Not having been to an airsoft game in over a year, I was more than happy to accept my buddy Jason's invitation to join him, his brother and his cousin at one of the organised games that would be taking place this upcoming weekend.
You know what airsoft is, right?
It's like paintball, except the guns look more realistic and the plastic bullets are much smaller and contain no paint in them.
Some of the guys took this thing really seriously, but as a casual part-time player, I didn't see the need to get an expensive gun and a bunch of tactical gear. I was just gonna wear the same stuff I'd worn last year; my cargo pants, a thick hoodie, a ski mask, a cheap ammo vest, and a set of protective goggles.
Jason's invitation didn't give me much time to get ready, but aside from gassing up, packing a good lunch and buying some ammo at the local airsoft store, I didn't need to do much.
On the day of the airsoft game, I woke up at 5 AM and drove up to the designated rendezvous spot; a small roadside diner out in the countryside, roughly an hour from where I lived.
The drive there was uneventful, but when I pulled up in the small restaurant's parking lot, I was mildly surprised to find Jason and a bunch of other guys already there, waiting for me.
It took about half an hour for everyone to show up, and by 6:30 AM, all twenty of us walked into the diner and ordered breakfast.
We were a rowdy bunch.
The lone waitress looked absolutely flushed at the fact that so many customers were walking in so early.
Still, she expressed no reservations as we assembled some of the tables in the cramped dining room area and lined them up so that we could all sit together. Some of the early bird locals gave us weird looks, but we paid them no heed.
Most of the guys in our group were in their late teens and early twenties, but some also appeared to be in their late 30s and early 40s.
The atmosphere was very cheerful and numerous introductions were made.
Some of the guys were pretty cool and our large group quickly split up into different cliques, with myself and a few others us partaking in two completely unrelated discussions.
All in all, the breakfast experience was pretty fun and jovial.
It was 7:30 by the time the lot of us stepped out into the diner.
Being one of the new guys in the airsoft group, I remained silent and listened as some of the older members laid down the details of the game.
The airsoft game was gonna take place on a rented 20-acre piece of land just a few kilometers away.
Our group would be split up into two teams; team Red and team Blue.
I was assigned to team Red, which funnily enough, consisted of Jason, Jason's brother, his cousin and ten other members ranging from ages seventeen to twenty five years. That left the six older guys on team Blue.
Initially, I thought we had an unfair advantage.
I mean, yes they were older, and a lot bigger and stronger than even the biggest guys in team Red.
But we were still fourteen, and they were only six.
The odds were more than 2-to-1 in our favour.
Team captains were chosen, and it was decided that the game would start precisely at 8:30 AM and finish at 8:30 PM sharp.
That gave up a full twelve hours to play.
It made sense considering how big the rented land was.
All of us then got in our respective cars, trucks and SUVs and drove up to the remote boundary-marked forest terrain.
Blue team drove up to the north end of the lot and we drove to the south end of it.
Each team would set up basecamp at opposite ends of the field. The basecamps would serve as a makeshift bunkers for respawns, lunches, and ammo stacking.
We parked our cars, geared up, readied our guns and walked around the terrain a bit before setting our basecamp up inside a rusty old aluminium shack.
Some of the guys on my team were newbies. Others, like Jason and his cousin were more experienced.
The guys on the Blue team were apparently veterans of some sort. They were all huge and muscular, but I took comfort in knowing that we still had the advantage of numbers on our side.
My team captain, a sharp-witted 25-year-old ex-scout, with a camo uniform and expensive-looking gear, quickly set out to give us our different roles and assignments.
He was a good captain, and even though we'd never met, he apparently had no trouble recognising how my light form and small size could be used to the team's advantage.
Myself, and the other smallest guy on our team were immediately assigned with the roles of forward scouts.
Our mission was simple.
Find the enemy basecamp and report back to base.
Do NOT engage the enemy.
Other members got different instructions, but I was so focused on getting prepped that I hardly paid attention to what was being said.
This was really gonna be a fun day.
8:30 came faster than expected, and by the time the game started, our whole team was geared up and ready for action.
