath. I wonder how many fans he’ll have when it’s all laid bare and everyone knows he lied to them. Do you know how much his stock increased after his death? Number 1 and Taskmaster are billionaires now. How much fun it will be to bring all that crashing down.”

Before Brett could respond, the mayor pressed a com button and called for Clay. He said no more in the minutes it took for the DIX president to return to the room. Brett just squirmed and cursed through his gag with no reaction. “Clay,” the mayor said when the door opened. “I’m done with him. You can take him downstairs with the others and have your fun. Is everything ready for tomorrow?”

“It is,” Clay said. “The wagon’s all set.”

“Now now!” the mayor scolded. “Don’t give it away. I want it to be a surprise for our three guests. I will, of course, not be present, but I expect to see plenty of videos on social media tomorrow. And tag them all #QueerEye. I want the whole world to see this and never forget.” Clay nodded and removed the knot holding Brett’s leash to the chair. He roughly tugged it up, bringing Brett to his feet, and dragged him, fighting and struggling, to the basement.

The place smelled like beer, sweat, and feet. Hoss and Scott were still in their captive positions – sitting against the support poles and tethered with chains. A third pole was unoccupied, but the chains coiled up at its base left Brett no doubt where he’d soon be finding himself. An unlucky pledge was holding a bottle under Scott’s exposed privates so that he could relieve himself. “So they haven’t even been untied to use the bathroom,” Brett thought. Scott was covered in dried grime and muck and Hoss was black and blue all over. They both started grunting and struggling when they saw Brett, but everyone knew how futile it was. Brett didn’t have time to contemplate his friends’ situation, though, as he was shoved against the third support pole and slid down to sit on the floor. A few DIX brothers appeared behind him, taking up the nearby chains and securing him tightly to the pole.

“No messing with this one,” Clay announced. “The boss wants him to be pretty and clean for tomorrow.” There was a general displeasure with that decree, but no one objected. For the rest of the evening, Brett sat watching. Trying to get as much intel as he could. Find out what they knew and what they didn’t. The three prisoners were largely ignored, other than some taunting and name-calling that Brett could easily shrug away. The novelty of the capture had worn off, he guessed, and most talk was hushed anticipation of whatever was in store for tomorrow. Brett tried to sift out any details from the vague conversations, especially about the wagon clay mentioned, but lips were tight. No one talked about it in detail, to Brett’s disappointment.

But what Brett did notice was DIX’s general attitude. He was never a fan of them before, for obvious reasons, but what he saw down here made it worse. The treatment of their pledges was abhorrent. They were used like slaves. While TUG did put their own pledges through their paces, it was always done with an underlying lesson. A guiding hand that was teaching them something at the same time. Or making them have to work together to accomplish a task and further cement their bonds to each other. But not here. Pledges were untouchables. They were punching bags. They were pieces of meat for the Actives to vent their frustrations on. And they ate it up! That was the most infuriating part. They endured their treatment, knowing that one day they would be the Active and that they could dole the same treatment out to someone else. And the cycle would never end.

And Travis was no exception. While he seemed to be mostly Clay’s personal whipping boy, the others treated him no better than the other pledges. Even a bit worse, it seemed. There was something else going on there, Brett noticed, under the surface. But he didn’t know exactly what. He did notice, however, that Travis came nowhere near them and didn’t seem to be happy with the situation. The other pledges enjoyed the captivity of their TUG rivals, even if it was just that someone else was taking focus away from debasing them for a change. Brett did try to make eye contact with Travis a few times. To try and communicate with him in some small way. Perhaps appeal to him to release them in the night when everyone was asleep. After what the mayor had said, all Brett’s previous statements about buying time were invalidated. They needed to get out and stop this before things got out of hand. But Travis looked away whenever Brett caught his attention. He looked sorry, but Brett realized that was a lost cause. When things died down a few hours later and everyone went back to their rooms, Brett fell into a restless sleep. Better to save his energy for tomorrow.

---

The advisor put down his martini and fidgeted. He never liked waiting around for his friend to finish one of his trances, but this wasn’t something he could really help with. Nate’s frantic call the other day was answered immediately, and Queer Eye had suspended all normal activities to deal with the matter. Sean and Zack had been unceremoniously released right after, much to their confusion, and Queer Eye had called the advisor over as soon as they were safely gone. They had been planning and researching for 24 straight hours, and didn’t have much to show for it.

Queer Eye sat perfectly still across the table. His single eye was glazed over and the pupil was rolled back inside his head. He was showing visible signs of strain. His premonitions were almost always came unbidden, but he was able to force them with great effort. An effort that was taking a huge toll on him. Ru and Lorca stood nearby, beading up the sweat that formed on their master’s brow with lace hankies. The giant feather on Queer Eye’s sequined pink turban wafted back and forth with each involuntary shudder of his body. Finally, he gave a shocked gasp. His eye snapped back into its normal position, but it was red and bloodshot. He looked like he was about to pass out.

“What did you see?” the advisor desperately asked.

Queer Eye tremored a little and passed out. But he did manage to utter one word before he succumbed to unconsciousness.

“Fire.”

Coming Soon: Conflagration part 8 – Humble Origins
User avatar
blackbound
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1057
Joined: 5 years ago

Post by blackbound »

Uh oh. And they've still not used the heavy gear at all...
User avatar
Volobond
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1697
Joined: 4 years ago

Post by Volobond »

I'm enraged at the Mayor. That little guttersnipe needs to be put in his place! Hopefully the Doctor and the Eye can bring him and DIX down and rescue the handsome TUG brothers!

The bondage on Brett was incredibly described, if narratively humiliating, and I wish I could commission an artist to showcase all of your amazing scenarios. I'm so delighted at your work and trembling with anticipation!
Image

You can find my M/M stories here: https://tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?p=38809#p38809
User avatar
gag1195
Millennial Club
Millennial Club
Posts: 1349
Joined: 4 years ago

Post by gag1195 »

Things are coming to a head quickly then! It's exciting but also very nerve-wracking! I cannot wait to see what the advisor and QE have planned. As well, I'm very nervous about the mayor's fiery plans. Especially if the Upperclassmen follow Brett's orders to restrain the pledges overnight...
I'm really hoping Travis' change of heart happens soon!
My M/M Stories Here
Image
Post Reply Previous topicNext topic