By Jackson Amacher

I spent my first summer before college in a private young men’s military camp in western North Carolina. It was mostly bullshit, but it made my father happy. He was in the Marines for a while, and he always wanted me to go into the service. I wasn’t too hot with the idea, but I had to admit military life had a few benefits, so I agreed to go to this place.

Like I said, it was mostly bullshit, and the first few weeks weren’t really grueling but kind of stupid. The whole idea was to get us ready for military service, as if we were all just itching to get into the Naval Academy. Right. The only cool part was what everyone called the Rivalry.

The first day you got there, you reached into a bag and picked a piece of paper. Half of them were red, and half were blue, and the one you picked determined what team you’d be on for the next four weeks. The teams competed over the four weeks to get points from various events, and the team that lost had to be the winner’s “slaves” for the last week of camp.

A lot of the points came from mundane stuff, like which team could do more push-ups, or who could do better at reading maps and navigating through the woods. I helped my fellow Blues out quite a bit. I was always in good shape, and thanks to my father I knew a lot of the basic-training type skills. After the first week, we had about 200 points, but the Reds had 220. It wasn’t that big of a lead, but it was nothing to ignore.

Most of us were too old to be going to summer camp, but you wouldn’t know it from the way the guys acted. After they announced Sunday night that the Reds were leading us, a few Blues got the idea to play a trick on them. Somehow they convinced me to come along. There was one Red barracks where we knew they didn’t post a guard like you were supposed to. At about 4 a.m., we broke into one of the Red barracks and slowly (and quietly) carried out each of their foot lockers, one by one. It was hard work — those things are heavy! But camp regulations require that you keep all your stuff in those things, and that you either sleep in your underwear or in nothing at all.

The next morning, at roll call, wouldn’t you know it but about 25 Reds weren’t there to stand at attention in front of the camp commander and salute the flag with the rest of us. That was a 25-point penalty right there. But then the best part came: when they heard the bugle, about ten of them ran out into the yard, stuck out their chests, and saluted the flag, pretending like that was a perfectly naturally thing to do in your undies (actually, I think two were naked). They had to do it; if no one had showed up at all, the Reds would have received a penalty so big they would never win. I suppose you had to give them credit. But too bad for them, they won their team another 10 point penalty, for — get this — not being in uniform!

They were pissed at us, and we paid for it. That Tuesday we had a big capture-the-flag game (I told you we were too old for this shit). Because I was a good map reader, my commander, Steve, sent me and Kyle to patrol the western perimeter of the Blue turf and “tag” any Reds that came by. It was actually a cool game: we used paint guns, and to prevent cheating you got to claim someone’s uniform shirt (red or blue, of course) when you shot them before they went to prison.

Kyle and I were pretty good friends. He didn’t know I was gay, and I kind of expected he was, but of course no one said anything because this wasn’t exactly a West Hollywood teenage discussion group, if you know what I mean. We patrolled our border one or two times, taking care not to be seen.

When we were toward the northern end of our loop, about a full mile from the Blue base camp, we both got shot. They were hiding in the trees above us, and we didn’t see a thing until it was too late.

“Shit,” I said, and Kyle and I dropped our guns. The two Reds dropped down from the trees, and I saw that they were Gary and Chris, two of the unfortunate Reds who had just given the American flag that glorious salute the day before. Chris — kind of a small guy, but with a gorgeous butt — was one of the ones who had done it in the nude.

Gary glanced at Chris, smiled, and stretched his arm out to us. “Let’s have ’em.”

We were prisoners, so Kyle and I pulled off our blue jerseys and handed them over. Gary handed them to Chris, who stuffed them in his pack. “We’ll take your supplies, too,” Gary said, and we handed over our packs and belts with their holsters.

For a moment the woods were quiet, and you could just hear a bird calling somewhere while these two Reds leered at Kyle and me with our shirts off. Kyle had a compact build. He wasn’t the kind of guy who puts on a lot of muscle when we work out, but you could tell he worked out.

