By Unknown
Square One
This was not happening to me. I couldn’t believe I’d been released by the biker only to find myself at the hands of my own men; and no sign of being able to toss off before they all returned for their fun. I kicked and struggled trying to loosen the pegs holding my feet, but when I had been returned, the biker had checked everything and spread-eagled me tighter than when I had been left the first time. And then Dave had retightened the paracord to my balls before disappearing again. So I was in a worse situation than before my abduction if that was possible.
This time I couldn’t rub the blindfold off because of the hood and anyway there was probably no key dangling above me. I tried moving my pelvis to see if the pull on my balls would be enough to at least give me an erection. It was, but only with much effort. My sore dick rose again and began to rub against the rough cotton of my shorts. It was painful but behind the pain was the chance of an orgasm and that was all I wanted now. Eventually I felt some precum begin to leak from my cock.
So absorbed was I in attaining my goal that it was only at the last minute that I heard footsteps and knew the team had arrived. There I was with a raging erection and my own men watching me struggle. I stopped and a hand reached into my flies, freed my cock and then gave it a good slap. I grunted in pain.
“Hello again boss,” laughed ‘Cuff’ Norris. More laughter escaped from the assembled men. I think I heard at least four people but couldn’t be sure inside my hood. “I see you’ve been busy, but not busy enough. You should have spent the time trying to escape instead of jacking off. There was a key right by your left hand.” I screamed in frustration. I could have freed myself and jacked off before their return. I would have been in a much stronger position to call the whole thing off. Now I was helpless and they all knew how in need of an orgasm I was.
“Don’t say you weren’t warned, sir. If you’d escaped you would have avoided phase 2 of your initiation. As it is you didn’t escape twice and that’s a record, so we’re going to have to come up with something really special for you. Now let’s have a look at the size of the problem.” I felt the leg of my shorts ridge up and then a knife slid through the fabric and severed the waist band. A couple more cuts and I was stark naked.
“Well now, it seems someone has been busy with a razor. I don’t remember that baby smooth skin when we left you. Do you boys?”
A round of noes confirmed the rhetorical question.
“Up with him lads. Let’s see if we can’t cover him up a bit”
I was untied and helped to my unsteady feet. But arms cuffed behind my back. “Don’t want you touching the family jewels just yet!” History repeated itself and I found myself being led by the balls, this time stark naked, through the woods. Nettles swinging over my body helped me on my way and switches were cut and used on my smooth legs to guide me through the undergrowth. Soon I heard the sound of running water and knew we must be by the stream. A trip from behind and I found myself rolling down the bank into the stream. The cold was intense but took away some of the stinging from the nettles. Hands grabbed me under the armpits and dragged me from the water, dumping me face down in the mud. The bag over my head was wet and I could hardy breathe. It was whipped away along with the blindfold and I saw for the first time my new captors.
Four men in full combat gear and webbing stood in front of me. But under their helmets were black balaclavas. I couldn’t identify my assailants. Of course I knew Dave Norris was one of them but that’s all I knew. Without a word they closed in and I was rolled in the thick, sticky, slimy, mud of the stream. Handfuls of mud were picked up and smeared around my cock and balls, up the crack of my arse, all over my body and head. I was covered from head to toe in mud. I was pulled out shivering from the river. “You may have lost all your hair but at least now you’ve got a new covering to keep you warm. Or at least it will when it’s dry. Let’s go”
A tug on my balls told me to move and this time I had to trot to keep up. We emerged from the woods and neared the derelict farm I had left so long ago now. “OK, the fun’s over, time to get you warm and dry sir.” Thank god the end was in sight. But instead of releasing me I was taken to an outbuilding, and with a length of rope from each foot, I was suspended from a beam, legs slightly akimbo. The cuffs were taken off and my hands tied out to upright posts at my sides in a sort of inverted crucifix. Mud slipped down my legs to my crotch. The paracord was taken off my nuts and some of the mud at my crotch used to resmear my balls.
