Readers have asked whether any conflict ever arose between me and the brothers, Logan and Dylan, when I was their slave during our high school days and beyond. Actually we quarreled more frequently than I would have liked. Usually the tension resulted from my overzealous passion for rough play. Logan and Dylan often preferred to spend their spare time in carefree leisure, but I was driven to satisfy my powerful urges for bondage come hell or high water.
Given a choice between swimming at a friend’s pool all afternoon and torturing the shit out of me, they would have taken the former course four times out of five. I think everyone knows which path I would have chosen.
Our distinctive attitudes and interests sometimes led to problems. Sure, they enjoyed their dominant roles immensely at times, and they were quite skilled when the mood struck them. But their dominance did not surface with the regularity I wanted. Looking back, I was somewhat unrealistic in my expectations of them.
I should have been content with what I had. It should have been a gracious plenty, but like a hopeless heroin addict, I couldn’t get enough. Sometimes I felt that they were too lax and permissive in “owning” me, as we called it. At times I thought that they were losing interest altogether.
When they were soft and neglectful, in my opinion, I pestered them constantly to play their roles better. I suggested bondage activities to them. I was purposely defiant and badly behaved at times hoping to anger them into making me toe the line and force me into submission, brutally if necessary. I was rebellious and unruly at times, intentionally trying to earn demerits so that they would punish me. When they were half-hearted in fulfilling my desires, I criticized them for their leniency.
“You’re being too easy on me,” I would whine, usually annoyed or irritated with them. Or I might say, “You’re treating me like a baby. Grow some balls.”
Sometimes, obviously aggravated at them, I would say, “There was a time when you would have whipped me to within an inch of my life for saying that. Why do you let me get away with this stuff?”
“You’re treating me too much like an equal,” I would remind them. I didn’t want to be their equal. I wanted them to keep their boots on my neck.
One of our biggest quarrels of the summer before my senior year in high school came during the second week of August. I want to relate the story because it may give readers better insight into our complicated relationship and illustrate how I sometimes manipulated Logan and Dylan more than they wanted.
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Chapter 36
Close Call
Football practice began for the upcoming season on the first Monday in August, three weeks before school was back in session. As a talented rising sophomore, Dylan expected to log plenty of playing time at running back. He began as the backup tailback, but he would break into the starting lineup midway through the season that year. He had always been pretty swift and nimble, but now he was growing bigger and stronger as well, which allowed him to deliver a punishing blow to any would-be tackler unlucky enough to obstruct his path.
The two-a-day practices occurred at 7:30 am and 5:00 pm each day, five days a week, and lasted about two hours each. Our summer lawn care business was winding down because we all wanted to enjoy some vacation time before school was back in full swing. As had been the agreement from the beginning, several of our customers eased back into cutting their own yards, thankful that we had taken the chore off their hands for most of the summer.
We worked out a suitable schedule for our other customers, especially the elderly folks unable to do the tedious work themselves. Logan’s cousin Graham helped us occasionally, and we paid a couple of friends to assist us at other times. With the extra help and some clever scheduling, we were able to satisfy the wishes of our most needy customers while leaving plenty of time for recreation.
Now that Dylan had his driver’s license, I didn’t need to take him to practice twice a day, either waiting on him for two boring hours or having to return to pick him up. Instead, he drove my car. Most of the time, I spent the night at Logan and Dylan’s house, which was preferable to getting up early to drive several miles each morning.
We had a routine. Ms. Anderson, the boys’ mother who had by now become a second mother to me, left for work around 6:30 each morning. She always woke Dylan up before she left so that he could eat breakfast before practice. After eating, Dylan would rouse me from the sofa where I slept and hogtie me on the floor of his bedroom. I usually slept in nothing but my briefs, but sometimes I wore shorts.
Each morning before seven o’clock, Dylan led me bleary eyed and stumbling into his bedroom, where the air conditioner blasted away just the way he liked it, and made me lay belly down on the cold tile floor. Like a limp rag doll, I offered no resistance while he trussed me up, bare feet fixed snugly to my wrists. He usually gagged me with a dirty sock stuffed into my mouth and taped in place.
Over time, Dylan had collected several grungy jockstraps that he kept in his equipment bag. He usually pulled out the one he had worn to practice the afternoon before, still damp with his sweat, and he would pull it over my head making sure the smelly crotch covered my nose. He would tape the jockstrap in place with a swath of gray tape over my eyes and another beneath my nose to make sure the jockstrap stayed in place. Then he dressed and headed off to practice.
Each morning I nearly froze my nuts off, and the powerful stench from the filthy jockstrap was literally breathtaking. But as uncomfortable as it was, I was thankful for a little extra sleep. I generally managed an hour or so of good napping each morning during the roughly three hours I was hogtied on the floor.