Most of us looked a bit ragtag, with casual clothes, half-uniforms, cheap guns and mismatching gear...but a bullet from a cheap gun was just as effective as a bullet from an expensive one. Getting shot earned you a 30 min cooldown period back at basecamp, and no possibility of interfering in the course of the game or stopping the enemy team from capturing the flag in your fort and taking it to theirs.
The game would end ONLY if the enemy's flag was captured and taken back to the opposing basecamp, or if everyone in one team was in cooldown and waiting to respawn, with no unshot players still active on the field.
My team captain decided that it would be nearly impossible for team Blue to eliminate all fourteen of us within the span of half an hour.
It was decided that capturing our flag would probably be their main objective.
Our objective would be the opposite.
Eliminating all six of them and putting all of them in simultaneous 30 minute cooldown time would be our route to victory.
Or so we thought.
Equipped with walkie-talkies and other essentials, my co-scout Ryan and I quickly ran to opposite sides of the 20-acre lot and began our search for the enemy fort.
I wasn't a strong guy, but speed, stealth and agility were very much among my main attributes.
Ryan and I kept in close contact for the first half hour of the scouting.
But half an hour into the game, his transmission was eventually cut short and I lost the signal on him entirely after that point.
I figured he must've been out of range or something, and managed to convince myself not to think about it too much.
After all, these things did have a limited operational range, didn't they?
My visual contact with team Blue's stronghold finally occurred some thirty minutes later.
But unfortunately for me, several pairs of eyes had already spotted my approach and had been tracking me from a distance.
By the time I realised what was happening, it was too late.
Six fully armed, fully gasmasked figures with matching uniforms rose up from the shrubs around me, and ordered me to freeze.
I froze for a second, but then quickly regained my senses and spun around before reaching for my walkie-talkie.
I managed to bring the transmitter up to my mouth, but before I could utter a call for help or send a signal to my team, a HUGE weight barreled into me, and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground will all six of those fully-grown men piling up on top of my scrawny 130-pound form.
TO BE CONTINUED
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Wow [mention]bondagefreak[/mention] this looks like a really fun one! It reminds me of the stories that sockgagged would write and I really miss those.
I have a feeling the 14 vs 6 is going to matter a lot less than the experience of the older team. The youngsters are going to learn that the hard way
With one of the guys barreling into me like that, I flew straight down to the forest floor and got the wind knocked right out of my lungs.
I was usually real quick and nimble, but this time I didn't even get a chance to spring back up to my feet.
Before I could recover from the blow or make sense of what had happened, all six of those towering, hefty giant piled up on top of me.
I was being crushed like a bug!
Three of them got on top of my body, sitting on my back and legs. Two others helped out by wrestling my hands and ankles together.
The sixth guy joined the fray and squatted down over my head, using his massive, leather-clad hands to quickly shut me up.
"Let me gmmpphhh...mmgggphhhh."
I didn't understand what was happening, and none of the guys took the time to speak to me or reassure me.
No words came out of their mouths, and no words made it out of mine either.
My capture was swift and executed in near-perfect silence.
All six studs were clad in leather police boots and leather police gloves.
Their multi-pocketed black military pants were tucked into their boots and adorned with wide tactical belts, from which hung, ammo, handcuffs, zip ties, knifes and other accessories.
Those same, large, wife beater-clad torsos which had been displayed at the breakfast diner a bit earlier, were now clad in black sweaters, upper body swat uniforms, and extremely thick-looking black nylon bomber jackets.
Tailored Kevlar vests with large ammo pockets covered their thickly padded torsos, and the attire was completed with black SWAT helmets covering their balaclava-clad heads.
These guys wore matching gear; from their boots and tactical vests, right up to their thick Alpha Industries bomber jackets.
The only point of divergence, it seemed, was an intentional one.
Their gasmasks were all different, with each one being just as creepy and just as frightening as the next.
I was freaked out, and they could probably see it in my eyes.
Still, no words of comfort came my way.
Only the chaotic sound of their combined breathing filled the air as the six of them inhaled and exhaled through their heavy-duty chemical filters. Even more frightening was the fact that I couldn't see their faces through the foggy glass goggles.
I tried crying out and tried screaming for help, but my pleas were being amply muffled out by the huge leather-clad hand covering my lower face. The birds were silent and the wind was still. Only the sound of their laboured breathing greeted my ears.