Next a fire was built and soon I was drying off but I quickly realised the mud was going to harden on my body. It was not a pleasant feeling. “OK, like I said, the fun’s over. Now to business.” CSgt Norris sounded like he meant it. “There are four of us from the unit and each of us is going to set you an endurance test. During each test you’ll get the chance to name your tester. If you’re right the test will end. If you’re wrong the test will continue and you’ll get another chance later on. Oh, and to give the tests some realism we’ll be asking you some questions to find out where you’ve been. Of course, you can’t answer, sir. So we’ll just have to see what it takes to persuade you to change you mind. Let the tests begin”
Test One
I was taken down from the inverted crucifix position. Mud crumbled from my limbs. The contents of a Bergen were tipped on the floor. Still only Dave spoke. “Put this on.” I was handed a filthy, muddy US style footballer’s jock strap. I slipped it on. “Now put this inside the jock.” I was given a US ‘Bike’ Cup. It was full of mud. “Don’t spill any.” I leant forward at the waist and lifting the jock to one side pushed the cup over my cock and balls. I got everything inside and repositioned the jock strap, which held the cup close to my body, making sure I couldn’t touch my cock. Some mud oozed down the insides of my leg but nothing was said. “ Now these.”
A pair of combat trousers were next but like everything else so far they were covered inside and out in mud. Whoever had done it had done a very good job. I struggled to pull the sticky trousers over my legs and eventually got them on. After a great deal of effort I got the flies closed. A lightweight tropical DPM shirt was next, muddy of course. Boots were handed over and as I slipped my bare feet into them, I realised they were full of mud. It squelched between my toes. I laced them up as best I could with slippy hands on slippy laces. “Now I’m going to remove your gag. Do not speak yet or you will suffer.”
The rope was unwound and I was handed a soggy mess of a balaclava with only a slit for eyes. I worked my mouth whilst I could to relieve the stiffness from the rope gag and pulled on the mask. Mud oozed into my ears and round my mouth. Everything I had on was clinging to me like a second skin. By the side of the fire the clothing quickly began to dry out. Four men sat down to watch. I was told to stand in the ‘At Ease’ position and not to move until I was completely dry back and front. I was permitted to turn round once when my front was dry. Whilst my back dried I observed the four men from my unit trying to identify anything which would help me later on in my tests. But there is nothing quite like combat gear for preserving the anonymity of the wearer especially with balaclavas.
Hands occasionally reached inside webbing pouches and I saw plasticuffs, paracord, hoods and other restraint gear so common and readily available in the unit. I’m sure it was deliberate. Smiling eyes watched me dry. More than a couple of hands adjusted balls in pockets and I’m sure I saw the outline of an erection in one pair of particularly tight DPM trousers. If I thought I was finished with the muddy clothing I was wrong. Layer after layer was added, jumper, scrim scarf, a second pair of combat trousers, a flak jacket and combat jacket with integral cold weather hood. At every stage I had to dry and it took longer and longer as I struggled to move in my mud prison.
But time was something they obviously had. The fire was kept burning with branches from the wood outside. I hardened in my casing of mud. As a final measure, buckets of mud were brought in from outside and I had to stand like a figure X whilst 8 hands smeared mud over my body. This was repeated three times and in the end I could not lift my arms for the mud to be applied, so they had to help and squeezed the mud up into my armpits and around the tops of my legs. At last it seemed I was ready and my questioning began.
“I can’t answer that question, sir” I repeated time after time to every enquiry about where I had been. Whatever my situation I knew I would lose all respect with my men if I answered in any other way. Eventually I was asked whose test this was and told I could answer. I didn’t really know but in view of the fact that I had been packed in mud guessed at Sgt Packer. I was wrong.
