By Kevin’s Path

“What a friggin’ ripoff. I was such a dumbass to fall for this.” I’d ordered the game online. When it came and I opened it up, it was an ordinary Poker deck with some typed instructions on paper stuffed in the bottom of the box. I was expecting something more like a disc I could play on my console, not a card game. This was not even a good card game. I wonder if anyone else was stupid enough to pay 50 bucks online for a Poker deck.

I didn’t even look at the instructions that go with it. I got online to the Indentured site and dashed off a flaming email to them about how this was a ripoff, and I wanted my money back. There was no immediate response, and I didn’t really think there would be. I might just have to eat this mistake.

I decided to also post these lame game instructions up on this bulletin board so that other people would be wise to it. Be warned!

There was an introduction letter:

Dear Jason,

I am pleased to present to you this non-refundable one-of-a-kind copy of Indentured – the game of sex, humiliation, pain, bondage and tedious labor in 3,162,510 combinations. Every individual copy of Indentured is unique, having been designed specifically for you by my game development team based upon a personality profile that you submitted combined with my own internal research about you. Your presences on all social media have been reviewed, including the ones where you use an alias. I also purchased and analyzed the records of all your recent search terms from Google. A tremendous amount of time and resources were devoted upfront to get an intimate picture of you before I delivered your game. So, please understand that’s why I can’t offer refunds. Realize that you hold in your hands a unique crafted item, which will not only entertain you with its practically endless variations in gameplay, but it will also relentlessly challenge you and expand your mind, if you follow along and let it.

In your specific instance, Jason, your game incorporates thematic elements of some of your favorite sexual fantasies.

Good luck on your journey,

Indentured

“No. That’s not creepy,” I thought.

To begin your game simply shuffle and cut the deck. Then draw five cards. This is your first hand of Indenture. Each of your cards represents a task that you must perform today. You have until the end of the day or until sunrise tomorrow at the very latest – if you want to stay awake and pull an all-nighter.

This is your quick start guide:

1. You can only play one hand per day. Start whenever you like, but you must complete the hand before sunrise the next day. You must always draw at least five cards.
2. Each card represents a task you must complete. Consult your play manual to identify what your tasks are.
3. There are no do-overs. Play the hand that you drew.
4. There is no pause button. Play your hand now or don’t play. You may not put it away and resume at a more convenient time.
5. You must always combine two or more tasks simultaneously. No credit will be given for a single task completed by itself.
6. If you fail to complete a task, then you will be consigned to the penalty box.
7. If you combine two or more tasks in a creative non-obvious way, then you may be entitled to receive a brownie point – more on that later.
8. If you draw a joker, then some additional rules come into effect – more on that also later.
9. If you draw four of a kind in one hand (for instance 6♦ 6♥ 6♣ 6♠ 2♠) or a run of five cards all in one suit (like 6♦7♦8♦ 9♦ 10♦) , then some additional rules come into effect – more on that also later.
10. If you have difficulty interpreting the rules in a particular instance, consult the Helpdesk.

Note about fair play: I rely upon on your sense of honor, personal integrity, and fair play when you open a hand of Indenture. Do your best to complete each task that you draw truly in the spirit of the game. Some tasks will turn you on. Some tasks might not. Some tasks you will think you could never do. Give them all a chance. You will ultimately not enjoy this game if you do the bare minimum possible to complete and are half-assed and uncommitted to its outcome. You will discover no higher meaning in it. You will discard it. You will likely remain unchanged, uninspired, with your dick less hard, having extinguished the spark that ignites within you. It makes me sad to think you would bail on it like that, Jason. I want more for you.

Weird, again creepy, personal appeal to find my soul and keep my dick hard. I didn’t know what to make of this.

My inbox chimed with a reply from Indentured to my “This is a ripoff.” complaint:

Dear Jason,

Thank you for writing to tell me your first impression of the game that I designed for you. But, don’t be such a whiny little bitch, immediately complaining that it’s not what you thought.

I’ve read your profile. Nothing’s ever just right for you. I bet you haven’t even tried it yet. You bought this game for a reason; so may I suggest that you should give it a chance and actually play it at least once before flaming out like that.

I don’t give refunds, because I make bespoke individually crafted games, as explained in my product literature. However, if it will ease your mind and make you feel better about your purchase, I am willing to extend to you as a one-time offer one free brownie point that you can spend in the game.

Good luck with your game. Signed, Indentured

“Well, I never.…”

I shuffled the deck and drew five cards: 6♦Q♥ 6♥ A♣ 4♠

I looked up the entry in the crib sheet for the first one. OK. What does 6¨ mean?

6♦   Ding dong: I’ve found a new and better use for your weenie. We will repurpose it as a bell ringer to alert any normal guys around about your wild homo urges. It will act like a little weenie lighthouse warning them away from the rocks. Find some type of good loud, clangy bell with some weight to it. Hang it off the base of your knob. Keep it swinging free outside of any clothing, and just keep ringing that bell.

I was not expecting that.

I saw now what this was. I think I read something like to this in a story. This Indentured guy got hold of my search history, and maybe he saw I searched on something like, maybe, for instance, related to penis bells. (OK. I admit it was “penis bells.”) And, then I read this really hot story that came up. Clever. A little generic though – I’m sure it’s a pretty common search term.

 

Q♥  Face Fuck Ergonomics: Discover some way to attach handle bars to your head. Stretch out your jaw and devote some time and effort to improving your talents as deep-throating face hole.

 

“Pfhw… What? I’m not doing that!”

 

6♥  Pongo: Hump like a dog until you cum with no hands on a leg or some furniture. I expect you to pant, stick your tongue out, and slobber.

“Hmm…. I could do that one.”

4♠   Make Your Weight: You have a hard-on for UFC mixed martial arts fighter Clay “The Carpenter” Guida. Tomorrow is your weigh-in for the big fight with him in The Octagon. You need to get down to 145 pounds or under in time so you qualify to compete in the featherweight division. Spend some time practicing at least one of the four MMA disciplines to prepare: wrestling; kickboxing; striking; or Brazilian jiu jitzu.

“Uhmm.” Wow! They really did research me.

2♣  Ball buster: You’ve gotten enough enjoyment out of your nutsack. Give it a new purpose today as stress-relieving squeeze toy or a paddle ball. Set up a regular schedule of ball busting sessions throughout the day. Get them out and whack away. Go for breaking a sweat and feeling a little dizzy and nauseated each session.

“Ehh. No, definitely not.”

I mean, a couple of these looked interesting. But, I wasn’t going to read all this stuff.

What if I just do the ones I like and forget the others?

I think I just assumed this was a kind of Poker game where you only need to be better than the next guy and can bluff if you don’t have a very good hand. I fired off another email to Indentured:

Hey Helpdesk: I am playing my first hand of Indentured, and I actually like some of these tasks. Thanks! I’ve got two out of five. How good of a hand is that?

 

Meanwhile, I went over to the hardware store to see if they have any bells. I went around the corner to the store in my neighborhood and looked through the window. There were some people in there. That’s good. Every time I go in a hardware store and think that I can browse for something in peace, a helpful hardware man will materialize spontaneously out of the air wanting to guide me in finding my item. I don’t want help! I don’t want to explain what I am looking for. I want to be left alone. The hardware guy will be too busy following the other shoppers around to notice me.

I started in a far back corner nowhere near anyone else. Plumbing supplies, duct tape, screws and screwdrivers, step stools, auto parts, … , oh here, doorbells! But, no. I could immediately see these were electric push button jobs. None were suitable to hang off my penis. This was going to be more difficult than I thought.

And then, the helpful hardware man materialized behind me with a slight shimmer and a puff of air. “Are you looking for a doorbell?”

“Umm, no. I was actually looking for something more of an old-fashioned bell with a ringer inside of it that you can hang from something and knock the ringer against the bell part to make noise.”