With my captors each weighing nearly twice my weight, my attempts to break free from under them proved utterly pointless.
Thick, riot-control zipties were pulled out, and in a matter of seconds, my wrists were secured behind my back and my ankles were ziptied together right tight.
ZIIIIIIIIIIIIIP
ZIIIIIIIIIIIIIP
The geared goliaths got up and roughly pulled me up to my feet.
I was absolutely PUNY compared to them.
A large strip of surprisingly wide black tape was slapped over my mouth.
Two of the men wrapped their big, leather-clad hands around my thin upper arms and held me still while of some of the other Blue Squad soldiers patted me down and checked for any hidden transmitters.
My pistol was confiscated, my ammo was removed, and virtually every other piece of equipment was taken away from me.
The guy with the freaky double-inhaler gasmask made some silent hand gestures to his teammates, and the lot of us quickly sped off towards their stronghold; an abandoned shack that looked very much like my own team's designated base of operations.
No longer having the freedom to walk on my own two feet, I was casually picked up by three of the hunks and marched forward as the double-inhaler guy took point and the remaining two watched the rear.
Why I was restrained and being taken to their fort, I had no idea.
But as soon as I was carried into the rundown aluminium abode and laid eyes on poor Ryan, I understood just how serious these guys were about this whole airsoft thing.
No wonder they'd been willing to take on such a large group of enemies.
These guys were PROS!
They hadn't just shot my co-scout and allowed him to get back to home base.
They'd actually tied him up and restrained him! And SEVERELY, at that!
Whether we wanted to or not, Ryan and I were now Prisoners of War.
We had no way to warn our team, and no way to alert them that team Blue wasn't letting us respawn as intended.
We were going to be kept here against our will, and would have to wait for god knows HOW long before our team figured out what was happening and put together some soft of rescue effort.
Fuck!
TO BE CONTINUED
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Loved this chapter.....6 against 1, is highly effective. Though these dudes must be military professionals or something the way they carried out the take down. I say military professionals, as "Kevlar" and the masks are pricey for a game...more details will come I am anticipating. Nice continuation!
This story can be found HERE.
Banner by Bondagefreak
It's good to see this tale, [mention]bondagefreak[/mention], I have shied away from posting a Paintball type story due to my ignorance of the practice. I shall read and learn.
They all say boxer shorts are cool,
but little Speedos always rule.
Realising how utterly futile any resistance would prove to be, I allowed myself to be carried into the Blue team shack without voicing out any complaints beneath my tape gag.
My co-scout, on the other hand, seemed positively intent of getting some words out and had apparently strained his jaw and licked his lips enough to unstick part of the wide tape that had been slapped over his lips.
His gag was loosening, but still managed to remain somewhat effective.
I was unceremoniously placed down on the dusty floor next to my bound teammate, and the man with the double-inhaler gas mask grabbed an old aluminium bucket that had once served as a fire pit, turned it upside down, and positioning himself squarely in front of me before sitting down on the makeshift seat.
The two studs that had been guarding the rear of the group stood guard not far from the shack entrance, and the three hulking men that had carried me here quickly got to work in opening their large duffle bags up and extracting a bunch of thick rope from outta them.
My wrists and ankles remained tightly ziptied, even as the brutish trio got to work trussing me up.
I felt the ropes work their way around my already-secured limbs, but remained quiet, not daring to make a single sound as the frightening team captain sat in front of me and watched me from within his freakishly scary gasmask.
The man's boots were huge.
All of their boots were.
But this man's especially.
They must've been size 15's or something, and with him sitting right in front of me on that overturned bucket-seat, both of his leather-clad soles were planted firmly on the ground on either sides of my head.
The protective visual lens on his mask was tinted dark, and I couldn't see his face.
I knew the leader's name was Jörg; a two-meter-tall blond hunk, with a tight buzz cut, light blue eyes and tattooed upper arms that dwarfed even my thighs.
The guy was in his late 30s and looked like ex-military or something.
He seemed like a cool guy back when I'd met him a the diner, but now, he was being fierce and quiet.
His presence was an imposing one, and his stare demanded both submission and obedience.
The laboured sound of Jörg's loud breathing filled the shack as air rushed in and our of his heavy duty gas mask filters.
Wearing these things must've been part of some self-imposed endurance training or something.