“On with the endurance test. He still needs more time and perhaps another clue.” So there were going to be clues. I had another chance. But not before I was wrapped in another layer. This time mud caked scrim scarves were wrapped around my body starting at my feet and working up, trapping my arms against my sides. The wrapping continued and I was dried out again by the fire turned and steadied on my feet by one soldier in particular. I guessed he was the deviser of the test but I couldn’t identify him from the cam-creamed eyes which were all that was visible to me. After I was completely dry, I was wrapped in a final layer of black gaffer tape and lifted outside by all four of the men. I was mummified in mud and couldn’t move a muscle other than to nod my head slightly.
Once outside I was lifted to the edge of a slit trench. I was placed on the ground and a sleeping bag zipped up around me. The down filled hood was pulled over my head and the drawstring tightened until I could just see out. I was then turned over and laid face down in a second sleeping bag. It was zipped up but the hood was left down. I was heaved down and planted at one end of the trench. I must have looked like some giant insect cocoon. A wall of sandbags was built in front of my feet. As soon as it reached the height of my knees earth was tipped into the hole and pressed down compactly over my feet and around my legs. The wall of sandbags was raised and the in-filling continued. It didn’t take long before I was buried up to the neck and six pairs of feet stamped the earth down.
One man dropped down in front of me and the hood of the second sleeping bag was raised and tightened round my face. I was relieved to find I could still breathe – just. The questioning resumed. I had to shout to be heard. “I can’t answer that question, sir” I answered time and again, hour after hour. On and on the questioning continued until at last the question I had been waiting for. “Whose test is this?” I had been using the monotony of my replies to give myself time to think. Who in the unit would have a US footballer’s jock and cup? Several, I knew had been to the states and several in the unit were keen on American football. I had overheard them laughing at the mud-covered players in many games shown on the crew room TV.
But what else? I had been buried in a pit for a reason and it must be a clue. Of course. The only possible link was the unit’s sports fanatic and American football fan Corporal Pitman. I gave my answer and waited. The sleeping bag hood was pulled away from my face; the soldier in front of me removed his helmet and balaclava. “Correct, sir.” Cpl Pitman grinned. “Test one complete.”
Test Two
The sand bag wall was dismantled and the earth pulled away. I was lifted from the slit trench, the sleeping bags were removed and the gaffer tape unwound. I was carried once more to the stream, dumped in the water and left to struggle. The water soaked into the dry mud and gave a tiny degree of movement. By rolling in the shallow water I unwound the scrim scarves. The clothing was now soaked through, very heavy and cold. Layer by layer I removed the sodden filthy combat gear. Finally I stripped off the jock and prised the mud filled protective cup from around my cock and balls.
“Time to get you warmed up again.”
One of the soldiers separated from the group. He dropped a long hank of black climbing rope and set to work tying my wrists together. He used plenty of rope round and between my wrists and attached a long rope which he threw over a branch. Eager hands pulled on the end and stretched me up. Next my new assailant removed a tube from one of the pouches of his webbing. Grabbing my dick he pulled back the foreskin and rubbed some cream on my glans. Squeezing the foreskin back he clipped a couple of spring-loaded clothes pegs to the end of my foreskin.
He admired his handiwork and then began to tie a length of black paracord round and between my nuts stretching and separating them. They too got a coating of cream. He attached another long length of rope to my cock and balls. By this time the cream began its work. It was obviously some sort of deep heat or algipan type cream and the burning was growing. Wrapping a small stone in paracord he attached that to my balls so that it hung down just below my knees. The rope holding me up was released and I was pulled towards a landrover. The end of the hand rope was attached to the rear of the land rover and the ball rope shortened until it was just off the ground.
Three of the men jumped in the land rover. It started up and moved forwards. I started walking and the landrover speeded up. A soon realised I was going to have to jog to keep up or loose my balls. I had to run bow legged to stop the stone banging on my shins. The clothes pegs on my foreskin bobbed up and down at every step and tugged very slightly at my burning cock. I had no boots on but the ground was soft, wet and grassy and so didn’t cause too many problems. My new tormentor ran easily along side me giving me plenty of verbal abuse. Every time I faltered he would yell at me.