“I’ve got this reproduction of a vintage brass pub bell.” He showed me a bell that had a base rim diameter of about 5 inches and about 4 inches high. It was artificially weathered metal made to look like an old antique brass bell. It had a length of chain hanging out of the bell attached to the ringer. It was of a type that would hang on the wall in a saloon and would be rung late at night to announce last call for liquor. I got a hard-on just looking at it, but when I picked it up, it was way too heavy.

“No. It’s too heavy. It’ll stretch my wiener down to the floor.”

Reluctantly, I left the helpful hardware man with the pub bell. I was certain that I could find something better if I looked around more. But, when I went to the K-mart at Astor place they had nothing but Martha Stewart crap. When I went to Crate & Barrel, they had scented candles and tea cozies everywhere, but incredibly, no light-weight brass bells that you can swing from your penis. I’d wasted almost two hours on this now, and I was getting increasingly frustrated.

“All I want is to go home and hump like a dog with a bell on penis. Why is this so difficult to accomplish?”

I finally went back to the hardware store where I started, determined to somehow find a way to make the giant pub bell work for me. It was so late now in the afternoon that they were closing up the store, and I barely, breathlessly got in the door to buy the thing before they turned off the lights to go home. They’d never seen anyone so anxious for a bell.

Finally at home, I turned my full attention to the problem of how to hang my pub bell. After some experimenting, I figured out that I could loop some phone cord around each of my thighs above the knee and pass about an 8 inch length of it through the brass ring on the top of the bell. If I spread my legs apart, then the length of cord would be pulled taught. The heavy bell would be supported by the cord between my legs with the chain at the end of the ringer dangling below my knees. So, then I looped a shoelace around head of my cock and tied it also onto the brass ring so that the bell was mostly supported by my legs but also undeniably pulling my cock head down so it stretched out pointing at the floor. I swayed my hips gently to make the bell ring between my legs. It was louder than I thought it would be.

“Super! Now all I need to do is hump like a dog.” I had in mind to put a towel down over the arm of the sofa and just bend over the edge of it and hump. I hobbled over to it wide-legged, realizing that as soon as I start to close my legs, the cord goes slack, and the whole weight of the bell starts yanking on my cock head.

I bent myself over the sofa arm, then realized the problem that I couldn’t aim my hard-on out over the top of the arm squeezed between the sofa and my stomach as I’d planned. The heavy bell kept it pointed down at the floor out of contact. I could lie across the sofa arm and just about thrust my hips into the end of the sofa to make my cock head brush up against the edge of it when I swung the big bell enough, but it would only contact for an instant before the bell clanged against the sofa and then swung back pulling my cock head back between my legs with it. I was plenty hard and determined to make this work; so, I thrusted at the sofa and clanged the bell repeatedly to try and accumulate enough contact between my head and the sofa to cum.

It was way harder than I thought it would be, because the bell yanked on my cock head and it was a strain to stay bent over with my legs spread to minimize that. But, I like humping like a dog. I concentrated and let my mouth open. I stuck my tongue out and panted. I drooled like a horny dog and got off on being a dumb pet animal that can’t be satisfied any other way. I couldn’t get to a really satisfying climax this way, but I did manage to squirt some juice down onto the bell. It took like an hour of sustained effort to get there, but I did it!

With some sense of accomplishment and relief, I got the bell off of my sore wiener. Maybe, this game is OK. I think I’m still in good enough shape that I could have a totally satisfying jerk-off session later tonight replaying that in my mind.

There was a reply in my email from the Helpdesk. I’d forgotten about that.

Hey Jason,

Your reward for doing two tasks out of five will be three weeks in the penalty box, one for each task that you failed. I assume you’ve read the game’s directions carefully and that you completely understand all about the penalty box.

If you are comfortable with that outcome, then I congratulate you for being a fuck-up and getting the punishment that you deserve and apparently want for playing the game half-assed with so little commitment to it.

You still have some time left today, if you change your mind.

Signed, Indentured

 

Way to kill the mood. Ok…. Penalty box. What is this? I read further on into the game guide.

If you fail to complete a task, then you will be consigned to the penalty box. For each task that you fail to complete, you will spend one week (that’s seven 24 hour cycles) in the penalty box. Here are the rules you must follow at all times when you are consigned to the penalty box:

1. Your masturbation privileges are revoked. There is no jerking off in the penalty box.
2. Any and all other forms of sexual gratification are off-limits. You agree not to seek out any enjoyable sexual experiences of any kind while in the penalty box.
3. No porn allowed.
4. No checking out hot guys or day-dreaming about hot guys.
5. All of your other non-penis related entertainment privileges are also revoked: no TV, movies, Youtube, Netflix, or video games. Exception: You may watch educational shows or G-rated family programming. You may read newspapers and non-fiction texts if they don’t have pictures of hot guys.

I got a lump in my throat, realizing that penalty box means three weeks with “no privileges,” which is way longer than I’d ever held out before. I can’t do that! This game is so unfair. I worked hard on the two that I finished. I should get something for that, but all I’m getting is a penalty box.

And besides, I’m not a fuck-up. I’m very conscientious. He doesn’t know anything about me.

It was by now about 8 pm. The day was practically over. Reluctantly, I looked again at these remaining cards that I said I wouldn’t do: 2♣: I really don’t want to hit my own balls on a schedule, but it’s getting late. What if I could do it maybe once every hour until midnight – would that be enough to pass? If I just grit my teeth and get through it, then that would at least shave off a week.

OK, I committed to at least do that one. I didn’t have time to overthink this; so, I picked up one of the flip-flops that I wear in the locker room at my gym, deciding I’d use the sole of my flip-flop to whack on my balls. I pulled my dick up with one hand and experimented with the other hand smacking the sole onto them – not too hard – at a moderate pace – but making at least a solid “whack” sound on them. I counted up to 100 whacks and felt satisfied with that. It hurt a little but wasn’t too bad.

However, when I reread the instruction I had to be honest with myself that I hadn’t broken a sweat and wasn’t dizzy or nauseated. I was determined to at least do this one thing right; so, I tried again and changed it up a little. First of all, I decided I’d run in place while smacking my balls so that I would definitely get up a sweat one way or another. Secondly, I could see the necessity to grab my dick in my fist while running and pull it way up higher to get my balls up and out more for a more solid hit on the sweet spot of them. Thirdly – as much as it made me cringe to think about it – I could see I needed to start my swing higher up so that the flip flop would impact with more momentum.

It took me some additional time to get together both courage and coordination to commence ball busting round two. By the time I reach 100 whacks this time (more slowly, because I couldn’t stand it any faster) I was running in place full out, sweating, starting my swing way up above my head, following through, and yanking my dick up with the other hand to help my balls connect at the end of the swing. I was seeing little explosions and red veins in my eyes. This was way more intense. I had to sit down now.

After my head had cleared, I realized I’d made a bad mistake. I had needed to combine whacking away with something else at the same time to get any credit. I’d assaulted my testicles for nothing. What else can I combine? Handlebars on my head?

I definitely remembered the story I’d read where the guy’s own father sells him into slavery to pay a debt, and then his former best friend buys him and permanently mounts handlebars on his head and then face-fucks him and totally degrades him. Hot story. I’m not appalled by the handlebar idea or dead-set opposed to it. I just don’t see how I could possibly do it. That’s why it’s a fantasy.

9 pm: Desperation prompts me to dig deep for an inspiration.

“Do I have anything at all with handles?”

My former roommate had left a pair of old wooden badminton rackets in the closet. I now considered a new use for them. I found a pair of scissors. I would need to cut out all of the string from around the rim of the rackets to make each of them into a hollow wooden opening. The unstrung racket fit over my head, and if I just wrapped something around my head to make a turban or a thick wide headband, the two rackets could fit snugly over it. The two racket handles stuck out like antlers to either side above my ears. I wrapped some duct tape around the whole turban-spacer-racket assembly on my head to secure it in place. I had to go sideways through the doorway to the bathroom mirror to look at it, because the racket ends stuck out so far. “Hey, I did it! I’ve got handlebars on my head!”