“Come on, guys,” Kyle said. “You’ve got our jerseys. Give us a map to your prison tent and we’ll be on our way.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get there,” Gary said. “Turn around.”

We turned around, and I heard Chris going through his pack again. Abruptly, Gary grabbed my arms and pulled my hands behind me. I felt something go around my wrists and then tighten. They had put a plastic cable-tie around my wrists, and pulled it just tight enough to avoid cutting off circulation.

Kyle got the same treatment, and they turned us around again. “Doug,” Chris said sweetly to me, “you were one of the Blue assholes who took our stuff that night, weren’t you?”

“That’s right,” I said. “And it was a pleasure.” Gary grinned, reached over to me, and unzipped my trousers. Before I knew it, I was wearing nothing but my Champion briefs. In about a nanosecond, Chris did the same to Kyle, but took his underwear off, too.

I felt weird noticing this at that point, but Kyle was gorgeous.

“You know, Gary and I were talking,” Chris said, “and we figured the only kind of guy who would do something like what you guys did was a fag.”

“Fuck you,” Kyle shouted.

“Not exactly, Kyle,” Gary said. Then he grabbed my shoulders, swung me around so I was facing Kyle, and pushed me down to my knees. “Suck him, Doug.”

Kyle’s cock was magnificent, and being that close to his taught, bound body had given me an erection in my briefs that I was sure everyone could see. But I didn’t want this to go too far. “You can’t make us do that, dumb shits. Give us our pants back and no one has to hear about this,” I said and started to stand up.

I felt two kicks to the backs of my knees. I lost my balance and fell forward into Kyle’s chest. He took a few steps backwards, helping break my fall, and I was back on my knees.

“Don’t forget who’s in charge here, friend,” Chris said sweetly. “Now, suck your lover.”

I was going to try to stand up again and maybe run off, but I heard Kyle whisper. “It’s OK,” he said, looking directly into my eyes.

I reached out with my tongue and caught the bottom of his cock, then leaned forward to take the whole thing in. Chris and Gary started to laugh with delight. I wasn’t an expert at this, but I knew to work it gently with my mouth and to jab my tongue against his cock head now and then. Kyle started to moan, and I thought I could feel him sway. He got hard pretty quickly, and I could have sworn he started to thrust into me. But just before I thought he was going to climax, Gary grabbed my shoulders again and pulled me back.

“Well, well! Look how well you two did!” he shouted, looking at both our cocks. “Let’s get to it, Chris.”

Chris had two blindfolds, and Kyle and I each got one over our eyes. In a single quick jerk, someone took my underwear off and made me step out of it. Then I felt some cloth being shoved into my mouth and held in place with what I think was another cable tie. The gag kind of tasted like an old sock. They grabbed me and tied me to a tree.

It felt awful to just stand there, naked and blindfolded. We could hear whispering and laughing. I felt someone running his finger over my torso, lighting tickling my nipples, and then going down to stroke the bottom of my cock. I jumped and tried to say, “What the hell is going on?” through my gag, but they couldn’t hear.

Finally the whispering stopped, and I could hear leaves crunching as they started to walk away. They were going to leave us there! I started yelling into the gag again. I must have been tied to that tree for a good twenty minutes before I heard them come back.

“Oh, so you don’t like our hospitality?” Gary said. “Well, we can fix that.”

They took my shoes and socks off and tied a new rope around my neck. Then they untied me from the tree and lifted my blindfold. I saw that Kyle and I were tied together by our necks, with about three feet of rope between us and an extra leash coming off of Kyle’s neck. The forest air was freezing, and our nipples were sticking up like crazy. Kyle looked at me, and I saw how scared he was.

“Did you say you’d rather go to our prison tent, Doug?” Gary asked me. I nodded once. “Are you sure?” he asked. I nodded again. “Well, then let’s go!”

Gary grabbed Kyle’s leash and started leading us away. I was walking behind Kyle and got a sweet view of his excellent ass. Of course, Chris was behind me, so his view was probably just as nice.

