I should've never agreed to get my friends involved in a game of outdoor airsoft against my dad and his ex-military buddies. What could I have possibly been thinking!?
I was a pro, a veteran, an airsoft savvy, and so were a lot of my friends. But in the end, none of that would end up mattering. My dad and his colleagues were new to airsoft, but they had a very different game in mind than the one my team and I expected to play.
I wasn't particularly tall or well built for my age, but being in my early 20s and being in decent shape due to my regular visits to the gym and my almost-religious cardio routine, I certainly wasn't a pushover either.
I knew that my dad had a lot of tactical knowledge, and I knew that all six of the men he'd conscripted into his team had long military careers. But with them being in their mid forties and with my team and I outnumbering them by a fair margin, I was certain it would be a relatively even match.
I was wrong.
My calculations were accurate enough, but I had virtually no way of knowing that the men on my dad's team had something very different in mind from the game my friends and I were used to playing.
By the time I was brought up to speed regarding the nature of their plans, it was already too late.
All my years of airsoft experience and all the benefits of my cardio training flew out the window when an arm suddenly came out of nowhere and wrapped itself around my neck, pulling me into a tight chokehold and causing me to drop my gun to the ground.
I tried to pry my assailant's arm off and tried to defend myself by elbowing him in the stomach, but my attempts were stopped short by the unknown player's ammo-filled tactical vest. Not only that, but whoever my assailant was, it became instantly clear to me that he was a lot bigger and a lot stronger than I was.
The chokehold tightened, causing me to instantly reach up for the forearm in an attempt to loosen its grip.
My aggressor and I wrestled for about an entire second, but before I could even think calling my team and signalling for help, an incredibly large and thick hand clamped itself over my face, covering everything from my chin right up to the bridge of my nose.
It's at that point that I recognised who my attacker was.
It was my dad!
"...mmnnpphhh."
Seemingly out of nowhere, four of his two-meter-tall, camo-wearing teammates erupted from the thick brush that lined both sides of the dirt road. They grabbed me, lifted me up off the ground, and without so much as a peep, carried me into the dense shrubs with the expediency of a highly trained commando squad.
My recollection of events might sound somewhat tedious to those reading this, but everything happened a lot faster than these words would have you believe.
In less than five seconds, the brutes had subdued, disarmed and snatched me right off the dirt path I'd been assigned to patrol. The efficiency and the speed at which they'd done so was both mildly disconcerting and jaw-droppingly astounding.
Had I not been the victim here, I would've surely been gawking at how quiet and swift their operation was.
Not only were they all wearing the same expression of stoic silence, but all of their faces were also veiled beneath generous coverings of black and green camouflage paint. These guys were dead serious, and they all seemed hell-bent on carrying out their mission without showing any sort of sentiment or hint of mercy.
This was NOT the way airsoft was meant to be played.
In all honesty, I was completely taken aback by the strength and the ruthlessness of their operation.
So much so that I offered virtually no resistance even as they lifted me up off the ground and carried me into the thick tangle of shrubs that lined the road I'd been walking on.
It only took about half a minute for them to carry me to the secluded spot that served as their basecamp.
I thought I was going to be allowed to talk, or at least be given some sort of explanation for why they'd forcefully removed me from the road instead of just shooting me like they were supposed to. But no explanation came my way.
Instead of answering the questions that filled my mind, the armed military men quickly lowered me face down to the ground and started removing my gear and stripping me of my ammo belt and munitions pack.
My father kept his hand over my mouth and used his knee to keep my head pinned to the ground, while two of his colleagues took care of keeping my limbs in check so that the other guys could continue with the "search and strip" phase of the operation.
The men spent about three minutes carefully patting down my airsoft suit, stripping me of all my gear and making doubly certain I had no ammunition or armaments left anywhere on me.
By the time they were done searching me from top to bottom, my sense of pride got the better of me and I ended up struggling like MAD to get the middle-aged brutes off from on top of me.
I may not have served in the army and may not have been as big, as tall or as heavy as them, but I was very much in my prime and felt completely insulted by the ease in which they'd physically captured and subdued me.