So now, I’m supposed to stretch out my jaw and somehow face-fuck myself. No problem. Of course, I own a dildo; so, I just wiped it off and stuck it in my mouth. I looked at the clock and saw that I was on schedule now for my next hourly ball beating session.

So, now I started to run in place with my dick in one hand and my flip-flop ball whacker in the other, but now I also had the handlebars and a dildo in my mouth. I was going to nail it this time. However, it troubled me that I was not really, truly getting face-fucked. I was, to be honest, only holding the dildo end in my teeth while the base of it flopped around in front of my face as I jogged. If I had a hand free, then I could work the dildo in and out with that, but both my hands were occupied. How could I face-fuck myself better?

I’d come too far to be defeated on this technicality now. I wrapped some bungee cord around the base of the dildo in my mouth and then I nailed an eye bolt to the wall behind me at the level of my head. I passed the two ends of the bungee over my shoulders behind me and hooked the ends of the bungee cord to the eye bolt behind me so that I was hitched to the wall with sort-of dildo bit and a bungee cord bridle. Now, if I stood facing away from the wall about two feet or so, the bungee cord would stretch taunt, and the dildo would get pulled into my mouth deeper as I continued moving away from the wall. I found a place where I could release my teeth and relax my mouth, but the pull of the bungee cord on the dildo going around either side of my head would hold it there. If I walked out too far from the wall, it would pull in so far I’d start to gag myself, but with practice I could lean toward or away from the wall to slide it in or out to face-fuck myself. It was an elegant solution.

So, I started running in place while pulling away from the wall. I tried my best to keep my jaw wide and not clench my teeth on it. My jaw started to hurt. I still gagged sometimes. I slobbered and my eyes watered up. My handle bars were waggling on my head. I raised my flip-flop high over my head to count the first of another hundred solid hits with full follow-through aimed square into my juice bag.

The nerve endings in my nuts were already on edge this time; so, I wasn’t even half way through before I started to feel pains shoot up into my abdomen and down into my legs. The pain sensation delocalized and started radiating out through my body. I started feeling queasy. When I’d finished 100 hits, I was shaking all over with nervous aftershocks. Had to lie down on the floor for a while until it subsided.

That was my first ball busting session that counted. I would need to repeat this every hour for at least a few more hours to say I’d completed the task. I did the whole thing again at 11 pm, 12 am, 1am, and 2 am. I just couldn’t handle any more after that. I was totally exhausted.

So, I woke up the next morning with sore balls, a sore jaw, and facing the fact that I was now in the penalty box for the next seven days. At least, I had minimized the damage. Training for a fight with Clay Guida is a cool fantasy, but no way could I have gotten down to a weight of 145 lbs in the time I had. I don’t even have a scale to weigh myself. This game is too fucking hard. I said this in my next complaint email to Indentured.

 

Hey Indentured,

This game is way too fucking hard. I really busted my ass to finish four out of five cards in my hand. The fifth one was totally impossible. I’m totally wasted and exhausted from for all that, and I’m in the penalty box for a week. –Jason.

I got this reply in my box already by the time I was out of shower:

Dear Dumbass,

I think the only explanation could be that you are the stupidest, most inept player ever. If you knew you couldn’t do the fifth one, then why didn’t you spend a brownie point to get rid of that card? I even gave you a free one to spend. Did you even bother to read the directions in your game guide at all?

In all future correspondence with Indentured, I expect you to write with a more respectful and polite tone. I also expect you to refer to yourself as Dumbass in all future correspondence and to end all correspondences in the following way: “Respectfully, Dumbass”.

I am doubling your penalty to two weeks for being a disrespectful irritating stupid whiny bitch.

Read your game guide. It is non-fiction with no pictures of hot guys inside; so, it is something you are still allowed to look at.

Indentured

 

He… He doubled my penalty on a whim. Can he even do that?

I’m not a whiny bitch.

 

I am now reading the “brownie point” section of the guide:

All about Brownie Points

You must always combine two or more tasks simultaneously, as has previously been explained. No credit is given for a single task completed by itself. If you combine two or more tasks in a creative non-obvious way, then you may be entitled to receive a brownie point.

Brownie points are like gold to you in the game. If you have one saved up, then you can spend it whenever you want to either discard or replace a card that you either can’t or just really don’t want to do. You take the card that you least want to do, remove it, and just shuffle it back into the deck. It will come back to haunt you some other day, maybe.

Goddammit! I could have gotten rid of that last card which was impossible. Why don’t they make these rules more clear at the beginning? It’s entrapment.

Of course, there are some restrictions, provisos, and exemptions about how to spend your brownie points:

1. You must always have at least five cards in your hand. Don’t be a pussy with brownie points. Five is always the minimum that you have to do. So, if you only had five, and then you discard one, what would you guess is the right thing to do? Obviously, you need to draw at least one new card off the top to replace it. Then, you play that card instead. Don’t like the new card either? Tough shit. You’re stuck with your new choice, unless you’ve got another brownie point you want to spend.
2. You have to decide before you start on any of the tasks in your hand. You can’t start on your tasks and then part-way through change your mind to bail on a task, discarding it, because it gets too hard or too complicated. It’s your job to plan ahead and know what you are capable of before you start. Don’t be flaky with your brownie points.
3. If you draw a joker, you can’t use a brownie point to make it go away. You are stuck with it, and you always have to follow the special joker rules that come in to play. (See the Joker Section for more about that.)
4. If you draw four-of-a-kind or a run of five cards in one suit, then you can’t use a brownie point to break up the run or break up the four-of-a-kind. You have to follow the special rules that apply if that happens to you.

 

Earning Brownie Points

Brownie points are gold; so, how do you get them? You have to combine two or more tasks in a creative non-obvious way. It is a little difficult to explain this by giving you examples, because once I give you an example, then that particular one is no longer creative and non-obvious to you. If you think you’ve done something to earn one, you need to go to the Indentured website and fill out an application to our Brownie Point Review Board.

Here is one way to go brownie point hunting. Look for combinations that seem as if they couldn’t be done together. Now, find a way to do them together. That would likely be brownie point-worthy. There are more than 1400 unique two-card combinations in the game. Many of them are (or can be made to be) challenging to do together. Look upon them as opportunities to earn a brownie point.

 

I wondered now if I’d done anything brownie point-worthy. Humping like a dog with a giant pub bell pulling on my knob was pretty original. Turning my badminton rackets into head handles and face-fucking myself with a bungee cord bridle was not too shabby either, I bet. So, I went online and filled out two brownie point applications. I had to describe what my hand of cards looked like and provide the date and time of the alleged brownie point act. I had to describe exactly what I did and attach any documenting evidence where applicable. I took a picture of the bell, so they could see it was massive and heavy. I was polite and respectful. I sucked up my dignity and wrote “Respectfully, Dumbass” at the end.

The review board rejected my pub bell application right away, saying:

This a commendable and highly entertaining way to fulfill your “ding dong” task, but super-sizing is not the essence of brownie point-dom. The review committee almost always rejects applications of this type where the applicant has simply taken the task’s instruction to a logical albeit absurd extreme. For instance, we get an applications almost every day from guys that did the A♥ (fucked by politicians) card. The guy will brag that he was able to get a cannon up his ass, and he’ll be asking for a brownie point just for that. Answer is always “no.”

My second application was granted. The committee wrote back,

This is an interesting application, because 2♣ (ball buster) and Q♥ (face fuck ergonomics) do not obviously conflict with each other. There are some straightforward, pedestrian ways to do that combination. However, you fixated on one particular, highly involved ritual to ball-bust yourself that fully occupied both your hands. When you realized the problem of not having another hand free to face-fuck yourself, you invented on the fly a completely original dildo-bit-and-bridal assembly hitched to an eyebolt in a wall and face-fucked yourself no-hands with that. Good boy! Congratulations on your unusual solution. You’ve earned one brownie point.