We must have walked for at least a half mile. I must have cut my foot at least twice on all the twigs and pebbles, and the mosquitoes used Kyle and I as their lunch-hour cafeteria. Whenever we would slow down, we’d get slapped or spanked or shoved in some way. I was getting really pissed, but I was too humiliated and helpless to do anything. I was scared to death that someone would see us like this — stripped naked, and at these two guys’ total mercy.

After we were fairly deep in Red territory, they blindfolded us again. We walked even further, double-backing somewhat and taking so many twists and turns that I knew I would never remember where we were. Walking with blindfolds was even harder; when one of us tripped, the other would get pulled down, too. My ass was sore, my feet were killing me, and I felt as humiliated as all hell. There was nothing we could do, either. Taking a prisoner’s clothes was acceptable if they tried to escape under camp rules, and though we hadn’t done that there was no way we could prove it.

For a few minutes, I felt like we were walking in the sunlight, and I knew we were out of the woods. That meant we were near the border of not just the Red territory, but of the camp property as well.

We started to hear a lot of voices ahead, and our captors told us to slow down.

Jesus Christ, I thought — are they going to take us into the prison tent like this?

We came to a stop, and I heard a new voice. “Hey, Gary! Chris! Great work!” It sounded like Ted, the commander of the Red barracks we had robbed the other day. He cut a great profile in his Calvin Klein’s when he saluted the flag, let me tell you.

Someone grabbed my shoulders again and moved me to the side. We stood there stupidly for a few seconds with our dicks hanging in the wind, and then I saw a flash through my blindfold and heard the soft whirring of an electric motor.

Jesus, they were taking pictures of us like that!

I started bending down, trying to fold my body to cover up my dick, but they grabbed me again and forced me up. I shouted through the gag in protest yet again. Laughter. More flashes.

“OK, we’ve processed them now,” Ted said. “Take them away.”

Again they led us away with the leash, but only a short distance this time. I felt the rope at last fall from my neck. Someone grabbed my arms, and someone else cut the cable tie holding my hands together. Then they lifted my arms up, and tied my wrists together over some sort of beam. For a final touch they took off my blindfold, and I saw where I was.

There were six of us, all Blues, all stripped naked and gagged. They had us strung up from a fence wire, the only part of an old, tall barbed wire fence still standing beside the posts. Behind us were about fifteen Reds with big smiles.

In front of us was a state highway.

They kept us there until the Reds won the game. It was at least three hours. I don’t know how many passing motorists saw me naked; at least forty of them honked. A couple of the Reds liked to come over and play with us, ticking us, rubbing our bodies, and in general playing with our minds and making us freak out. When the Reds captured the last flag, they celebrated a bit, then took some more group photos of us. Finally, they untied and rounded us up into a big circle. One by one, they made each of us do some sort of humiliating task, like getting down on our knees and begging or spit-shining their tennis shoes (I don’t think they thought that one through).

Then they gave us our underwear back, only they had the rears cut off and dyed what was left pale blue. It was just an elastic waistband with a little piece of cloth hanging in front to hide our dicks. They sent us back to the camp with our hands tied behind our backs. They didn’t give us a map, or shoes. The six of us stayed together, but we must have gotten lost two or three times. It took us five hours to get home.

When we got to the blue barracks, a bunch of Blues were hanging around outside. We could tell that everyone was in a bad mood, since the capture-the-flag competition was a big part of the Rivalry. When the guys saw us like that, with our hands still bound behind our half-naked bodies, they whooped and laughed.

Most of the rest of the Blues came out of the barracks and formed a circle around us. I started to head toward the barracks doors, but Steve stopped me. Steve was the Blues’ General. He had been going to this camp for three summers, and he was very gung-ho.

“Where do you losers think you’re going?” he asked. “Where the fuck were all of you during the competition?”

“We got shot, they stripped us and made us …” I started to explain, but Steve shut me up. His hand shot out for my dick, and grabbed what was left of my underwear hanging from the waistband. With one jerk, he ripped it off, leaving nothing to cover me but a tattered elastic waistband. I started running backward, but I didn’t get far before another blue grabbed me and threw me to the ground.