I wasn't about to go down without a fight!
I'd show them! I'd show those old farts....or at least, that's what I thought.
The instant my mounting frustration turned into a valiant attempt at breaking free, I was doomed.
The five brutes who'd snatched me up off the road and carried me here against my will immediately jumped to action and fell on top of me. And not only them, but the two soldiers who'd stayed behind to guard the camp as well!
All seven, middle-aged military men piled up on top of my weak, struggling form.
And all seven of them rushed to incapacitate and crush my light, 150-pound frame down to the forest floor.
This was most definitely NOT the way airsoft was meant to be played!
TO BE CONTINUED
Last edited by bondagefreak3 years ago, edited 2 times in total.
You have a great way of sucking me in with your introductions. My interest has been peaked, and you’ve given very little away as to what our cocky young protagonist is about to receive.
" In less than five seconds, the brutes had subdued, disarmed and snatched me right off the dirt path I'd been assigned to patrol. The efficiency and the speed at which they'd done so was both mildly disconcerting and jaw-dropingly astounding.
Had I not been the victim here, I would've surely been gawking at how quiet and swift their operation was."
And then there were 7 of them on the victim.....wicked overkill
FFFFFFuuuuucccckkk do u think these mofos are seals?
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This "taking a game too seriously" on a new level. As others said, the overkill aspect on the story was its most fun (almost to the point of being funny, tbh) but there's something really hot about just how efficient they were being.
Also that frisking part took my mind to dirty places, a shame when a bunch of hot guys manhandle you but your dad is there, haha.
25-year-old bondage enthusiast who likes cute guys, underwear, and bondage, preferably together.
Love seeing a cocky younger guy put in his place! Guess that military training hasn't worn off even if the father's friends are a bit out of practice. They sure aren't messing around. Can't even imagine being pinned down by 7 of these big men at the same time! Very hot
Dedicating this chapter to my good friend [mention]Harlequinn22[/mention]
My eyes practically bulged out of their sockets when the oafish brutes lunged forward and started piling up on top of me.
Weighing in at over 230-pounds, my father alone would've been more than capable of pinning me down and keeping my body restrained. It hurt my pride to even acknowledge this, but even though I was in fair shape and had a lot of stamina, I was nowhere even near as strong or as physically hardened as the 46-year-old man was.
He didn't need help from his buddies in order to subdue me, and he most definitely did NOT require all six of them to jump in and dogpile me. Much to my surprise though, that's exactly what they did.
As soon as I made my will to put up a fight known, dad's entire team of martially-trained men lunged on top of me crushed me down, causing the entirety of my short, 1.70-meter tall fame to disappear beneath them.
Before my mind even had the chance to register what was happening, seven burly blokes were lying on top of me, straddling my back and crushing my limbs down to the ground. The wind was knocked right out of my lungs and my mind immediately began to reel with panic as the threat of being crushed to death suddenly materialised itself before me.
Every single part of my body was gobbled up and swallowed beneath the mountain of men, and every one of my limbs was being wrestled down and held immobile with far more force than would've been necessary.
What ensued next was nothing short of terrifying.
Duffle bags were unzipped, countless coils of thick black rope were pulled out, and then I heard the familiar high-pitched screech of riot-grade zip ties being assembled and made ready.
I was going to be tied up!
The men kept coordinating in complete silence while my father knelt on top of me and took care of preventing me from making noise and drawing attention to the area.
Two of the brutes sat on my legs, while another decided to straddle my back so that I couldn't move. The three remaining guys held my wrists behind me and got the rope out, and then my father jumped into action and made his move to straddle my head up.
I didn't understand what was happening at first, but then my eyes watched warily as his knees came down on both sides of my head. My face contorted into a look of pure terror as the weight of his enormous body suddenly lowered itself down on top of me.
The 46-year-old man's hefty bums came down over my neck, back and shoulders, and his huge, meaty thighs rose up like mountains on both sides of my face.