Yeah! Whoop! I was brownie point worthy. I felt really good about that.

I held out for the entire next week in my penalty box with no privileges. I didn’t jerk off or watch TV or do anything fun. I was good. If it had just been one week, then I could have held out, but when the next weekend came and I was alone with nothing to do and still a whole second week remaining…. Well, it became my single-minded, focused goal to take out these cards again and beat the stupid game so that I could win back this extra week and be free as soon as Sunday. The lure of it got irresistible, because I didn’t want to go without for a second week. And, I felt like I knew how to play now. I was just a little thrown off by the game initially.

I drew K♠ 8♥ J♥ 6♣ K♣.

The K♠ and 8♥ cards were right away a problem for me.

K♠  Youtube reviewer: You are a connoisseur of bare chested calisthenics and weightlifting routines on Youtube. Go online, and critically review any ten videos in the bare chested workout genre. Takes notes, and write your review. Rate the videos based on the following criteria:

• Hotness of the bare chest
• Workout difficulty
• Workout variety and originality of the routine
• Video quality and interesting camera angles
• Personality, interesting quirky touches
• Musical score, if any.
• Tone and attitude: Is it friendly, instructional, domineering, coaching, hyper-masculine, overtly sexual, clinical, pushy, insulting, very straight, very gay?

After completing your review, create your own original work-out, choosing from among the best routines that you have seen demonstrated. Be realistic about your capabilities. Don’t make it too easy or too hard. From now on going forward, if you are in the penalty box, you will perform this routine every day without fail as part of your penance (in addition to not jerking off.) You may only alter your routine, if you draw this card again and do another review.

I really wanted in the worst way to be tasked with reviewing bare chested workout videos, but I am not allowed to do that in the penalty box. This guy really knew what I liked. I reluctantly shuffled the card back in.

8♥    Trenchcoat: Perform a sexual act in a public place where there is danger of getting caught.

 

As for the “trenchcoat” card, I didn’t want to do that anyway. It’s creepy, and I also cannot do it in the penalty box. I had to use both my brownie points to get rid of these two.

The other three, I was stuck with, but I could live with them:

J♥    Blue-balls: Go out as far as you can to your edge. Before starting on any of your other tasks, get yourself hard and excited at least to the point where you juice up with precum. Stop just before the point of no return. At regular intervals between now and the completion of your hand, jack yourself up again all the way to your edge, but, don’t even think about shooting. The number of times you must jack yourself without climaxing is equal to at least the number of cards in your hand.

You are free to shoot your load after the hand is over, only if you have no other cum restrictions in effect and are not in the penalty box. If you draw this card while you are in the penalty box, then you must play it. You may not discard it. You may not shoot after the hand is over unless your penalty has expired.

Note: If you draw this card in combination with Join a Monastery, you are required to jack yourself to your edge and then punish yourself for getting hard and thinking lustful thoughts every time.

 

6♣  Take my yoke upon you: You need to find a way to get a ridiculously large, restrictive, heavy, massive collar on you. A plain, old dog collar will not do. Get more creative.

 

K♣    Punishment Tour: You have committed regulatory infractions as a cadet at my military academy. You may not be acceptable officer material, and you certainly will not graduate until you have worked off your punishment hours.

Lace up your boots. Put on your fatigues and any other military gear. Your uniform must pass inspection before your punishment tour may begin. Only after you pass inspection, draw a numbered card from the bottom of the deck. This is the minimum number of hours that you must work off today. You will drill a combination of push-ups, sit-ups, crunches, wind sprints, squats, long distance running, or any other exercises to exhaust you and break you down.

If you are currently in the penalty box and you hold this card in your hand, then you may apply your worked hours today to reduce your penalty time. You may reduce your penalty box time by one day for every solid hour of punishment drills.

I could definitely wear a collar and edge myself. The punishment tour looked like the hardest one. When I discarded the two bad cards and drew my two replacements off of the deck, I ended up with bigger problems:

 

7♥    Perform on command: You are required to get yourself off while simultaneously doing at least one other task. No pressure, but if you fail to ejaculate promptly, then you fail this entire hand and will receive no credit for any tasks performed. You will of course be consigned to the penalty box one week for every failed task in your hand. Hurry up!

 

A♥   Fucked by politicians: Find any convenient cock, dildo, plug, item of produce, or other insertable phallic object. Now, locate the text of an important speech given by a politician or an important government official. Recite the speech with seriousness and gravity while fucking yourself.

 

“Perform on command” orders me to jerk-off, and “fucked by politicians” orders me to fuck myself, and I wasn’t allowed to do either one because of my outstanding penalty! I was screwed every way. It was a fucking disaster.

So what did this add up to? I’d get one week for failing to fuck myself and one week for failing to cum on command added to what I had already. Three weeks. No! It’s worse than that. If I didn’t cum on command I’d lose credit for everything and go down another five weeks plus my one. Six weeks? Six weeks. Fuck. I couldn’t do six weeks. That’s hard time.

I realized I was hyperventilating. I took some deep breaths to clear my head and slow it down. Was there anything I could do to minimize the damage? I should cum and then take whatever penalty there is for jerking off in the penalty box, because it couldn’t be worse than five weeks. All I would have to do was edge myself and just – oops– go over the edge. But, then I would fail my “blue balls” task. It seemed like the very best case would be three more weeks penalty – one for no blue balls, one for not fucking myself, and at least one extra for jerking off in the penalty box. It might even be more. I’d have to go back and ask. He’d probably call me stupid again.

I felt really down on this now. I still had to edge myself, collar myself, put on boots and fatigues, and do my punishment tour just to get to the end where shoot my load and disgrace myself and fail miserably. The last instruction under K♣ says “You may reduce your penalty box time by one day for every solid hour of punishment drills.” Great; so, if I could start right away and stop time and fit 28 hours of continuous fatigue drills into the next 18 hours between now and dawn tomorrow, I’d be free.

No. Wait. I needed seven hours of fatigue drills to be free. That would work off my current existing penalty. The other penalties hadn’t happened yet. At the moment I hit seven hours of punishment drills, I’d be free to do the remaining tasks. I could actually do it!

I got that scary nervous feeling that I’m not dead yet and therefore am responsible for what happens next. I wrote out a timeline for myself with the order in which everything had to happen so that I wouldn’t screw it up. I got out my cock and stroked it hard. I kept going until I juiced up a little but then stopped after that. That’s one. Now, I needed a couple things from the pharmacy and the sports supply store.

I needed a uniform; so, I got an Under Armour camo compression shirt and camo shorts from the sports store. I laced up some boots that I have. I also had a great idea for how to collar myself. I was going to call it my punishment tour collar, and it was giving me hard-on in my camos thinking about it.

To start with, I got a thick orthopedic neck brace at the pharmacy to put around my neck. Another thing I’d noticed recently at the pharmacy are these new personal, portable steam inhalers that have a clear rubber face mask attached to them. I used athletic tape and duct tape to mount the body of the steam inhaler onto the front of the neck brace below my chin aligned so the rubber mask above the body seals onto my face over my mouth and nose. It’s not a gag, but the mask would continuously funnel steam into my face while drilling. My thought was that it would feel a little bit like exercising in a steam room; although, only my face would get steamed. The steam inhaler has a power cord; so, I would need to stay near to an outlet all the time. I also had one of these camelback packs that can strap to your body with a water tube and a bite valve for drinking. I strapped the camelback to my chest and fed the water tube through a hole in the face mask so that I could hydrate while drilling without having to remove the face mask.

I admired my creation in the mirror. Steam was forced out around the edges of the face mask when I exhaled. “Yes! This is a tricked out awesome collar.”