“Let’s show them what happens to faggots that mess up,” Steve said. He had a sick kind of smile on his face and a look in his eyes that told me he wasn’t really angry with us. He just wanted to have fun humiliating us some more.

The guys tore off the other five prisoners’ underwear, too. They shouted at us for a while, slapping us a little bit and in general letting out their frustration on us. They made us say we were idiots, lazy slack-offs, and anything else that came to mind. I was pissed as hell; it wasn’t our fault the Reds caught us, and this was just making it worse. But we were completely helpless.

Steve went into the barracks and came back with a tube of Ben-Gay. He squirted some into his hand and rubbed it over my balls. It stung like crazy. Tears came to my eyes. I kept trying to bend down to wipe the stuff off on my legs, but the guys stopped me.

Steve gave the other five prisoners the same treatment, and then made us run around in circles. Our feet were already sore from having walked so long without shoes, and this just made it worse. I felt like a complete fool.

“OK, enough is enough,” Steve said, his smile even bigger now. “You’ve learned your lesson, almost. But I don’t think you six know enough about teamwork. I’ll tell you what. If you six can get all that shit off your balls in less than two minutes, we might let you sleep inside tonight. If you can do it in less than a minute, we’ll even untie you. The clock starts now.”

That sadistic fucker. We all tried to bend down and rub the Ben-Gay off onto our legs and stomachs, but just looked more and more ridiculous. The guys laughed at us even more. “Hey shitbrains, here’s a hint,” Steve said. “Something none of you seemed to understand today: teamwork.” I saw what Steve was getting at. I wouldn’t have done this if the pain wasn’t so bad, but I had to. I ran behind Kyle, who was still trying to rub the Ben-Gay off on his legs, and started rubbing my dick and balls against his ass. I bent my knees and straightened them, moving up and down, treating Kyle’s glorious body like a tree trunk.

“That’s it!” Steve shouted. “Doug’s got the idea!”

I didn’t penetrate, but I was able to smear most of the stuff off onto Kyle’s beautiful globes. The other five naked studs got the same idea. Before long, I only felt a mild sting from my balls.

“Well done, boys, but that took ten seconds too long,” Steve said, taunting us. “You all sleep tight, now.”

And they left us there, stripped naked except for our waistbands with our hands tied behind our backs, to sleep on the ground that night. We had enough of people staring at our naked bodies for one day, so the six of us went off to hide in bushes and underbrush to sleep for the night.

I was just getting settled in my patch of weeds when someone came over to me. It was Kyle.

“Doug, I …”

He couldn’t finish, but he didn’t need to. We kissed. Our hands were still tied behind our backs, but we did the best we could with each other. I laid on top of him and kissed him in the mouth, then went down and licked both nipples. I ran my tongue over his beautiful chest and then drew back to look at his erect cock. I took it into my mouth, in and out, dancing my tongue over its head and heard Kyle’s moans of pleasure. It was just like what Gary and Chris had made us do, but now they couldn’t stop us. His dick had experienced enough excitement already that day, and Kyle came quickly. Then I flipped over, and he started to work on my ass. He was slow and gentle, moving in and out and giving me more pleasure than I’d ever felt.

“Hey guys, can I join in?”

It was Steve. Buck naked. He must have watched us. “I think the two of you have definite leadership potential,” General Steve told us. “Would you like to prove that to me?”

So we double-teamed him. Still tied up, I took Steve’s cock into my mouth while Kyle went to work on the other end. Steve did nothing, but give occasional grunts in ecstasy. In the barracks we always had the chance to see each other naked and stripped to our underwear, but somehow I had never noticed how fine a man Steve was.

Steve came in my mouth after ten minutes, and as a courtesy I swallowed. The three of us laid back on the ground.

“Boys, tomorrow we’re going to talk. Have a good night.” Steve tugged on the elastic waistband I was still wearing and let it snap back to my body, then gave my butt a little spank. “Good work today.”