“Only two more miles, Sir. Come on. Push it out.” I staggered on. The ball rope would occasionally snag in vegetation and I would have to use my bound hands to pull it clear as I ran. Every time this happened I was yelled at and told to keep the rope off the ground, but I could only do that by dropping back slightly. I was getting dizzy from lack of food and sleep but pushed on, my lungs heaving with the effort. The light was almost gone now and the landrover did not turn its lights on, making it difficult to judge the distance. Once or twice I felt a sharp pull on my hands and had to speed up again. Lights ahead told me we were nearing some buildings. The landrover slowed.
“Only one more mile, Sir” yelled my fellow runner; the landrover speeded up again. I yelled knowing I couldn’t go on. But then the rover slowed and stopped. It was just one last little joke – typical PT Instructor’s trick. I had certainly warmed up. I lent forward, but was ordered to stand upright. The ball and hand leads came off along with the stone. My shins were bruised and grazed from the run. And then out came the cream again. This time it was rubbed into my tits and another clothes peg went on each nipple. My hands were untied. “Front support position go. Give me twenty.”
Every time I lowered my body the clothes pegs on my nipples and cock hit the ground twisting slightly. I winced and pushed up again. Normally I would have no difficulty but I was so exhausted I knew I could not make the twenty. My trainer had other ideas. In the front support position I was told to spread my legs. He attached another cord to my balls and every time I hesitated trying to rest on the ground he would pull on my balls. No mercy was shown. Eventually I completed the set and to further verbal abuse was ordered to my feet. Next were chin-ups. I began my set of twenty from a sturdy branch but was stopped and told to just hang.
One of the muddy boots I had worn was tied to the ball cord. It remained on the ground for about half of the chin-up and then I would have to lift it to complete the exercise. This meant I either did the exercise very slowly or yanked my balls with each rep. After a few pull-ups, the effort was too much and I dropped from the branch. “You’ll be punished for that.” I was pulled to my feet and my forearms tied together horizontally behind my back. Four men then lifted me up by my arms and legs more cream was applied to my balls and arse crack and I was carried to a wooden fence where my arse crack was positioned over the top rail. My feet were tied together under the second lower rail so I couldn’t push down to relieve the pressure.
The green cotton hood dropped once more over my head and the questioning began. This time, every time I answered “I can’t answer that question, sir; one of the clothes pegs was flicked or someone kicked the boot hanging from my balls causing me to stumble over answers, leading to more pain. The burning and pressure between my legs were making me desperate. At last the question I could answer. “Whose test is this?” I had known all along from his voice that it was RM PTI CSgt Hughes; but I was not permitted to say until asked, which is why the naked PT session had gone on so long before I was questioned. I gave my answer. The hood came off and looked into the Hughes’ eyes. “Correct.”
The hood went back on again. I was freed from the fence and all my bindings and led by hands back to the farm. There I was pushed down onto all fours and the hood removed. In front of me was one mess tin full of water and another filled with cold baked beans, cold fatty bacon-burgers from a rat pack and crumbled dry compo biscuits. I was told to eat and drink but that if I used my hands I would get no rest before my next endurance test. I badly needed that rest and so set about eating from the mess tins.
The mud still on my face and in my hair fell in the food, but I did not care. I got all I could from the tin and then lapped at the water until I could get no more. I was told that if I wanted a piss, I had to do it like a dog, because I could not be trusted to touch my cock without jacking off. Totally humiliated, plastered in river mud, with a face covered in food, I pissed on the floor between my legs. When I had finished the hood was put over my head and I was laid in a sleeping bag. It was zipped up leaving my hands outside. The bag was wrapped in black gaffer tape and my arms taped to my sides. “No touching,” mocked a voice. I was then placed inside a second sleeping bag and the draw-cord tightened around my face. A rope was wrapped around my feet and another round my neck and I was stretched out between two posts to prevent any escape. With only two tests complete and another two to go, I fell into a deep sleep.