I prayed for luck and drew the card off the bottom of the deck, which was a 5♦ That would be how many hours of punishment drills I had to work off just to complete this one task. I was happy with anything if it wasn’t more than seven. I set a timer to start my hours. I’d do about 40 push-ups at a time, then 50 sit-ups, then 40 squats, then jog in place a while, then 50 jumping-jacks, then about 15ish pull-ups hanging from a bar (because I’m not good at pull-ups, and it was hard to get my collar apparatus over the bar), then 20 duck-walks across the room and back (being careful not to trip the steam inhaler cord), then lie down on my back and bicycle my legs in the air for a while. I would set a pace and just keep repeating that cycle.

After the first hour of that, I started having dangerous thoughts that the penalty box might not be bad. I won’t lie to you. I stopped and took breaks. It would be hot to say that I killed myself doing punishment drills for seven hours non-stop, but that’s just impossible for me. I could set a pace and do about an hour at a time, at least at the beginning of the day. The steam pumping into my face started to get to me, and my face got red and wet. I had to turn that off during the breaks anyway, because the water in the generator needed recharging.

Honestly, I’m not a super athlete. After the first three hour-long sets I really started to slow down. I also stopped four times during the punishment tour to jack myself to the edge and then stop. It ended up taking me 14 hours total to finish 7 hours of punishment drills. I was a quivering mess at the seven hour mark, but I was free – out of the box.

I was now almost home free. All had left to do was fuck myself while giving a speech and then shoot my load at the very end as the finale of my speech. The jerk-off climax had to be precisely timed at the end, because I’m not allowed to beat off until after I edge myself five times and then complete all my other tasks, including the task of beating off on command. Thus, I couldn’t beat off until I beat off; so, it had to all happen right at end of the hand. That was the only way to combine them, and it all made perfect sense.

I also think that my decision to fuck myself reciting Donald Trump’s announcement speech was completely logical, timely, and appropriate. I printed out a copy of the Trump Tower announcement speech for his 2016 presidential run, and then I greased up my dildo and fingered my hole to get it ready. I’m actually a little bit precious with my butt, and I don’t go pounding away on it often. I mostly just leave it alone. But, now I had a job to do.

I got the dildo in. I held it in while I backed up on my hands and knees into a convenient wall; so, I could be on the floor and bump my ass up against the wall to push the thing in to fuck myself. I spread out all the sheets in front of me with the speech.

So nice, thank you very much. That’s really nice. Thank you.

It’s great to be at Trump Tower. It’s great to be in a wonderful city, New York. And it’s an honor to have everybody here. This is beyond anybody’s expectations.

Our country is in serious trouble. We don’t have victories anymore. We used to have victories, but we don’t have them. When was the last time anybody saw us beating, let’s say, China in a trade deal?

I started a rhythm to fuck myself with the cadence of his speech:

I beat China all the time.

All the time!

“Yeah, beat it.” I was trying to relax and go with this, but I get a little freaked out about ass penetration; it was uncomfortable and not turning me on.

When did we beat Japan at anything? They send their cars over by the millions, and what do we do? When was the last time you saw a Chevrolet in Tokyo? It doesn’t exist, folks.

They beat us all the time.

When do we beat Mexico at the border? They’re laughing at us, at our stupidity.

Stupid ass. Beat that ass.

And now they are beating us economically. The U.S. has become a dumping ground for everybody else’s problems.

When Mexico sends its people, they’re not sending their best. They’re not sending you. They’re not sending you. They’re sending people that have lots of problems, and they’re bringing those problems with us. They’re bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re rapists….

“Yeah. Rape that ass. Bring it.” This was a pretty long speech; so, I thought I could eventually relax and enjoy the fucking.

Iran is taking over Iraq, and they’re taking it over big league. And we have nothing. We can’t even go there. We have nothing. And every time we give Iraq equipment, the first time a bullet goes off in the air, they leave it….

Losers. Fuck’m.

There are no jobs, because China has our jobs and Mexico has our jobs. They all have jobs.

Our enemies are getting stronger and stronger by the way, and we as a country are getting weaker. Even our nuclear arsenal doesn’t work….

Obamacare. You have to be hit by a tractor, literally, a tractor, to use it, because the deductibles are so high, it’s virtually useless. It’s virtually useless.

The speech is highly fuckable in the way it keeps repeating.

Beating us. Beating us. Jobs. Jobs. Useless. Useless.

You need somebody, because politicians are all talk, no action. Nothing’s gonna get done. They will not bring us — believe me — to the promised land. They will not….

Now, our country needs — our country needs a truly great leader, and we need a truly great leader now.

We need a leader that wrote The Art of the Deal.

We need a leader that can bring back our jobs, can bring back our manufacturing, can bring back our military, and can take care of our vets. We need somebody that can take the brand of the United States and make it great again. We need — we need somebody — we need somebody that literally will take this country and make it great again. We can do that.

Bring back. Bring back. Great again. Great again.

So ladies and gentlemen…I am officially running…… for President of the United States, and we are going to make our country great again. It can happen. Our country has tremendous potential. We have tremendous people. We have people that aren’t working. We have people that have no incentive to work. But they’re going to have incentive to work. And they’ll be proud, and they’ll love it.

Work. Work. Work that ass.

I will be the greatest jobs president that God ever created. I tell you that.

How stupid are our leaders? How stupid are these politicians? How stupid are they? I’m going to tell you — thank you.

Stupid. Stupid. Fuck my stupid ass, Mr. Trump.

I’m going to tell you a couple of stories about trade, because I’m totally against the trade bill….

OK. I don’t want to bore you. It goes on and on repetitively like this for a while. And, I tried to keep it hot, but I never entirely recovered from the punishment drills. I found myself drifting off and losing focus.

I don’t need anybody’s money. It’s nice. I don’t need anybody’s money. I’m using my own money. I’m not using the lobbyists. I’m not using donors. I don’t care. I’m really rich. That’s it.

And I’m the one that made all of the right predictions about Iraq. ….

We have losers. We have losers. We have people that don’t have it. We have people that are selling this country down the drain….

I would build a great wall, and nobody builds walls better than me, believe me,…, I will build a great, great wall on our southern border. And I will have Mexico pay for that wall….

Yeah, make them pay for their own wall. That’s hot!

Believe me, we’re in a bubble. We have a stock market that, frankly, has been good to me, but I still hate to see what’s happening….

Sadly, the American dream is dead.

But if I get elected president I will bring it back bigger and better and stronger than ever before, and we will make America great again. Thank you. Thank you very much.

Bigger. Better. Stronger. Yes. Time to shoot my load!

However, my dick had shrunk down to a peanut by the end of his very long speech. It was now really late into the night. I had overdosed on punishment and freaky shit all day. I didn’t have any spunk left. I had just assumed I could go off like a light after edging myself all day, but everything hurt now, and I’d lost my wood.

I thought, “Maybe, I will feel manlier after I take this dildo out and clean up.” And then the last thing I thought was, “I just want to sit down for a minute.” I woke up some time later not remembering when I ever fell asleep. “Oh, right. Gotta beat off.”

But, the sun was up. For a moment I searched crazily for a work-around. “OK. Get on a fast plane to Hawaii where the sun has not risen yet and beat off in the airplane lavatory on the way. No. Wait. Go to the south pole! The sun won’t rise there until winter.”

There was no practical work-around. It’s the sun. It’s there. Deal with it. I lost the hand, having somehow failed to do the one simplest thing that I love to do and can always do. I had a big stiff morning hard-on now too. It seemed as if my penis were mocking me.

“I hate you. Betrayer!”

Five weeks in the penalty box, beginning immediately. It was almost the same punishment I’d have gotten if I’d done absolutely nothing yesterday. I still hurt all over. My chest and abs hurt from expanding when I breathed. I took a bunch of ibuprofen. I didn’t feel well. I think I got exercise poisoning.

But, what just laid me low, what I could not get my head around…. How could I screw this up? I had a fucking genius solution to the problem. I was there! I was all set up to beat this unbeatable game. If I had consciously planned it on purpose, I could not have fucked myself more completely. I could have finished this hand and beat the game.