Kyle and I got closer after that night. For the next few days, we’d sneak over to each other’s’ beds in the barracks at night and keep each other company. We had sex once or twice, but most of the time we just lay together and stroked each other. Steve never asked to join in again, but he let us know that he was considering us both for leadership positions.

But the Rivalry continued. The Reds pulled ahead with their Capture the Flag win, but we pulled ahead of them again in a physical fitness competition. (Have I mentioned we were too old for this shit?) We were almost at the end of the fourth week, and we were ahead by only ten points. There were a bunch of little events planned, but the biggest one by far was a written test in military history. Each team put up ten people to take the test, and the team with the highest total scores won. Everyone expected the Reds to cream us, because they had Gary, a fucking genius on the subject. Ted, the Red barracks leader, was also supposed to be really good.

But I had a plan. I formed it that night, when my fellow Blues made me sleep outside, bound and naked. I wanted revenge on the Reds, and I knew how to get it. I talked my plan over with Steve, and he told me to give it a shot.

The night before the test, Gary took a jog, like he did almost every night. Kyle knew his route. It was about a half a mile and went through the woods. Kyle and I hid about a quarter-mile into the woods and waited.

He came into view at 6:45 a.m. He was stripped to the waist, with green nylon running shorts and nothing else except shoes. The poor boy didn’t notice us until it was too late. Kyle jumped in front of him, and I descended from the trees above. Kyle grabbed his arms, and I pulled them behind him and tied his wrists together. He shouted loudly, but Kyle stuck some rolled-up socks into his mouth to shut him up.

Gary was struggling like mad, and it was hard for me to hold him. Kyle put a small, cloth bag over Gary’s head to cut off his sight, which made things a lot easier. Then Kyle took his running shoes and socks so he couldn’t run off. Gary kept on struggling and trying to break away from us, so I tried reason.

“Look, you can make this easy on yourself or hard,” I said. But Gary jerked suddenly and broke free from us. He started to run away, but he couldn’t see and with his hands tied up and his feet bare he didn’t get very far. I tackled him to the ground and pulled off his shorts, exposing his bleach-white Hanes. I was impressed with how good his ass looked under the cotton, and I could see that Kyle was pretty happy, too.

“Do you want us to go further, or will you cooperate?” I asked. Gary stopped struggling.

We stood him up, and each of us grabbed an elbow. We walked him about a quarter-mile from the path, to an isolated part of the woods. We tied one of his wrists to the trunk of a young tree, then untied his hands, then tied the other hand to another tree trunk. We tested the knots and made sure he couldn’t get loose.

It was a beautiful sight. With his arms down like that, you could see all of his chest muscles. His well-formed pecs flexed as he tested the ropes. I reached over and lightly stroked his nipples. This drove him crazy; he started jumping back and forth, desperately trying to get away.

We took the bag off his head so he would have no trouble breathing. I bent down and put my face directly in front of his and asked, “Gary, where is Ted?”

He still had the gag in his mouth, but we could tell that he was trying to tell us to fuck off.

“Gary, you just aren’t getting the picture,” Kyle said. And with that, he took out a Styrofoam cup that contained earth and six or seven earthworms. Kyle picked out one or two of the worms, pulled the elastic on Gary’s waistband forward, and dropped the frantic, wiggling earthworms down the front of Gary’s briefs.

It didn’t seem so awful to me, but Gary immediately started twisting around, trying to shake the things off his dick. He couldn’t get them out of there, and Kyle dropped one or two more of the critters down there.

Gary was horrified now; I guess he had a thing about worms, especially when they were down there crawling with his own.

“Gary, where’s Ted?” I asked again.

Gary started saying the same three words through his gag, faster and more frantically, and Kyle and I could make them out: “I don’t know.”

We just stood there watching him for another ten minutes. The worms were probably having a worse time, but Gary was unable to stop his feeble efforts to shake the things out of his too-tight briefs. Finally, Kyle and I started to believe that Gary didn’t know where Ted was. No one could withstand that much agony and humiliation.