Not only where they dealing with reduced lines of sight, but inhaling and expelling air was rendered somewhat difficult and arduous, especially when they were actively on the move and physically exerting themselves.
Being early fall, the weather was a bit chilly.
But even so, being clad in so much heavy gear must've been difficult, especially considering how thick their fat nylon bomber jackets looked.
In any case, Jörg wasn't the only one labouring to draw breath beneath his military-grade breathing apparatus.
All three of the guys who were busily working the ropes around me were heaving beneath their filtered units.
Their loud, cacophonic breathing, combined with the fact that they were otherwise eerily silent, made for a very frightening atmosphere.
Ryan groaned and pleaded beneath the surprisingly sticky tape gag.
But Captain Jörg paid the lanky college nerd little attention.
The man simply sat there and waited for his soldiers to fishing tying me up.
By the time his three musclemen were done with me, I was trussed up into the most excruciating hogtie you would possibly imagine.
I'm not exaggerating when I say that at least half of my scrawny 5'7 body was buried beneath their cruel knots and ropes.
My ankles, knees, thighs, wrists, forearms, elbows and upper arms all fell prey to their excessive ropework.
And as if that wasn't enough, my miserable form was bent into such a tight backwards-facing arch, that the heels of my old converse all star shoes were left rubbing against my roped up elbows.
Ryan wasn't any better off than I was, as his position was identical to mine.
My old sneakers were removed, my socks were peeled off, and my footwear was tossed down to the floor, right next to my teammate's own socks and worn out shoes.
Not being completely foreign to the concept of POW treatment, I instantly knew that our footwear had been removed for the single purpose of making our chances of escaping even more remote.
Even if Ryan and I somehow both managed to break out of their knots and get rid of our police-grade zip ties, running away across this forest terrain with our bare feet would be near impossible.
And so it came as no great surprise when Captain Jörg later ordered his soldiers to stash our shoes away and hide them out of sight.
Escape was already impossible, but with the absence of any footwear, it was made even more difficult.
Satisfied with their extremely cruel ropework, the three labouring cronies stood up and remained silent as their team leader reached up for his gas mask and pulled it off, removing his thick balaclava mask along with it.
The man's rugged, masculine face, large jaw and blue eyes confirmed his identity.
This was indeed Captain Jörg.
The tattooed muscle hunk ran the back of his gloved hand over his sweaty brow, before reaching down towards Ryan and I and simultaneously ripping the tape off our protesting mouths.
Complaints immediately spilled out of Ryan's orifice, and groans of discomfort spilled out of mine.
The Blue squad leader paid our protests no heed though.
It didn't take much coercion for him to get us to cooperate.
And in less than five minutes, the brute had gotten us to reveal the location of our fortress, and had also managed to squeeze out
the objective of our scouting mission, the backup plans our young leader had elaborated, and our team's hierarchy structure, or lack thereof.
My co-scout and I cooperated, hoping for some form leniency.
But Jörg wasn't the emotional type, and neither were his teammates.
These guys were soldiers and their actions were mechanical, cold and calculating.
Captain Jörg seemed unimpressed by our willingness to divulge the truth so quickly, and simply answered Ryan's incessant demands for freedom by announcing his intent to keep us restrained and gagged for the rest of the day.
My companion scout was furious, and said something about the ropes being too tight.
But the big, brutish team leader simply didn't care.
The blond 6'6 goliath stood up, put his balaclava back on, and ordered his soldiers to take care of securing our mouths.
"I want these prisoners silenced." he told his men. "Hide their shoes away and gag them with those socks." he ordered, right before putting his frightening gas mask back on and darting out of the shack.
TO BE CONTINUED
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I'm personally not a fan of gas masks, but the atmosphere provided by them and the merciless Jörg is really cool! I'm excited to see what the plans for the other team are!
Yes gag them with socks! Hopefully they get each other's rather than their own. They're lucky they aren't getting something of Jorg's. He sounds very hot but I'm sure his gear is extra funky being trapped under all that heavy clothing.
Wow, I love the extensive tactical gear and the intimidation/intensity of the captors... and of course their restraint work... although it seems the tape gag might have needed a few wrappings, hopefully when they were reapplied with the sock stuffing it was corrected