I stopped hurting within another day or so, and once I felt better I also started feeling anxious. I sunk to a new low point when I started watching The Disney Channel to skirt around the rule about no TV except children’s shows and family programming. I like Mulan where the girl disguises herself as a boy and joins the Chinese army, and then the bare-chested camp commander trains her in doing her boot camp drills to turn her into a real man. That camp commander is kind of hot, but he’s a cartoon; so, it’s not like I was doing anything wrong.

I had trouble sleeping. I didn’t want to do this five weeks, and I didn’t want to quit either. I really needed to win one but was afraid to play again. Soon, I did draw again. What else could I do? I was deadly determined to win a hand in this stupid game. I drew 10♥ Q♠7♣ 10♠ A♣.

7♣   Ummpf: You love gags and muzzles, and I suspect you have a whole collection of favorite socks, deflated tennis balls, dog toys, bits, tapes, elastic bands, and tongue clamps. Pick a really good one.

10♠   Time-out: You need a tennis ball, baseball, basketball or something similar. Go to a corner of the room. Place the ball against the wall at the height of your forehead. Lean your head against the ball, holding the ball with your head against the wall. Grab your forearms behind your back. Put your feet and heels together. Stand up straight. Stay in position without letting the ball slip.

A♣   Sweat bag: Get into your thermally insulated sleeping bag. Zip it up all the way to hold in your heat. Cover your face and head. If permitted to wear clothes, put on multiple layers, sweats, gloves, and thermal socks.

OK. Cool. I can definitely gag myself and do a time-out and then hang out in a sweat bag. No problem there.

10♥   Grind: You are too shy and don’t get out enough. Reactivate your Grindr and Recon accounts that you hardly ever look at. Update your old and incomplete profiles with candid and true information that describes you. You should mention in your profile that you are playing Indentured – the game of sex, humiliation, pain, bondage and tedious labor in 3,162,510 combinations, but you suck at it; so, you would appreciate any coaching to make you a better player. If anyone makes a credible, reasonable offer to coach you, then you must accept the offer and follow-up.

Check out some guys and chat. You must make a serious effort to talk to as many guys as there are cards in your hand. Be a good boy. I know I don’t have to tell you to be polite, respectful, and completely truthful.

But, checking out guys online is another one of these things I am forbidden to do in the penalty box; so, I don’t know how I can do that. Come to think of it, the rule is “hot guys” specifically. Maybe, it would be OK if I chat only with some not-so-hot guys and resolutely ignore the hot guys. Or, would that be too much of a slippery slope?

I’ve got one brownie point that I won for my combination of punishment drills with a steam-generating punishment collar. Maybe I should toss the “Grind” card. However, body modification is another one that I just really, really don’t want to do at all:

Q♠   Mod yourself: Your task is to modify your body in a significant way that will last for at least longer than today. Here are some suggestions:

• Shave a part of your body (other than your facial hair).
• Wax a part of your body.
• Get a tan.
• Get a tattoo.
• Pierce something.
• Do something about those teeth.
• Dye yourself a new color.
• Get some cosmetic surgery.

So, I discarded “Mod Yourself” and replaced it with a new card.

Oh fuck, it’s a joker card. It had to come up eventually, but I was not going to think about that until forced to. The guide has all these other rules for a joker:

All about Jokers

There are two jokers in the deck. There is one red & yellow joker. There is one blue & black joker. These are the special rules that apply whenever you draw a joker:

1. For each joker in your hand, you must draw four additional cards off the top of the deck; typically, you end up with a total of nine cards in your hand, instead of the usual five. Don’t freak out yet.
2. For each joker in your hand, you have the option to remove one other card. (But, you can’t discard the joker.) Pick whichever one you least want to do and replace it in the deck. Then, you have eight cards left. You are now left with the joker plus seven other cards that you must do, instead of the usual five – but at least you had some choice about how to shoulder the burden.

Why didn’t I just give in and get a tattoo? Four more cards: K♥ 9♥ A♦ Q♣:

K♥  Spatchcocked: Get on your hands and knees on the floor. Lower your chest and face onto the floor. Open your mouth and kiss the floor. Then, reach back with each hand and grab the heel of each foot. Then, spread out your knees and arch your back to push your hips toward the floor until you can feel your cock head touching the floor. Keep your chest and both tits flat on the floor. Keep widening and flattening out until you can also get your balls on the floor. If you are in the right position, your mouth, tits, cock and balls are all on the floor with your knees splayed out and your hands still gripping your heels.

You must make yourself cum in this position, unless you are in the penalty box or have other cum restrictions.

9♥   Exposed: Find an acceptable way to have a stranger see you naked. Suggestions: attend a nudist gathering; get a physical; go camping; get a massage; hang out in a locker room. Remember, you must combine this task simultaneously with at least one other one.

A♦   Garbage boy: Do a service to your community. Go out with a trash bag and collect garbage until you’ve filled it up. When done, empty it out and sort the recyclables. Strip and wear only the empty trash bag for the rest of the day. If you found any clothes while you were dumpster diving, you may wear them too.

Q♣  Rolled and Wrapped: Make a cocoon for yourself out of plastic wrap or bungie cords or carpeting or anything that can bind you up tightly head to toe.

OK. I can spatchcock myself, and I can wrap myself up in a cocoon. Those are both fun. But, I don’t want to be naked in public or collect trash around the neighborhood. I can discard only one; so, I am again confronting a sadistic forced choice. Think. Which one is even more awful than the other one?

I discarded “Garbage Boy.” What it comes down to is – I could just flash somebody for an instant to be seen naked, but I don’t know how long it would take me to fill a bag with trash from the street. Also, I might get in a fight with one of those old Chinese bottle collector ladies. Who needs that?

Continuing with the joker rules:

3. You must figure out a way to perform at least one of your tasks while wearing a clown costume and simultaneously doing an entertaining clown performance. Think about prat falls, juggling, slapstick, and madcap physical comedy.
4. If you drew the red & yellow joker, then you are filthy raunchy sex clown. You will need to learn to work blue in your comedic clown act. Your performance ought to be bawdy, off-color, risqué, indecent, profane, and largely about sex.
5. If you drew the blue & black joker, then you are a schadenfreude clown. You have to die a little inside to become a really great comic; so, find a way to recreate a deeply humiliating painful experience in the form of a hilarious clown skit. Punish yourself and make us laugh through your tears.
6. Do your best with your clown costume. Really put some thought into that. Consult the Clown Guide for more information.

I had drawn the blue & black joker. I would need to come up with something humiliating and painful to do as a performance in addition to all the other stuff. I had no idea.

I decided to deal with it by not dealing with it. I gagged myself using my deflated tennis ball with a leg of a nylon stocking drawn through it. It ties around the back of my head, and then the open end of the leg stretches up over my head. It’s one of my favorites. I updated my profiles on Grindr and Recon the way I was told to. I said in my profiles that I was playing Indentured and that I would appreciate coaching and advice how to play better.

I got some responses. Most guys didn’t know what it was though. Some of the guys that responded looked a little on the hot side. On the one hand, I said I was only going to chat with the non-hot guys; on the other hand it’s rude not to respond, and the card says to be polite and respectful. So, I responded to anyone that contacted me and just tried not to look at them much. I explained what it was.

“I’ve got these cards, and they tell me to do things that I have to finish by the end of the day; so, today I have to gag myself, be naked in front of a stranger, sweat in a thermally insulated sleeping bag, do a time-out, wrap myself in a cocoon, spatchcock myself, and chat with unattractive guys on Grindr.”

Maybe, I should have said that differently. Anyway, no one offered to coach me, which was a relief. I never meet anyone for real on these things. I just cruise, chat, jerk-off, and go away. That’s just how I roll. I don’t want to have to accept any offers that could possibly end up with some scary awkward real time encounter.

