When he first started sending me chapters of his memoir about Joshua, Eric told me he’d be including flashbacks to adolescent slave-time incidents with his friends Logan and Dylan and their cousin Graham. The first time he sent a flashback, I strongly felt it should come after the Joshua section of the chapter, and managed to convince Eric of that. This time the flashback seems more appropriate to me coming first, and not only because Part 2 of this chapter, the Joshua section, happened on Halloween. I’ll post that section on Sunday, which is close enough to the big day.
Chapter 10, Part 1
Flashback
I enjoyed when Logan and Dylan’s cousin Graham came to visit, which happened at least one weekend per month when the boys were in high school. Even though he was three years younger, Graham and I had become quite close. One weekend in early spring of my freshman year in college, the four of us pitched our large tent by the big pond near Logan’s house. We camped out often because we loved the outdoors, but more importantly camping provided us with an opportunity to play our bondage games.
Friday evening, we all hung out together, fishing and chatting by the fire. When it came time for bed, the bondage fun began. Logan and Dylan tied up Graham and me. We removed our shirts, shoes, and socks first, but in a rare display of compassion, the brothers allowed us to keep our jeans on because it was a chilly night. They tied our hands behind our backs and tied our feet. Graham and I slept together on top of sleeping bags with only our mutual body heat to keep us warm. I dearly loved that. Logan and Dylan slept inside their cozy sleeping bags with blankets covering them. We were their prisoners, and they planned to torture us come morning.
At sunrise, I was already awake. It’s hard for me to sleep well with my arms tied behind me because my shoulders ache so much. Plus my dick was rock hard contemplating the torment I would soon endure. Then I heard a woman’s shrill voice calling over and over for Logan. I quickly realized it was his mother. Being tied up, I squirmed around the best I could so that I could peek through the tent flaps to confirm my fears.
She had just come down the forest path, something she had never done before, and had emerged from the trees headed our way. The hike from her house was at least fifteen minutes, and now she was fifty yards away and closing fast. I began to panic, realizing that she was about to discover that Graham and I were tied up. I lost my erection fast. I called for Logan and Dylan to wake up, but I had to swing my feet around to nudge Logan hard in the ribs several times to get the job done. He awoke startled, and perhaps a little mad, but when he heard his mother’s voice close by, he grasped the urgency. He scrambled out of the tent to meet her while Dylan began untying us hastily just in case she looked inside.
I heard her tell Logan that a water pipe had burst, and the bathroom had flooded. She had managed to shut off the water supply, but she needed him to repair the damage. Before long, the four of us guys were headed to the hardware store in Logan’s truck for plumbing supplies. At the store, Logan knew exactly what items to get and where to find them. We trailed behind him towards the checkout counter. That’s when Dylan spotted it.
Hanging on the front wall near the entrance was a red-handled cattle prod with a long gray shaft. The battery-operated device had two pointed brass prongs and cost twenty dollars, which was a lot of money back then. But Dylan had to have it, so we pooled our money and bought it. I swallowed hard when the clerk retrieved it from the wall because I knew exactly why Dylan wanted it so badly.
Logan could build or fix anything, so repairing the leak didn’t take long. To save time, we drove back to the tent rather than hike through the forest. It was late morning and beginning to warm when we resumed our game.
The boys decided to separate us. Dylan made Graham strip down to his briefs and tied his hands behind his back while Logan made me strip the same and hogtied me belly down inside the tent. Logan gagged me with one of my socks, or maybe it was Graham’s, and taped it in place with duct tape. Then he and Dylan led Graham away to deal with him first.
I was alone in the tent for at least two hours. I imagined all the horrible torment that Graham was experiencing. Logan tended to baby him, but not Dylan. Graham was too far away for me to hear his screams, but I knew that Dylan was torturing the shit out of him with that new toy. Anticipating my own torture brought a cold sweat. I find torture thrilling to ponder but tough to take. Finally, I heard footsteps approaching the tent.
It was Logan. He was all business. He untied my feet but left my hands tied behind me and left the gag in place. He led me towards the old abandoned farmhouse ten minutes away. As we drew near, I could see Graham with his hands bound overhead hanging from a tree limb on tiptoes. His feet were tied together, and he was completely naked. His back was covered with welts and red stripes from a brutal belt whipping.
As I moved past him, our eyes met. It had taken Logan and Dylan two hours, but Graham was completely broken, weary, and suffering in sheer agony. I had mixed emotions. Graham’s body was a gorgeous sight to behold, but I hated to see him suffer. Yet he relished these games whenever he had the opportunity to play, and he could take a lot of abuse. Neither of us liked to lose.
When we reached the clearing in front of Graham, Dylan surprised me with a strong blow to the gut. Instantly, I dropped to my knees gasping for breath, but Logan quickly snatched me up by the arm. The boys took turns beating me in the ribs and belly with their fists until I could barely stand. It sounds harsh and cruel, but body beatings and belt whippings were common practice in our games, and were meant to weaken our resistance.
They slid off my briefs and dragged me sapped and naked to a nearby pine tree. They forced me against the tree with my back pressed against the thick jagged trunk. Logan untied my hands and quickly retied them around the back of the tree. Dylan tied a rope around my left ankle, ran it around the back of the tree, and then tied the other end to my right ankle. My legs were spread wide apart. I was so tightly tied to the tree that the rough bark scraped my back unmercifully with every breath I took. When Dylan slapped the bottom of my nuts hard with his hand, I nearly puked.
