VIB (f+m+/m)

[Xtc]

Thought I'd just post a short tale of youthful justice.

Warning: it is written in English English!

[Xtc]

VIGILANTES IN BALACLAVAS

VIB (Very Important Boxers) claimed the black lettering on the vivid orange waistband. It’s just as well they were because it was the only garment he was wearing. His captors weren’t in the least interested in his safety after the way he’d treated them and had cable tied him very tightly into place.

The younger kids had had enough of the way he would “tax” their pocket money and bog-wash them if they didn’t have any. He always got away with it because he was bigger and stronger than they were and they didn’t dare tell anyone about it. But eventually they all decided that enough was enough. He might well be bigger than each of them individually but against all six of them, surely, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

They laid their plans carefully over about a fortnight. They found out when he was most likely to be crossing the Common on his own. They gathered some necessary equipment. Each one of them bought a balaclava which would only show their eyes and mouths.

Not being a popular boy, finding him walking home alone wasn’t difficult. All they had to do was wait beside the path just after it entered the woodland and pounce.

That Friday evening, they were pretty sure he would be passing that way on his way back from the chippy with the remains of his supper; he always did that at about nine o’clock. They all gathered round Ryan’s place, because his was nearest to the path, checked their assembled equipment and put on their balaclavas which they used duct tape to fasten firmly into place to stop him pulling them off.

Ryan’s dad was an electrician so Ryan “liberated” a few of his heavy-duty cable ties which might come in useful. Owen’s mum was a smallholder and over the fortnight he’d hidden away two or three eggs each day; she wouldn’t miss them. Late season rotting fruit was collected by everybody and stowed away in a large tub in the den that they’d built in Ryan’s rather sprawling garden. Other ordnance will become clear as the story progresses.

The six youngsters waited for him to pass Ryan’s back fence on his way to the chippy, gathered their equipment and positioned themselves ready for his return, Heather and Sammy followed at a distance and positioned themselves ready to ring the boys when he started on his way back.

He got his supper, unwrapped the paper and started to stuff chips into his mouth as he walked home. Heather and Sammy followed discretely at a safe distance. They didn’t want to be left out of the action and in any case in this situation, twelve hands would be better than eight! Just as he threw the empty chip paper on the ground, Sammy put her phone to her ear and said, quietly in spite of the distance the girls had kept between them and him, “He’s on the common now. No one else around at this end. You’ve got about three minutes. Love you, Babe.” That last remark was for Ross’s benefit.

By the time he’d fidgeted with his i-pod and thrust his hands into his pockets, he entered the small wood and his ambushers struck. Surprise left him no time to react.

Ross tripped him and all four boys quickly sat on him. Nick quickly wrapped a cable tie round his ankles and pulled it tight and Owen pulled a p.e. bag over his head and tied it round his neck. The language at this stage would have made a gargoyle blush but the boys thought that they could stand it. The girls very soon arrived and, while the boys pinned him to the ground, they each grabbed an arm and forced his arms to cross behind his back where Ryan cable tied them, rather too tightly together. The boys got off their stunned victim and watched him rolling around and swearing for a minute or so. After that, few of them could resist a couple of kicks. Their well-rehearsed routine had worked a treat.

Discipline soon reasserted itself and the ambushers put the final touches to their captive’s bonds. Ross pulled a strap very tightly round his upper arms and torso and buckled it and Heather did the same just below his knees.

Sammy put her mouth near what she assumed to be his left ear and spoke quietly and calmly, even though that was unlike her! “Listen carefully, there’s no way you can escape so just shut up and listen or my colleague might adjust the position of her foot.” Heather rammed her foot forcibly under his body until it was touching a place where he’d rather it wasn’t. Her army cadet boots were coming into their own. Not many of the boys would argue with Heather; her dad was a martial arts expert and she was no slouch herself.

Silly boy, he took no notice. He was quickly rolled onto his back and held flat and the heel of Heather’s boot crushed into his privates, not as hard as she could but firmly enough for him to want it removed. She didn’t like the way he’d treated her boyfriend, Owen, and his mates. Sammy, all gentle reassurance once more, said that she expected her good friend would probably remove her foot if he stopped swearing and if she asked her nicely. He was starting to get the idea and lay quietly.

“Thank you, H. Would you please get your foot off this poor guy’s balls now? I think he’ll listen. Won’t you?” On this last question, Heather pressed down a bit more.

He nodded and Heather withdrew her foot.