Anyway, I lurked around there for a while more because I still needed at least one more chat with a guy to meet my quota. I clicked on the active profile of a somewhat goofy-looking Asian guy. Asian guys are just not my type; so, no one can say I’m breaking the rules.

He said to me, “You should forward me a picture of you naked.”

I said, “Why?”

He said, “Because you need to expose yourself naked to a stranger. You said so.”

Oh. That was actually not a bad suggestion. I made a selfie of me naked and gagged with a nylon stocking leg stretched over my head, and I sent it to him. Mission accomplished! Now, I will just confirm he got it and then go away and never talk to him again.

But then he said, “Hey, nice pic. I accept your request for coaching, and I offer to help you improve your game. I think we should start today.”

Uhmm….

It was a credible reasonable offer to coach me. I had to accept the offer, and he knew that, because he understood the game. Bastard!

He expected me to use the locator function on Grindr to come find him now. I started a process of quietly freaking out. OK…. It’s OK. Meet the guy. He’ll give you a few pointers. Say “thank you” and go. Satisfy the requirement. I’ve got four more tasks and a clown performance yet to do. I don’t have time. I don’t have time. I just want to be able to jerk-off again someday.

“Bring your sleeping bag and card deck,” he said. “I’ve got all the other gear we will need.” OK. I’m going. All the other…. How much other gear are we likely to need though, really?

I tracked his locator into a laundromat off of 23^rd Street. There was a guy sitting there reading a comic book while his laundry tumbled dry.

“Hi, I’m Jason.”

He grinned and said, “I’m Hung. Great to meet you with your clothes on.” I squirmed and failed at replying to that, and the lady by the washing machine looked at me funny.

“So, I guess I am your new Indenture coach. Did anybody coach you before?”

“No. I’ve just been going solo on it.”

“How is your game going?” I showed him what I was playing in my hand today, and I told him how I got in the penalty box five weeks and that I badly want to get out. I asked “Do you know any shortcuts getting out?”

He said yes he did know, but it was the wrong question to ask. “Jason, you are in the penalty box because you want to punish yourself, and you want to be in there. It’s an imaginary box, right?”

Now, he was talking at me like I’m stupid, and I resented it. “Of course I don’t want to be there. I’m trying to beat the game. Can you help me or not?”

“That depends. Can you help me out?”

I defensively said, “I’m not allowed to have any sex with guys when I’m in the penalty box.”

Hung said, “That’s not exactly the truth, is it? You’re not allowed to gratify yourself with enjoyable sexual experiences of any kind, but you could accept requests to gratify me – just as long as it’s all about me. We would only need to be scrupulous making sure you can’t get off on it.”

Hung and I finished folding and stacking up his laundry while he talked to me about what my new training regimen might be. I piled two of his sacks stuffed with laundry on top of my left and right shoulders and hung my own sleeping bag roll from the belt at my waist. Carrying them all down the street back to his house, he was walking beside me continuing to suggest how I might be able pay his coaching fees by, for instance, licking out his asshole and drinking his piss before and after each training session. He wanted to make sure that servicing him wouldn’t turn me on much. I said, “no, that’s disgusting, but my little betrayer stiffened up on me all of the sudden.

I told him about fucking myself reading Donald Trump’s speech and how it made my dick shrink down to a peanut. Hung said, “That’s beautiful! I’ll finger your ass while you lick my hole and gulp down my piss, and you can pay my fee that way.” This day was really going off in a different direction.

He had a loft, and the space inside was wide open with mannequins and cloth everywhere. “I make cheap knock-offs of expensive designer fashion clothing so it can be sold at lower-end stores like Zara and H&M,” he said.

I dropped the laundry and my sleeping bag and pulled my pants down because he wanted to finger my hole. He had me bend over a work bench and pull my ass cheeks apart while he rubbed and applied pressure on my anus gently with his finger. It didn’t want to open for him. It took maybe fifteen minutes just rubbing and pushing to get the finger in. That’s me. I’m a very reluctant bottom. My penis shrunk to a peanut again. I just can’t get off on being penetrated. It’s icky and scares me. When I got down between his legs and put his cock in my mouth, he sat on a bar stool and reached his hand over down my back to the cleft of my ass and got his finger back in again right away.

He was erect, and his cock head was really wide. I wrapped my lips around it. He warned me first and then urinated a little bit to see what I would do. It was disgusting, but I swallowed it and didn’t gag. Then, he started a stream and told me he wanted to hear me gulping and feel me sucking it out. I kept up for about half a minute and started waving my hands, because I was going to have to let go and spew it out. He stopped. I sputtered and tried not to throw up. It was warm and bitter and going up my nose and I wanted it out of me. It was gross. I looked up at him. He put his other hand through my hair and rubbed the lobe of my ear while he kept fingering me steadily. He grinned and said, “You’re not supposed to be staring at hot guys.”

I breathed through my nose. He waited until I could continue. I didn’t want to continue, but a deal is a deal. I nodded my head. “Gulp louder this time.” I he had as much or more still coming, but he delivered it slower seeing my limitations as a human urinal. My stomach felt uncomfortable, but I kept it down. I didn’t come anywhere even close to being turned on. The thought of it had turned me on, but the act of piss drinking was just awful. Ick!

He had me lie on my back on the floor with my legs in the air so that he could sit on my face and still finger my hole at the same time. “I think you should be able to stick your tongue out and lick my hole from there, Jason.” He adjusted back and forth until his anus was right at my lips, and my nose was flattened out into the crack of his ass. Again, this was really so not my scene. I could taste him on my tongue. I was inhaling his ass with every breath. Long black hairs growing around his anus were in my mouth. He said to lick it like an ice cream cone up and down through the crack. “Also, spread your legs wider and try to thrust your ass up into my finger in time with your licking.” “Awpf!” I tried to indicate a negative on that that – just way too much to think about all at once.

“Oh well, it’s aspirational. Just keep it in mind as a target for improvement.” I could feel the rhythm of him starting to jack himself off on top of me, and he stopped fingering my asshole. Not long after that he suddenly lifted off my face and gasped. I felt his cum splattering on my chest. I had now paid my admission fee for Hung’s coaching.

“There are a number of things I want to discuss with you about your training program overall, but in view of the lateness of the hour, I think we should get to work right away on your clown performance. Do you have any thoughts on what kind of clown you want to be?”

“I want to be the kind that jerks-off and watches porn when he wants to.”

“OK. I’ve got some ideas. I want you to put these goggles on and try to picture a painful and humiliating event from your past.” He had me stand with my hands above my head in some kind of alcove. When I put the goggles on, I couldn’t see anything because they were blacked out. “I want you to focus without any distractions on finding the story we will use for your skit.” While I was thinking, he started spraying me with something. It wasn’t water. It had a slight ammonia smell. When he was done spraying me, Hung asked “Did you picture anything?”

I recalled something that happened to me -well, something bad that I did when I first came out as gay and whatever else and was trying to hook up with guys. They didn’t have internet then. They had this 900 phone sex line called Tops & Bottoms. Tops call one number. Bottoms call another number, and the phone line connects to the voicemail profiles of the type you are looking for. I called it, and there was a voicemail from a guy with a hot sounding voice saying he’d meet me. We arranged a time for me to come to his house. I went there. He didn’t look like his voice. He was fat, maybe obese, much older. I thought, “I can handle this.” He sat me down in his kitchen and made me a dinner with pasta and wine and all. He told me how good-looking I was and was interested in my school. He was a musician in an orchestra and knew all about cultural things. He said all the right things that one is supposed to say on a date. I went along with it and realized he was a very nice man, and if I were not such a pervert I might be able to respond and think he was great. He wanted us to get into his bathtub together. I thought, “I can handle this.” We got naked sitting in his bathtub in warm water with me between his legs. He pulled me backward leaning into his massive chest and stomach and petted me. He didn’t do anything to me, but I started spontaneously to cry, just outright sobbing, saying I don’t want to do this. Then, he got upset too. Then, angry that I was shutting it down. I got out of the tub, got my clothes on, ran out the door, never saw him again, never called that phone line again. I felt so awful even at the time for freaking out like that and making him feel bad. I should have handled it better. I’m not meant for nice people and culture, because I’m really not nice. I’m meant for punishment.