Dylan grabbed the cattle prod leaning against the tree near Graham and handed it to Logan. Logan held the prod near my face to give me a good look at the long pointy prongs. Then he pressed the prongs into my left nipple, deep enough to hurt but not breaking the skin. He advised me to give up the information they wanted or pay the price, just typical meaningless rhetoric that was part of the game. He knew that I wouldn’t easily break. My gag was still in place, but I shook my head no and probably growled an angry, muted, “Fuck you.”
Logan pressed the black button on the side of the cattle prod with his thumb. I heard a high pitched buzz and simultaneously felt a sharp jolt of electricity bite my nipple. Logan held the button down for only a second, but the horrible sensation stunned me and rattled my jaw. I didn’t want to feel that awful sting ever again, but before I caught my breath well, he zapped me again twice as long.
Logan and Dylan took turns shocking me all over my upper body, especially the nipples, in what seemed like endless torture. They sometimes gave me long bursts and sometimes short, but they savored every muffled scream. At the time, it seemed like cruel torture as if I were being attacked by a swarm of angry hornets. If given a choice, I would rather have been viciously whipped than bear any more stinging surges of electric current.
In recent years, I have experienced electro-torture often and far more terrible. Thinking back on that first experience, I can hardly believe what a whining baby I was to squeal from feeling six measly volts. Yet to me it was terrible torture at the time, and I was nearing my breaking point. Then Logan touched the prod to my balls and shoved the prongs deep into my scrotum. He placed his thumb on the black button and glared into my eyes.
“You ready to give?” asked Logan.
When I hesitated to answer, he zapped my balls long and hard. I screamed bloody murder. He followed with dozens of shocks all over my balls. By now, my dick was fully erect. Dylan loved that and wanted his turn. Dylan had a field day shocking my balls, and then he stuck the prongs to the underside of my dick. He zapped me with a strong jolt right at the base and inched his way up the shaft with several shocks. I screamed continually, tried to break free of my ropes at the expense of scraping my back severely, and cursed Dylan profusely. But I had nowhere to go, and he wasn’t going to cease. When he shocked the head of my dick and held the surge for several seconds, my body buckled, and I knew I was beaten.
Logan peeled the tape from my mouth and removed the sock.
“Let’s hear it,” said Logan.
Without hesitation, nearly weeping, I told him my name, address, and phone number. Our games had evolved beyond torture for torture’s sake. Instead we usually had some objective such as revealing the location of a hidden playing card or saying a word or phrase like “mercy” or “I give.” This time, the goal was revealing name, address, and phone number. Requiring three pieces of information was better because I could sometimes make a deal for a breather in exchange for one piece if the going got too rough. But our morning had been long, we had places to go, and they were ready to end the ordeal.
As our games evolved, we had incorporated another element, too. The payment. To keep me from caving too easily, Logan and Dylan exacted a penalty if I lost. The payment could take varied forms, and we usually knew the consequence before the game began. We kept a stack of index cards with various punishments written on them. The stack had grown to a couple of hundred cards over time. The night before this game, we had drawn a card that required a simple but revolting punishment. The card read: “Drink a glass of piss.”
Logan freed me from the tree but tied my hands behind my back while Dylan let Graham down leaving his hands bound in front. They picked up our underwear and led us back to the tent where the game would conclude.
The card didn’t specify whose piss we would drink, so the victors would make that decision. We might have to drink our own, or each other’s, or Logan and Dylan’s. They forced Graham and me to our knees naked side by side. Dylan pulled a glass he had brought from his backpack. Dylan unzipped his pants, filled the glass with his piss, and handed it to his cousin Graham. Twice Graham drew it near his lips, but he just couldn’t go through with it.
“Please don’t make me do this,” said Graham.
When Dylan insisted, Graham offered him a deal. If Dylan would forego the penalty, Graham would serve as his slave for the rest of the weekend. Dylan countered by demanding one month, which would include another weekend visit plus spring break week. Grudgingly, Graham accepted the deal. Dylan took back the glass, but he emptied the piss slowly over Graham’s head.
I received no such mercy. Besides, I was already their slave. Logan filled the glass with his piss and stuck it to my lips. When I resisted, Logan grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head backwards. Dylan forced my mouth open with his hands and pinched my nose shut. Then Logan poured the entire glass of piss down my throat, slowly enough so that I swallowed almost all of it.
Admittedly, it was not the first time I had swallowed piss. I had swallowed mine and theirs several times, either as penalty for losing or as part of the torture itself. But I believe this was the first time that they had forced me to drink piss in front of Graham, and that was terribly humiliating.
As we often did, we spent the rest of the day hanging out as good friends just as if nothing odd had happened. We dressed and returned to Logan’s house where we played basketball, then showered and watched college basketball on television. That evening, we went out for pizza and a movie with friends.
I will never forget that first experience being tortured with the cattle prod. Logan and Dylan used it often. Countless lengthy, tortuous sessions conditioned me to feel great fear anytime I saw that long red-handled stick.
Terrific story - thanks
Posted by: Bob | November 05, 2016 at 06:10 PM