One by one, Kyle and I reached down into Gary’s underwear and took out the thrashing earthworms. We couldn’t help notice that his own worm had by now become quite erect, pushing the cotton of his briefs out into a little tent and allowing some of the worms to fall down to the earth.

We told him we’d be back, sometime. We left him there, stripped to his underwear, tied between two trees, completely helpless and totally humiliated.

Gary never got to take the test. The Reds searched all over for their comrade, but didn’t find him in time. Ted had to substitute for him at the last minute. We Blues beat the Reds, by a lot. Fifty points. That gave us a lead of forty points, and made us a lock to win the Rivalry. Three hours after the test, some Reds finally found poor Gary. To hear them tell it, though, he wasn’t wearing any underwear when they found him. Maybe they were as rough with him when they found him as our team was with us after Capture the Flag?

The Blues had won!

There was a solemn ceremony at 5 p.m. Sunday night before the last week of camp, when the Director announced that we, the Blues, had won. For the final week of camp, the Rivalry was over, and the roles would change. Instead of teamwork, we would now learn command skills. The Blues were responsible for expanding the campgrounds. We had to clear out an unused field, picking up all the trash and garbage and stuff, and also build a fence around the perimeter. Only we weren’t going to do the work. For the next week, the Reds were our total slaves. Any of them had to obey any command from any one of us, or face harsh punishment. The Blues would learn how to be officers, how to give orders and make sure they are followed. The Reds would learn how to survive being prisoners of war.

Here’s the best part: Steve put me and Kyle in charge. We were ultimately responsible for managing the Reds and getting the work done. I had told Steve my plan for getting the Reds to work very hard, and he gave it a green light.

The Reds had two barracks, A and B. We thought that was a waste. We ordered all of the Reds to carry every foot locker into A, and every bed into B. Then we made them put all of their changes of uniform, magazines, letters, decorations, toiletries, keys and everything else they owned into A. Then we made them strip every bed in B and carry the sheets and pillows over to A. B was now completely empty except for one bare bed for each Red.

All this moving tired out the Reds pretty fast, so we ordered all of them into the courtyard. They were grumbling about the move, realizing they’d had shit to sleep on for the next week, but we ignored them. Besides, we had bigger plans.

The Blues fanned out over the courtyard, and each of us picked a Red. We started ordering them around, for the hell of it. Stand up! Sit down! Give me 30 push-ups! When they displeased us, we ordered them to take off a piece of clothing.

At first, they probably thought they were being asked to take off their shirts or their shoes so that we could have fun with them. Something along the lines of our original prank, making them salute the flag in the nude. But as more and more of them were ordered to take off more and more, they probably saw what was happening. Within fifteen minutes, they were all stripped bare-ass naked. No clothing, jewelry, watches — nothing.

Kyle took out his megaphone. “All Reds will gather their clothes and fold them neatly into piles, then carry them into the A barracks.” They did it. They had to, we were standing there forcing them.

Once they were all outside again, Kyle took out a ring of keys and locked the A barracks. The Reds all had panicked looks on their faces. Everything they had was in there, and they couldn’t get it.

Kyle ordered them to line up and stand at attention. I tell you, it was awe-inspiring. Rows after rows of naked, buffed, obedient men at my command.

Kyle laid down the rules for them. For the next week, they would have nothing. Their clothes, their possessions, were all ours. They would not talk to each other; they would not talk to us unless ordered to. They would obey every order, or face severe punishment. They would do nothing, not even take a shit, without permission.

When all of this sank in, Kyle ordered them to march into A barracks. They were each to pick one bed in the crowded room and lie on it, face down. A team of Blues went around, tying them each spread-eagle to the bed frames. I heard a couple of them sob out loud at this incredible indignity, but no one resisted.

“Nighty-night, gentlemen,” Steve said, and turned out the lights. But it was only nine o’clock. They wouldn’t be going to sleep yet.

 

Note from Metal: This story dates back to 1997 and was posted by Jackson Amacher on another site. This guy is one of my favorite authors of gay bondage stories, but I have never been successful in contacting him. If anyone knows how to reach him, let me know!