“Well done, good boy.” said Sammy tapping him on his bagged cheek. “Now we’re going to carry you off away from this path. If you struggle, you will be dropped and there will probably nothing I can do to persuade my colleagues not to kick you around a bit. You never know, I might not even try.” For the brains of the outfit, Sammy had a nasty streak when it came to the enemies of her man, Ross, and his friends.

It wasn’t far to the den and in about ten minutes the party had arrived. The gamble the attackers had taken was that any noise would not be heard from Ryan’s house but, as the garden was a long one and because they thought that they’d be able to persuade their prisoner to behave, that was something they were prepared to chance. He couldn’t miss the strange smell in the den but decided that that was the least of his troubles.

By now both Sammy and Heather had put their balaclavas on according to plan. Sammy went into her Little Miss Reasonable mode again. “Well done, boy, now one of my colleagues is going to remove that nasty bag from your head. If you say anything, my colleague here has some pony droppings that he won’t hesitate to rub into your mouth.” Ryan was rather hoping that he would shout.

Owen untied the p.e. bag and the victim saw Ryan, complete with his bright yellow “Marigolds” and a hefty handful of fresh pony crap. He looked around and saw five other masked figures but couldn’t recognise any of them. Let’s face it, he’d bullied so many smaller kids that there is no way he could recognise them all.

Ross supported him while Nick wrapped "Gorilla Tape" copiously round his head, blindfolding him completely. He did jerk somewhat but not enough for Sammy to make him an offer. She merely said, “Well done but please don’t wriggle too much or our Boot Girl might have to pay you another visit. Would you like that?” The wretched bully simply sagged at the shoulders and shook his head gently. “Well done, correct decision.” And she ruffled his hair.

“Now, we need to make sure you won’t shout out even by accident. Either you cooperate or my colleague here is dying to use his pony droppings before they dry out and my other colleague is a bit hyper-active and her boots haven’t seen action for minutes. I’m sure you understand that I’m having great difficulty holding your victims back.”

Even with their balaclavas on, he could see the grin on Ryan’s face and the “impatient” tapping of Heather’s foot. School drama lessons were starting to pay off. He just opened his mouth and allowed Nick to tie a heavily knotted scarf into his mouth, push his head down and tie it tightly behind his neck. Once that was accomplished, Owen took over "Gorilla Taping" duties. When Heather “tested” the gag, not much sound escaped at all.

So far, the boys and Heather had demonstrated admirable restraint and had stuck to the plan to leave all the talking to Sammy. It’s amazing what one can do if one is determined - and if one wants to avoid being taken apart verbally by Sammy afterwards! She continued in her role.

“You now have a decision to make. Either we girls are going to cut all your clothes off and leave you naked or, if you cooperate, your clothes will be removed intact and we’ll allow you to keep your underpants. All you need to do to choose nakedness is to make any noise or resist in any way. Which is it to be?” How could he answer? They took his silence as acceptance.

Ross and Nick took the belts from his arms and knees and Ryan unzipped his jeans and pulled them down to his ankles before Ross replaced the belt below his knees. Owen unzipped his jacket and pulled it down to his wrists and forced his t-shirt over his head to join it before Nick replaced the strap round his arms. Once the cable ties had been cut and his clothing, including his trainers and socks, had been removed, new cable ties were fastened round his wrists and ankles once more. The vigilantes ignored the fact that his wrists and ankles were already red where they had been bitten into and even cut by the previous ones. After all this time they were in no mood for showing mercy.

He was forced, somewhat painfully to his knees while “Her Honour, Ms C” read the charges.

“You, henceforward known as “The Prisoner”, are charged with prolonged bullying and theft from younger children. How do you plead: guilty or not guilty?”

Silence.

“I shall give you one more opportunity to plead. How do you plead: guilty or not guilty?”

Silence

“The prisoner will stand.” Owen and Ryan hauled him to his feet and left him standing unsteadily, they couldn’t really care if he fell over. “The Prisoner is found guilty of contempt of court. Take him down.”

It wouldn’t really have made much difference if he had pleaded or not. Both verdict and punishment had been pre-ordained and the trial was just for fun. And, of course to, ensure legal legitimacy.

Ross and Nick dragged the unfortunate convict out of the den, out of Ryan’s garden, and to a tree in the small wood. The girls brought the container of rotting fruit and Owen brought the eggs. Ryan had “borrowed” some "Marigolds" from his mother’s catering box.

Ross fastened his sister’s skipping rope round the convict’s neck and tied it round the trunk of a small tree just above a protruding branch leaving him very little scope for movement. Ryan distributed the marigolds.

The firing squad took up their positions.

“Load. Take aim. Fire!”