Test Three
I woke to find myself being tipped out of the sleeping bag. The hood was removed and the Black gaffer tape cut away before the second bag was unzipped. For the first time in days I was free of all bondage and I was neither blindfolded nor gagged. All would have been well but for the four masked soldiers standing round me looking at my morning’s rock hard erection.
“Take him outside for a piss and a dump then string him up whilst we have some scran.” One of them grabbed my cock vary hard and led me outside with two others at my shoulders holding my arms by the elbows.
They took me to the edge of the wood. I was made to piss and shit like a dog again. A webbing pouch was opened and a reel of fishing line taken out. My nuts were tied with the line and a short loop was tied off. Meanwhile a tent peg was driven into the ground and I was made to sit on the ground so the peg was between my legs. I had to shuffle forward on my arse when the loop on my balls was attached to the peg and gasped as a hammer drove the peg deep into the ground, inches from my balls. Plasticuffs were tightened on my wrists, behind my back. I was going nowhere.
The three men turned towards me unzipped their flies and pissed on me, then they wandered back to the farm. I stank. Only the flies liked the smell. I winced as I moved to dodge a fly and marvelled that a simple tent peg could immobilise me so completely. If I raised my knees my hips moved and the fishing line bit into my skin. I straightened my legs again. I tried getting my hands round but the peg was right at the V of my legs and I couldn’t reach it. I tried leaning back and the line pulled and bit into my ball sac again. I had no choice but to sit upright legs straight and wait.
After their breakfast all four men still in full combat gear, balaclavas and helmets emerged from round the side of a building. They were carrying two live and kicking rabbits, their mess tins and a bucket. “Time for some food.”
The rabbits were swiftly killed and then their throats cut. The blood was allowed to drain all over my head and ran down my back and chest.
“You must be used to this from your survival course.” The blood was warm and sticky and soon attracted more flies which I could do nothing about. The guts were removed from the rabbits and smeared over my whole body. The flies gathered in greater numbers. A length of gut was tied around my cock and balls and more was strung round my neck. Next the remains of breakfast was tipped over me from the mess tins. One man rubbed the food over me whilst another emptied the food slops bucket over my head. Wet tea bags were ripped open and rotten tomatoes and fruit pelted my body. I was a disgusting mess and as I twisted and turned the fishing line bit into my tender sac.
A thin green cotton sweat scarf was tied tightly round my eyes.
“We’ll be back in eight hours to ask you some questions.”
The sticky filth dried on my body and the rabbit guts began to smell. My whole body was itching from the mess and the inquisitive, crawling insects. I could not reach the blindfold and I could not move to rub it off. I spent the whole day in misery trying to avoid the unavoidable flies.
My four tormentors returned.
“Whose test is this?”
I wished I knew. I guessed at Sgt Campion because of his catering background but I knew the answer was wrong before I said it.
“Let the test continue.”
A man bent down and tied off the end of my prick with more fishing line. “You’ll need that,” he said cryptically. The line to the peg was cut and I was told to stand. My cock was pulled down and more fishing line wrapped the lot. The flies buzzed around me but kept up their attack. A pair of what felt like dried, muddy shorts was pulled up my legs and the bottoms were taped to my legs with gaffer tape. Next my wrists were secured to an overhead branch, pulling them up my back slightly. I was held tightly by two men and a hand clamped over my mouth. Whilst the top of my shorts was held open, I felt a living stream pour into my shorts. “Look after these maggots; they’re hungry,” laughed a voice and a hand pushed more and more into my shorts, squeezing them down back and front. I writhed and struggled as the maggots wriggled around my arse, cock and balls searching for the rotting meat.
When he could get no more maggots in, the top of the shorts was taped to my body with more gaffer tape. I was released and ran around, as much as my short tether allowed, screaming. The tickling sensation was intense and unrelenting. I was going crazy. The maggots wormed their way into the crack of my arse and between the strands of fishing line. I couldn’t get my hands anywhere near the source of the tickling and the insects followed me everywhere.