I tried to tell him he was too heavy to sit on my upper back like that, but the burly muscle-dilf wrapped his left hand around the back of my skull and pushed down so that my face remained firmly trapped inside his oversized handgag.
Those massive, mountainous thighs of his closed in and squeezed down on both sides of my head, and then the hefty brute scooted forward until he was quite literally sitting his entire weight down on top of my head.
I couldn't move a muscle, I couldn't alert my teammates, and worst of all, I couldn't even breathe.
My father had always been very protective and gentle with me.
Even after moving out on my own, he and I stayed in close contact and got along rather well.
Right now though, the 46-year-old military man was far removed from his usual self.
This was a military operation and there was NO room for sentiment.
The only thing that mattered was the mission.
He was the soldier, and I was the prisoner.
Everything else was completely irrelevant.
Had I been a 230-pound martially trained army man, or had I been a highly dangerous criminal or military target of some sort, the measures they were taking against me might've made sense.
But considering the fact that my light runner's built was no match for even ONE of my father's ex-military buddies, I didn't understand why they had to gang up on me like this or why they had to be so brutal.
I guess the concept of overkill was completely lost to them.
Not entirely surprising considering victory and success was the motto these men were all sworn to live by.
The less chance I had of escaping, the better.
If that meant dogpiling me with seven, ten or fifteen men, then so much the better!
I desperately tried telling them they were too heavy and desperately tried letting them know I couldn't breathe properly, but my father's absolutely ginormous hand was so freakin' thick and fleshy that it created an air-tight seal around my face and stopped me from getting even the tiniest of peeps out.
"mmggpph....mmpph....mmmmmph." I tried telling him, my eyes tearing up and my lungs quite literally burning from oxygen deprivation.
As it turns out, my dad knew exactly what he was doing and ordered me to be quiet before moving two of his fingers up by a mere micron and allowing the smallest, most insignificant filet of air to make its way into my flaring sniff holes.
I sniffed as much as I could but immediately broke down into tears at the realisation that it was not enough.
The filet of air I was getting through his huge, beefy fingers just wasn't enough. But unfortunately for me, it was all I'd be getting.
I didn't know this back then, but upon doing a little digging online, I eventually realised that my father's smothering handgag was an intentional and time-honoured practice used to disable, subdue or eliminate enemy soldiers.
Warfare was indeed a very sad, very bloody affair. Nothing like what's usually portrayed in big box-office productions.
Luckily for me though, the soldier who'd sired me was not interested in snuffing the life out of me.
His handgag was there to disable and subdue me, nothing more, nothing less.
So long as I completely consumed by the need to breathe and so long as my mind was entirely focused on getting air past his fingers, the other squad members could do their jobs more effectively and take their time getting me bound up and properly secured.
And so I spent the next twenty minutes, whimpering, sniffing and struggling for air inside my own father's extremely thick, silencing handgag. I could hardly bring myself to care about the fact that my wrists and ankles had been very tightly zip-tied, and couldn't give a rat's ass that an absurdly excessive amount of rope was being used to secure my limbs together.
I just needed some air.
I just needed MORE air!
"mmmmpphh..."
TO BE CONTINUED
Last edited by bondagefreak3 years ago, edited 1 time in total.
Yikes! Definitely would not want to be on the recieving end of THAT handgag! Amazing new chapter. While our protagonist may be complaining about the overkill, it certainly is enjoyable for us!
Wowzers!!! These ex military dudes sure mean business. If you look up overkill in the dictionary I’m sure there’s a picture of this. I expect that very shortly an excessive amount of rope and zip ties are about to be used to subdue their victim.
Your description of the handgag and the positioning of his dad on his back is superb. I was almost struggling to breathe picturing the brute coming close to snuffing his son
Well with 7 blokes on top of you no doubt 200+ lbs each, you would be winded.....overkill is the dad exercising some additional breath control for good measure.... Jesus!
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My dad was a very big man, but even keeping his formidable size in mind, his hands were disproportionally large.
Come to think of it, that's probably why he'd been assigned to the role of ambush leader in the first place.