When you stop to think about it, leaving me tied up like that was crazy. Being bound and gagged was dangerous enough. Even though Logan was sleeping down the hall, I would never have been able to wake him if I had begun to choke. But there was another danger that we never considered. What would have happened if their mother had ever gotten sick at work and returned home early? If she had found me tied up, what would we have told her?
Logan loved to sleep late whenever he got the chance, but he was usually up and showered by the time Dylan got home from morning practice. After Dylan showered off the grit and grime from football practice, the boys usually untied me, and then we were off to face the day. Some days we went fishing or skateboarding. Other days we might be off to the mall or to a friend’s house, maybe to play a little baseball, swim or just hang out and watch television.
By the second week of August, we had gone a few days without any bondage activity other than Dylan hogtying me each morning. They hadn’t tied me to any trees, chairs or beds. They hadn’t whipped me, paddled me, soaked my feet in ice water, bossed me around or treated me like an unwanted stepchild. They certainly hadn’t tortured me. In fact, they were becoming rather chummy with me, I thought. We were enjoying ourselves far too much.
Any normal kid might have been thankful to have such a relationship with close buddies. Over the years I have known many lonely people. But I wasn’t normal. Freedom and friendship were not foremost on my mind. In my warped way of thinking, I didn’t deserve any happiness. I didn’t deserve to have friends as popular and cool as Logan and Dylan. I deserved punishment, not pleasure. When they treated me well, the world just wasn’t right.
One morning after they untied me, I suggested that we play a torture game since we had not played one in awhile. I told them that I would hide a playing card, and they would have to make me tell them what it was. Logan considered my request, but he decided that we should go swimming at a friend’s house. We had all been invited. Logan promised that we would play the torture game “tomorrow.”
But the next day, our plans changed when something else came up. A group of our friends organized a game of pick-up baseball at a field in town. We had great fun, but my deeper needs were not being satisfied. Then later that night, Logan announced that he wanted to play golf after Dylan finished practice the next morning. He seemed to have totally forgotten his promise.
I fussed at them. Actually, it bordered on anger. I told them that they were being too wimpy and nice to me. I reminded them that we would be back in school soon and that free time would be harder to come by. They were wasting valuable time to own me.
I even tried to appeal to their sense of logic. “I can’t believe you two have a slave, someone you can do anything you want to or even work to death, yet you act like you don't care.”
I made them feel pretty guilty about neglecting me. Wanting to appease me, Logan put our round of golf on hold. The next morning, Dylan hogtied me in his bedroom as usual and left for football practice. By ten o'clock, he had returned and showered, but instead of untying me right away, he left me bound a little longer than normal.
He and Logan watched television in the living room, while I remained bound and gagged, wondering if they planned to keep me that way all day. My arms and legs were aching and stiff already. Usually by the time Dylan returned home and showered, I had been hogtied about three hours. By then, I was always more than ready for the ropes to come off, especially gagged by that filthy sock and having that grungy jockstrap taped over my face.
But I wasn’t going to be free so soon today. By the time they did untie me, it was after eleven o’clock.
I followed them out the backdoor, all of us wearing nothing but shorts. Logan was carrying some ropes, and of course I was excited to see that we were going to finally have some action. Normally, I was too nervous and stressed during an activity to experience much sexual arousal. But this time my dick grew quite stiff as we walked towards whatever fate awaited me. Chills ran down my spine and gave me the shivers.
“Don’t you want me to hide a card?” I asked them.
“That won’t be necessary,” said Logan.
In a sense I loved the anticipation, not knowing exactly what to expect but certain that it would take every fiber of my being to endure.
They led me over to their new basketball area at the edge of the woods. For years, they had played on one basketball goal set up near the house. However, recently they had moved their basketball area to the back of their huge three or four acre yard. They had set up two goals to permit full court basketball if they wanted. They had always talked about pouring a cement court, but those dreams seemed far in the future.
They led me across the court and into the woods maybe ten or twelve yards in. Not very far. They made me stand between two tall, thin but sturdy trees—river birch I think—facing the basketball court. The trees were a good six feet apart.
I was a little nervous about being tied so close to the yard. Usually, they took me far deeper into the woods for our activities. I questioned them about the wisdom of it.
“You’re going to tie me up here?” I asked. “Someone might see me.”
“You worry too much,” was Logan’s nonchalant response, obviously annoyed with my paranoia. “Who’s going to come back here? Besides, you’re far enough in. Nobody’s going to see you.”
Sometimes Logan and Dylan could be a little careless. They never thought about worst case scenarios like I sometimes did. I mean, I could see the whole backyard from where I was standing. Why couldn’t someone see me if they came back there?