At that point, all discipline went to the four winds. As the bully was pelted with rotten apples, blue oranges, very squashy tomatoes and best quality free range eggs, celebrations were unbounded!

“Yes!”

“Right in the nuts!”

“Waaar! What a stink!”

“Oh, yes, good one, mate.” That was during a break in the assault while Owen approached the prisoner and broke two eggs on top of his head massaging them into his hair as they dripped down.

He thought that signalled the end of his punishment. He was wrong.

The general assault continued until all the ammunition was exhausted. Once it was, Ryan could resist no longer; he took some of the pony crap in his Marigold-clad hands and massaged it into the convict’s chest and Heather added some to his hair, just for good measure.

“Order! Order in court!” Sammy was calling the rabble to order.

“Prisoner at the bar,” she didn’t really understand the niceties of legal procedures, “You now have another choice to make.”

The assailants knew that his mother wouldn’t worry if he didn’t come home that night, he often didn’t do so. Sammy pointed this out to him before making him the offer: either he could stay there until they were good and ready to release him (unless someone found him in the meantime) or they could ring his mother to come and get him. She said she’d give him ten minutes to consider his response and the vigilantes retired to the den to drink "Pepsi" and eat cake and biscuits.

After a long ten minutes, in fact more like half an hour, the hanging jury returned.

“Prisoner at the tree,” Sammy thought that was funny, “Shall I ring your mother?” The rapidly ripening prisoner dejectedly shook his head. He knew that, whatever explanation he offered, he’d get another pasting when he got home. “Very well, you will be detained during our majesty’s pleasure. See you later.” With that, other than for a brief attack with fir-cones, the jury retired.

Nick and Owen had to go home but Sammy, Ross, Heather and, of course, Ryan could stay overnight if necessary. They arranged their carry mats and sleeping bags and settled down for a few hours’ kip. When I say, “Kip”, I really mean conversation and silliness. They had already decided that it would be better to get what would by then be a very smelly boy out of the way before the first dog-walkers of the morning were likely to appear. Further consideration helped them decide to release their prisoner after a couple more hours.

At about midnight, boots and shoes were donned and the kidnappers went to see their prisoner. He looked as if he’d learnt his lesson.

“My colleague is going to release your gag. Any noise and it goes straight back in. Nod if you understand.” He nodded. “Very well.” Ryan produced a knife and cut the tape holding the now sodden scarf in place. He then cut the scarf as well. The convict remained silent.

“Prisoner at the bar, do you promise not to steal from little kids any more?”

“Yes.”

“Not good enough, I’m afraid. Gag him, please.”

“No, please! I promise I won’t tax other kids’ pocket money any more.”

“What else do you undertake never to do again, prisoner?”

“I won’t bog-wash anyone ever again.”

“Prisoner at the bar, you must realise that we’ve already shown photos of your punishment to all your friends. That didn’t take long. We’ve also sent them to all our mates. They know that, if you tax them again, all they have to do is contact us and . . . “

He thought of the embarrassment he would face when he next went to school. He’d just have to live with it. He thought about what his mum would do to him if she ever found out. She just mustn’t. He had a lot of thinking to do.

“You are on parole. Any further offences and you can expect to meet my colleagues again. Do you understand?”

He’d already lost all credibility; he might as well recognise his situation.

“I understand.”

Heather dumped his clothes in the rubbish that had dripped off his body and trampled them in a bit for good measure. Ross cut the cable tie round his wrists and Ryan took the belt from round his arms.

“You’ll have to work the knot in the rope round to where you can reach it. It shouldn’t take too long. Then get dressed and go home.”

With that the four youngsters returned to their den for hot chocolate and more cake.

He didn’t really know what to do. He could certainly remove his blindfold, a painful process but, until he’d released his neck from the tree, he couldn’t reach down to his ankles without hanging himself. With a lot of guesswork and gradual adjustment of the knot behind his neck, he eventually worked the knot in the ends of the skipping rope within range of his fingers. It took him about two hours before he was free and able to untie his legs and ankles.

He got dressed in the skanky clothes that had been left for him and noticed something else that had been left as well: a print-out of some digital photos that Ryan had downloaded from his camera.

If he hadn’t already felt that he’d been trodden into the ground as comprehensively as his clothes had been, he did now. There was a photo of a boy with a girl’s boot in his crutch and one of a boy tied to a tree and covered in shite of all descriptions and wearing only his "Very Important Boxers".

THE END

[Canuck100]

I usually prefer consensual tugs, but this was well written and enjoyable nonetheless. Thanks for posting it!

[Xtc]

Thank you and you're welcome. I thought it would make a bit of a change.