The size of his palm and the sheer thickness of his fingers would make it easy for him to smother and subdue anyone who had the misfortune of stumbling onto that road I'd previously trodden on.
My teammates were going to be removed, pulled into the brush and subdued without anyone knowing about it.
No yelps would escape their mouths, and no calls for help would resonate across the forest canopy.
My father's hand would make doubly certain of that.
One by one my friends would fall.
And one by one they'd disappear.
My team was SO not ready for this!
These old farts were WAY tougher than we thought.
And not only were they tough, but they also meant business and clearly took this game a little too seriously.
My friends were in trouble, but unfortunately for them, I had no way to make my position known and no way to warn them of the impending doom that loomed above their heads.
By the time dad's men were done with the first phase of their binding operation, my limbs were incapacitated beyond reason and my body was rendered just about as useful as limbless bondage-gimp. In other words, totally useless.
The double sets of riot-grade zip ties which had been secured around my wrists and ankles were now completely covered with rope. In fact, aside from my head, more than half of my body was being squeezed and constricted by innumerable coils of thick, black bondage rope.
My elbows were tied together so tight that they were practically rubbing against each other. And my arms and legs were bound up so bloody well that even though the men were no longer on top of me, I couldn't even squirm around at all!
My father was the last of my captors to get off of me. But instead of letting me go, he simply pulled my upper back up against his chest, sat his big bums down on the ground and wrapped his powerful legs around my arms and lower torso.
His huge, disabling handgag remained clamped over my face the entire time. But with my face now off the ground, I was finally able to see my captors as they took position around us and huddled in closer to me.
And a very frightening bunch they were.
With the back of my head pressed up against my dad's very broad chest, I was forced to observe as the fearsome group exchanged a complex set of hand signals.
I didn't understand any of it of course, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to realise that they were communicating through military hand-code gestures.
Whatever they were signalling though, I just couldn't bring myself to care.
While my father used his free hand to make gestures and busily send out silent codes signals, I just sat there and quite literally suffocated beneath his undefeatable handgag.
Unbeknownst to him, the tiny partition he'd mercifully granted my nostrils was gone, and the puny little air filet my sniff holes had spent the last twenty minutes relying upon had been cut off.
I tried to alert the man and tried to tell him I couldn't breathe, but the lack of air in my lungs prevented me from getting any sound out, resulting in him remaining completely oblivious to my plight.
In my panic, my puffed up, glossy, red eyes wandered around, hoping to find a sympathetic face.
I looked at the soldier crouching closest to us and recognised him as being dad's good friend; Mr Hoffmann.
The strikingly handsome, ex-military police officer's blue eyes contrasted vividly with the black and green war paint that was smeared across his face. The rugged man had always been nice to me, but his piercing blue gaze was now locked on my father's hand signals, and no amount of silent pleading or wishful thinking would succeed in getting his attention.
It was just me and dad's hand.
Everyone else seemed completely unphased and unaware of the struggle going on beneath it.
Seconds passed.
My lungs burned and my vision turned blurry.
I felt my life slipping away, but at the very last moment and almost as if on cue, that tiny little gap between my dad's fingers returned and my nostrils once again worked furiously to make the most of it.
I felt extremely humiliated at being forced to sniff the inside of my dad's hand like that.
But my need to draw air and my desire to stay alive made short work of my prideful feelings and forced me to keep flaring my nostrils up inside that huge, meaty hand of his.
The men kept talking in silent hand code, willfully ignoring me even as I struggled to stay alive, and paying no virtually no heed to the distressed sniffing noises I made beneath my father's speech-proof face-muzzle.
I was their POW. And I was definitely being treated as such.
After a few moments of deliberation, one of the soldiers closest to me opened a velcro flap on the front of his tactical ammo vest and pulled out a very large, dark green handkerchief from inside the small pocket.
The thin cloth was crumpled up into a ball, and after another bout of silent hand signalling, my father removed his smothering grip from my face before clamping it down over my forehead and using his other hand to try and pry my jaw open.