Logan tied ropes around my wrists, stretched my arms out in a “T” and secured the ropes to the two river birches on either side of me. He pulled the ropes tight until I groaned deeply from my gut. He braced his foot against the tree to get leverage when he tied the second rope to make sure I was stretched out to the max and hurting. For a moment I was afraid that he might dislocate my shoulders or pull one of my muscles. Despite my pain, my dick was ripping a hole in my shorts. I loved the attention.
Dylan tied my feet together at the ankles, my soles resting flat on the prickly ground. Having to stand barefoot on the pointy stubble of dried brush was a bit uncomfortable. After tying me securely, they grabbed a basketball from the storage building nearby and started playing hoops, leaving me to my anguish.
It didn’t take long before I was in utter misery. The ropes alone were torture enough, even if they never did anything else to me. The ropes cut into my wrists, and my fingers became numb. My back felt as though it was about to rip in two right down the spine. My shoulder blades felt like they were tearing through the skin of my back. I knew immediately what terrible agony medieval prisoners must have felt when stretched on the rack. Every breath I took and every movement I made, no matter how small, multiplied my pain.
Logan and Dylan split a couple of games and then they came over to check on me. Mostly they mocked me, seeing the anguish on my face and the terror in my eyes. I knew I couldn’t take being tied like this much longer, and I suspected that they realized as much. Logan thumped my nose and my ears a few times, which was not only extremely infuriating but it hurt and made my eyes water.
Dylan pulled and twisted my nipples a few times until I cried out. It was his favorite way to torment me. He loved torturing nipples. Of course, everything they did to me caused me to move, which brought more terrible pain to my stretched out body.
I wanted to beg them to stop and untie me. If I had hidden that card like I had suggested, I would have considered giving it up by now. But I collected myself and gathered my wits about me. I was hurting for sure, but after I had badgered them so badly to give me this kind of attention, I wasn’t about to beg them to let me go just yet. I determined that I would tough it out a while longer no matter what.
Just before they took to the court again, Dylan drew my attention to his waistline. He pulled up the elastic band of his jockstrap, the same one he had worn to football practice earlier that morning, to show me that he was still wearing it.
“I’m getting this nice and sweaty for you,” Dylan said. “You know where this is going, right?” His grin was wicked.
Well, he had played basketball in his jockstrap plenty of times before and then stuffed it into my mouth or slipped it over my head drenched with his sweat. I knew that one or the other would happen whenever he got ready.
Logan and Dylan went back to playing basketball. They were well into their next game when my worst fears suddenly became real.
I heard the engine of the truck before I saw it. I glanced to my left and watched the black pickup ease around the corner of the house and stop near the basketball court, its long whip-like CB antenna waggling in the air. Two kids, one tall and blond and the other shorter with dark hair, climbed out. They began talking with Logan and Dylan.
I knew the blond kid from school. The other was a friend of Logan’s I had met before but didn’t really know.
I was scared shitless. My knees were knocking together. The two boys were directly in front of me not fifteen yards away. I don’t know how they missed seeing me, all tied up.
Logan maneuvered them so that one kid had his back to me most of the time, but the dark haired kid was sideways to me. All he had to do was glance my way and my life would be over. At least that’s what I thought.
I held my breath and tried to remain as still as possible, not wanting to make any sound or movement that would draw attention to myself. Any pain I felt suddenly became unimportant. I could see the two boys as plain as day. I was on the verge of hysteria. My heart pounded so loudly that I was afraid someone would hear it. I wanted to scream at Logan or Dylan to come let me loose so I could slip away into the brush, but that wasn’t possible.
Logan and Dylan talked to the two boys for several minutes, but it seemed like an eternity to me. I have no idea what they were talking about although I could hear them clearly. Every brain cell in my skull was focused on remaining motionless and hidden, not on idle conversation. I was a casual glance away from utter ruin. That was the thought running through my mind.
After a few minutes, Dylan walked towards the house with the two visitors following him. They went inside. Logan came over to me, half smiling but clearly knowing that I was going to be pissed. He was right.
I laid into Logan with every four-letter word I could think of, and I called him a few choice names in between.
“Untie me now, you stupid mother fucker,” I screamed at him. I was livid.
“Relax,” Logan said, trying to calm me down, but so unsuccessful. He began loosening the ropes. “They didn’t see you.”
That was somehow no consolation to me. Logan seemed to have missed the whole fucking point.
Logan continued to untie me, and I continued ranting. Dylan was in the house, but in his absence I cursed him, too. Once I was down, rubbing my sore, itching wrists, Logan told me to wait in the woods. I couldn’t get away fast enough. I hurried deep into the forest, while Logan joined his friends inside the house. About half an hour later, I heard the truck doors slam shut, the engine start and the two visitors drive away.