Hung was totally thrilled. “That’s perfect. I see how we could turn that into a hilarious clown skit that you can perform!”

Great. I took the goggles off. “What the fuck is this?” I was blue! He’d gone over me with a spray gun all the way up from my blue feet, my hairy blue legs, big blue ass, blue chest, blue armpits, all the way to my face. “Why?”

He gave me a kind of opaque white nylon stocking and a white knit cap from one of his fashion collections. I squeezed into the stocking that went all the way up both legs to my waist, and I put the hat on. “There was not a lot of time to think through your costume, Jason, but at some point today I just flashed on an image of you turned into a smurf, and I decided to go all the way with it!” No kidding. I was bare chested and deep dark blue from the waist up. My whole lower half was in a stocking that really didn’t hide anything. You could totally see every detail of my cock and balls under the nylon. Hung handed me my tail, which was a fluffy blue ball attached to the end of a butt plug. I didn’t know what to say. “Uhmm…. Thanks coach?”

He said I needed a name. “All the smurfs have names. There’s Handy Smurf, Jokey Smurf, Brainy Smurf, Papa Smurf…. I think you should be Butt-Licker Piss-Drinker Smurf The Clown.”

“It’s a long name.”

“I think it’s a great name! ‘Butt-licker piss-drinker’ is one of the most humiliating put-downs you can say to someone in Vietnamese. It means a lot to me.” I said, “OK.” I posed for some photographs so that Hung could register my clown name and costume in the clown college on Indentured’s website.

“So, let’s review the tasks you still need to complete today. You’ve already gagged yourself while meeting me on Grindr. So the gagging is done, and you will also pass your Grind task provided that you continue to obey me as your new coach and start a training program.”

“Continue to obey you until the end of the day, you mean.”

“No. When you accept an offer for coaching in Indentured and then pay the coach’s fee, it becomes a binding contract that can only be voided if both parties agree. And, I don’t agree. You have to obey me today, tomorrow, and every day. It’s in the guide.”

“You’re saying even if I do everything you want today but don’t come back tomorrow, I get another week in the penalty box?”

Hung smirked, “Just so you completely understand, as your Indentured coach I can adjust up or down your penalty box time and can modify the conditions of your penalty whenever I want to. You will only have privileges restored to the extent that you have earned them in my eyes.” My mind told me to protest that I hadn’t seen that anywhere in the rules, but my penis expanded like a balloon animal inside my tights; so, I didn’t say anything.

“What else? You need to wrap yourself up tightly head-to-toe. You need to get your mouth, tits, cock and balls all flat on the floor splayed out like a flattened roasted bird. You need to stand at attention in a corner holding a ball to the wall with your forehead. You need to cook yourself in your sleeping bag. You have to combine those things some way and perform your clown skit with at least one of them. What are your thoughts on how to combine?”

“The hard one is spatchcocking myself, because I don’t see how I can be wrapped head-to-toe or standing in a corner at the same time. I might be able to do it inside the sleeping bag, but it’s probably too narrow for me to splay my legs zipped up inside.”

“Right. So, we’ll incorporate spatchcocking into your clown performance and combine it that way. After that, you just combine the other three together and you’re done. Simple!”

Here is my clown performance that we worked on and rehearsed together. Hung directed me how to act and pantomime it. I am a cute young smurf clown, alone in the big city, calling the phone sex line. You know that because there are two phones mounted on opposite sides of a post under a sign the says “Phone Sex Line.” One phone said “Tops” and the other says “Bottoms” in goofy cartoon letters. I scratch my head and then choose the Bottom phone. I listen to the phone with interest while pulling out my big blue cock and stroking it. I pull a small bouquet of daisies out of my ass and knock on the door of the Top’s house. You know that because there is a sign on the door that says “TOP” in huge giant oversize letters. Then, I am sitting at a table. There is a vase with my little daisies. I am holding a glass of wine and hiding my face bashfully with a fan. I flutter the fan and hide my face with my hands and puff out my chest and wiggle my ass with my fluffy smurf tail accepting compliments from the top, who is represented by a mannequin on the other side of the table dressed in elegant clothes with a big fat belly. I poke at the fat belly looking doubtful. The fat mannequin has a piece of paper in its hand. I take the paper and unfold it to reveal a schematic diagram with a stick figure of me splayed out on the floor in a deeply humiliating, sexy, uncomfortable position. I shake my head like “Oh no I couldn’t …” and change it slowly into “Oh yes I can.” I put the diagram on the floor and pull my nylon stockings down and then work laboriously to match the diagram. I eventually get my cock, balls, both tits, and mouth on the floor while grabbing the bottoms of my own feet. I wiggle my smurf tail and push my stretched out hips more into the floor to grind my cock head over it until my dick gets hard. Then I feel ashamed and hide my hands with my face and run away naked with my fuzzy blue boner in the air.

OK, it probably loses something transcribed into text, but it was hilarious physical comedy. Or, at least it was good enough to meet the requirement. It took hours putting that together and rehearsing, a portion of time devoted to stretching and straining to even get in the required position. I felt exhausted and drained when done. Seeing how tired I was, Hung helped me get into bondage for the last part. He wrapped me up in plastic wrap from head to toe and then rolled me into a rug with my blue feet out of one end and my head out the other. Then he rolled me into my sleeping bag and zipped it up for me. He put a really cool sensory deprivation hood over my head that laced up in the back and then buckled over top of the laces. He left me that way. I got very warm and wet. I couldn’t really move at all. This was much more confining than what I could have done for myself. I felt relief to be immobile with nothing to do and just drifted out of awareness for a while.

Later, I was coherent again. I remembered I just had the one task left to do which I needed to stand up for. See, I only ever do self-bondage, and I always know exactly how to get out of whatever I got into. I was slow to realize that I was actually stuck now because of not doing it myself. I couldn’t get out of the plastic wrap inside the tightly rolled rug inside the zipped up sleeping bag. I also couldn’t see or orient myself to figure out why it was so intractable. I tried to roll myself back and forth to loosen the roll, but I couldn’t get any leverage to even roll it a little. I called out to Hung because I was sure he would want us to finish the one last thing. I wasn’t gagged, but there was only a small mouth hole to breathe through. I couldn’t project very loudly through that, but was I really so muffled that he couldn’t hear me? If there were any response from him, I could not hear it through the padding over my ears. Struggling inside was causing me to build up more heat and sweat to a point where I felt so overheated I had to stop. I thought that a long amount of time was passing, but I couldn’t gauge it. I wanted to relieve the heat or just shift my position a little but couldn’t at all. I drifted out again….

“So sorry about that, Jason. It was such a busy day for me. I just fell right to sleep after I zipped you up in the bag.” When he finally let me out it was well after sunrise. Again, I had lost and accumulated another week in the penalty box instead of subtracting one. My throat was dry. I needed water and electrolytes to replace all I’d lost.

“So Hung, Couldn’t you maybe use your magic coach powers to reduce my penalty, seeing how it was all your fault that I lost again?”

No? I probably could have said that better. After some discussion, we agreed that I really deserve two additional weeks for being first of all, ungrateful, second of all, too lazy to set up my own bondage instead of making him do all the work. “Thanks for the lesson, coach.” That’s really more what I meant to say.

I know it seems like I’m going in the wrong direction, but I could still turn it all around with a little luck.

I’m gonna beat this game…

…right after I fill up on more piss and lick Hung’s butthole again.

 

Metal would like to thank Kevin’s Path for this story.

NOTE TO THOSE WHO WANT TO PLAY FOR THEMSELVES: The Indentured Game Guide will appear as a companion piece, in a separate posting, here in the Metalbond Prison Library.