Powerful fingers dug into my cheeks, and I watched wide-eyed as the handkerchief soldier grabbed my hair with one hand and presented his ball of fabric to my face with the other.
Realising that his intent was to stuff that big ball of cloth down my mouth, I did what any sane person would do and screamed to the top of my lungs!
Or rather, that's what I tried doing.
The INSTANT the first hint of a sound escaped my lips, father's huge hand clamped itself back down on top of my face, and the other six men lunged at me; pressing their big hands over my already handgagged mouth and muffling my scream out before even a single syllable had left my cavity.
Huge, merciless hands dug into my cheeks, and strong, powerful fingers brutally tore my jaw open and stretched my lips wide. Refusing their gag was not part of my options, and making a fuss about it was not going to be of any help either.
"...MMNnoophhhh....was the only noise I managed to make before the giant green ball of crumbled up cloth was thrust into my gaping maw.
I choked and gagged on the wad, but before I could even think of pushing the material out, my father's stupidly large hand clamped itself over my face again, and four other hands quickly followed suit and layered on top of it.
Some more silent code gesturing ensued, and I watched through wide, fearful eyes as one of the men unknotted the black bandana he'd been wearing as a face mask and handed it over to my dad, who instantly reached out and grabbed it with his free hand.
The same process was repeated, and as soon as those smothering handgags were pulled off of my suffocating face, my mouth was forcefully pried open and IN that musty ball of cloth went!
My father's very large and very thick, dirt-covered fingers crammed his teammate's facial bandana through my struggling lips and wrestled the moist fabric inside my already heavily stuffed oral cavity.
I choked and gagged rather violently on the giant, muffling balls of crumpled up cloth. But my captor paid no heed to my desperate struggles and continued aggressively forcing the material in 'till my lips were bulging and my cheeks were full.
The mighty man's enormous, smothering hand clamped itself over my trap once more, forcing me to deal with my oversized cloth gag, whilst his good buddy - Officer Hoffmann - reached for the roll of heavy-duty military tape and prepared the adhesive that would permanently seal their talk-proof wads inside my mouth.
Father's hand was removed just in time for me to see the terrifyingly WIDE strip of army green duct tape closing in on my face.
His men spent the next three minutes holding my head still and keeping my jaw shut, whilst big muscle-man Hoffmann handled the tape and pulled the mega fat roll around the back of my head and over my face multiple times.
The super sticky army tape was wrapped around my face and head SEVEN TIMES before the tape was finally severed.
And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the military policeman proved me wrong by plastering MORE tape on top of my head, and then pulling it beneath my jaw before dragging it all the way up again, five times!
When the fearsome blue-eyed brute finally stopped, my father signalled for him to hand over the tape, and then grabbed the massive roll from his buddy before slapping the end of it around over my cheek and pulling it all the way around my head a few more times.
Their jumbo, speech-proof wads were NOT goin' anywhere.
And neither was I.
TO BE CONTINUED
Last edited by bondagefreak3 years ago, edited 1 time in total.
Despite it only being a musty old handkerchief in his yapper, the mention of the Hoffman’s surely means a stinking foot is going to be aired out at any moment
Looks like the apple doesn't fall far from the tree if that is indeed Nick's dad. These Hoffmans sure don't mess around when it comes to shutting little brats up! They don't spare an inch of tape. Our hero is lucky he was only gagged with a handkerchief because with Hoffman feet being around, you know the gag could be A LOT worse.
Great fun so far. These guys seriously want to win that airsoft game! You've got to love a bunch of middle-aged dads getting overly competitive! A very impressive hand gag steals the show and all of our narrator's concentration. Looking forward to seeing what happens to his friends - a daring rescue attempt or a slaughter...
A pup is for life but especially for bondage so get out the sleepsack and muzzle.
As a bondage fan, I love this. As an avid airsoft player and referee, I have one question burning in in my mind; WHERE'D THEY PUT THEIR FACE PROTECTION?!?!
I'm always available for roleplay! Message me on:
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