“Five minutes and the maggots go on your bagged head.”
I couldn’t think. I was literally going mad. What was the link? What were the clues? Fishing line, offal, flies and maggots. Of course fishing. “Cpl Fischer” I yelled.
“You haven’t bee asked yet. Five minutes.”
It was the longest five minutes of my life. I had to be right. I would do almost anything to get the shorts off. I just could not take maggots round my head.
“Whose test is this?”
“Cpl Fischer.”
There was a pause. I screamed “No!”
“Correct.”
Test Four
I had got through three tests, but only just. I was a broken man. I knew that if the next test began, whilst I was still dressed like this I would break. I started to cry as the rope gag went in my mouth and the green cotton hood dropped once again over my head. Thank god, the shorts were removed, but I was left a filthy stinking fly bothered mess. A cord was attached to the fishing line and I was led through the wood, maggots falling from my arse crack, to what turned out to be the back of a four-tonner and was spread-eagled standing in the back. My body was attacked with stiff brushes. It was agony but it drove the flies away. We left the flies behind and drove for a long time.
Eventually I stopped crying and just hung from my bonds. Hands lifted me out of the lorry and I was led inside a building by my balls. Silence. The hood and blindfold came off and I recognised the changing rooms of the gym back at camp. Together, the four men took off their combat helmets and balaclavas.
“Well done boss.” “Fucking good effort.” CSgt Norris grabbed me. “Sorry you didn’t get a chance to name me in the final test sir, but we thought you’d had enough. No-one has ever been through three tests before and we didn’t think you would make the fourth. So we decided to let you quit on a high. If you’ll forgive the pun.” I sank to the floor. It was over and we were back at camp. I had made it. And I hadn’t told them what had happened to me. I was safe. Norris spoke again “You look a mess, Sir. In fact we all do. Cpl Pitman, get those showers working, the boss needs a wash.”
I walked through to the communal showers and stood for a long time under the gushing hot water. I removed the rope gag, the cord to my balls and the ropes hanging from my wrists and ankles but I couldn’t get the fishing line off so I had to leave it for a while. I was joined in the showers by my four tormentors who now laughed and congratulated me on my performance giving me friendly punches and slaps on the arse. I rinsed the filth from my body and luxuriated in the heat. The men began to leave.
Soon only Dave and myself remained in the shower. He spoke sincerely and said well done again on my performance. He paused and then asked where I had disappeared to and how come I was shaved all over. I wanted to talk him but I just couldn’t. I apologised and said that one day I hoped I could tell him, but not now. He said he understood and we chatted some more. Dave said he would give me a lift home and we left the showers. Everyone else had gone. I sat on the bench in a daze while Dave dried himself and then borrowed his towel when I realised I didn’t have one.
He got dressed in his combats again and then we both laughed when we realised I had no clothes. No problem said Dave; I’ll nip to my locker in the mess and get you something. He ran out and I waited. I was grateful my leave had begun after the exercise so I would not be questioned officially on my absence. I guessed the men would want to keep any initiation ceremonies quiet as they were very much frowned on by the hierarchy. A short while later, in through the door walked a black leather biker. My heart skipped a beat until I realised it was Dave.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“No. No problem I was daydreaming that’s all and you made me jump.”
“Here try these on. They’re my spare leathers. We’re about the same size. If you’re getting a lift home on the bike, you’ll need them. No socks or shorts I’m afraid but we’re not going far so it doesn’t matter. You’re clean now!”
I wondered about mentioning the fishing line and then said “I’m sorry, but I can’t get the fishing line off.”
“Let me try,” said Dave and knelt down in his leathers at my feet. In its fishing line trap my cock stirred slightly. His hands tried to find a loose end but only succeeded in tightening the mess.
“I haven’t got a knife with me, I’ll have to try my teeth.”
Hot lips wrapped my balls.
“Stop. I’ll manage for now and sort it out when I get home.”