Shortly afterwards, I heard Logan and Dylan roaming through the woods looking for me. They called out to me several times, but stubbornly I didn’t answer. Finally, they found me sitting on the ground with my back against a tree near the rusty oil drums they sometimes used to tie me over during torture sessions, although it had been a long time since we had used them.
I had calmed down considerably, but I was still upset. I lit into them again now that I had them both in front of me. Using a few choice and colorful words, I reminded them that I had warned them that they were tying me too close to the yard. I told them that what they did was dumb and careless. I told them that they could be “fucking idiots” sometimes.
They both agreed that it was a close call. We recounted several close calls that had happened that summer. There was the old couple who knocked on the door of the lake house when Logan and Dylan were torturing me in the living room, where I was screaming bloody murder. We thought they had heard my screams, but it turned out they only wanted to hire us to cut their lawn.
Then there was the night Logan spent the night at my house and tied me up on my bedroom floor. My mother suddenly knocked on the bedroom door and called for me. I am sure she heard the scrambling around as Logan quickly moved to rip the gag off me so that I could answer her. I told her that I had just showered, and that I was dressing, but I would be out soon. There were two or three other times recently where we were almost discovered, and now this incident today.
We all agreed that we needed to be more careful, and we were for awhile. But in time, once the cold sting of the most recent scare was forgotten, we tended to become sloppy and careless again.
We talked about finding a place where we could enjoy our secret activities without any chance of being discovered. We would still use the woods, the lake house, the bedroom and other venues when we needed, but we all made it a point to think of somewhere secluded to call our own special place.
By now, I had calmed down completely. Talking it out helped. After a brief moment of silent reflection, Logan finally spoke.
“You realize that we’re going to have to punish you, don’t you?”
“Punish me?" I asked. "For what?”
Deep down, I knew that I had overreacted to the situation when the two boys drove up in that truck. At first I felt justified in telling Logan and Dylan what I thought. It could have been a life changing event, but in the end it wasn’t. I may have been justified in expressing my feelings about how careless they had been. But I went too far. No doubt.
“We can’t let you get away with cussing us out and yelling at us like you did,” said Logan. “We own you. You can’t talk to us that way and expect everything to be okay.”
I nodded my agreement. Upon a moment’s reflection, I realized that I had agreed to be their slave. If I was to be truly subservient to them, truly owned by them, then I suppose I would have to submit to whatever punishment they deemed I deserved. After all, I had badgered them to get tougher with me and had criticized them profusely when they didn’t.
Even if I felt some small justification for my reaction in this case, certainly there were many other things in my life that I needed to be punished for. I probably deserved whatever retribution was in store.
“What are you going to do to me?” I asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” said Logan. “Me and Dylan will have to discuss it. For now, let’s do something else.”
We drove to town and got milkshakes at the drugstore. We hung around town for a couple of hours until Dylan had to go to football practice. We dropped him off at the field behind the school, but that meant I had to go back and pick him up when he was finished.
I spent the night at their house, as had been my routine lately. Before going to bed, Logan told me that he and Dylan had decided on my punishment.
“After Dylan gets home from practice tomorrow, you’ll start paying off your debt,” said Logan.
I wasn’t sure what he meant by “start.” Certainly the word carried the connotation that my punishment wouldn’t be quick and easy. It made me a little nervous.
I didn’t question him though. I only nodded my head and answered “okay” rather meekly.
Logan went off to bed. I stretched out on the comfortable sofa and pulled the cover over me all the way to my chin. My head sank into the pillow, but I couldn’t sleep right away. I just stared at the ceiling with mixed emotions. Part of me was excited that the boys were back in form exerting their dominance over me. I fantasized about all the possible things they might do to me. The anticipation was thrilling, but scary.
But another part of me was scared to death that I had once again bitten off more than I could chew. I have always had a knack for doing that where bondage is concerned. Still do.
As Logan liked to say, “Sometimes your mouth writes a check that your ass can’t cash.”
I was pretty sure that my check was huge and my account was overdrawn. In just a few short hours, I would come face to face with the monsters I had created.
Great story!
Posted by: Bob Dooman | December 12, 2012 at 12:15 PM
Good to hear back from Eric again reliving his teenage years with Logan and Dylan. Thank you.
Posted by: Mister-X / Spartan | December 12, 2012 at 02:00 PM
I thoroughly enjoyed this chapter into Eric's SM world. The chances these 3 young men took with Eric's life are truly amazing. I'm so glad nothing happened to Eric from all the torture they put him through. Can't wait for the next chapter to see what they did to him the next morning. Love the hogtied sessions.
Posted by: Bondagebuddy | December 16, 2012 at 05:09 AM
I am hooked on this story. Hope it won't be too long for the next chapter. Go Eric.
Posted by: Big Bob | December 16, 2012 at 07:03 AM