“OK if you’re sure.”
I am fractionally bigger than Dave so the unlined leather trousers were skin tight by the time I had got them on. The feel and smell of the leather brought back recent memories and getting my wrapped cock and nuts inside was both difficult and painful. I pulled on the boots and fastened the Velcro and then slid on the jacket. He handed me a helmet. “Leathers suit you,” he said and with a glance at my crotch walked out of the changing rooms. I followed him and got even harder when I heard the creak of the leather and felt it move over my smooth skin. It was dark. I pulled on the helmet and got carefully on the back of his bike. He guided my hands round his waist and said “You’re tired boss. I don’t want you falling off after all you’ve been through. He reached into a pocket in his jacket and before I realised what was happening he had my wrists handcuffed round his waist. Then he reached back and flipped down the visor on my helmet. It was completely opaque. “What the fuck!”
“Sorry boss but I’m a man of my word. I promised four endurance tests and you’ve only had three. And I still want to know who gave you that shave.”
The bike roared away. I grabbed Dave’s waist as best I could with the cuffs on and felt the unmistakable bulge of an erection in his trousers. His pelvis shifted against me and I rubbed his cock through the leather. I liked Dave and he seemed to like me. Perhaps the next test wouldn’t be so bad after all. The bike drew up and we both got off together. He put the bike on its stand and then slid down through my arms. I went to lift the visor but was stopped. I didn’t resist as he efficiently cuffed my hands behind me. I heard a sliding garage door close. Being dressed in leather biker’s gear, sightless and handcuffed was intensely erotic. The thought of Dave in his full leathers in control of me was very exciting. Dave’s hand found my growing cock and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Then he dropped to his knees and started to lick my groin. Heaven. His hot mouth wrapped around my cock and balls. The hard yet soft pressure of his tongue lapping my balls was bringing me close to orgasm even though I could not get erect. I hoped he would let me cum in his skin tight leathers. I was close and began to moan in ecstasy. Nearer and nearer, harder and harder. At last the longed for orgasm was going to happen. His mouth pulled away. “No. Don’t stop. I’m about to cum.” I begged.
“No you’re not said a voice.” But it was not Dave.
Up went the visor and I saw two identical leather bikers. One opened his visor and I saw it was Dave. The other lifted his visor and all I saw was a leather mask with holes for eyes and mouth. I looked around. I was back in the same garage as before.
Dave stepped forward. “Allow me to introduce my cousin. I believe you’ve already met. We are going to be sharing your leave with you. ”
The other man stepped forward. And snapped down my visor. He undid my flies and pulled my wrapped throbbing packet out. Grabbing the lot in his hand he used it to lead me. I knew where we were going. I begged and pleaded not go back to the cum-control room but to no avail. My boots and biker trousers were removed and I was pushed down onto the familiar shape of the leather-padded horse. My legs were strapped down. The cuffs and jacket came off and the top half of my body was strapped down too. The helmet was the last thing to be removed. I looked to the side into the mirror. I was back on my belly, arse up, cock and balls tightly wrapped but vulnerable. At my arse sat the masked biker. At my head knelt Dave, also now masked.
“One year ago you interrogated on an SAS selection exercise. One of the men you tricked into talking was my cousin who is sitting behind you.” A hand stroked my balls. “On the floor in front of you is a list of forty names from that exercise. You know how an endurance test works by now. First you will be tickle tortured and be denied the pleasure of cumming. Then you will be given the chance to choose a name from the list and identify your tester. If you are wrong, the test goes on. If you are right you will be brought to orgasm; finally allowed to cum. I hope for your sake that you have a good memory. One last thing, to prevent you talking until you are asked to name your tester you will be gagged.” At this he unzipped his flies and inserted his dick in my mouth. “We don’t want to make this too easy, do we sir? Let the test begin.”
To be continued…
This story, by an unknown author, is from Jim Stewart’s Houdini Connections. I do not claim ownership of this story.
—Metal
