03 - Phil’s Punishment
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By Nicholas H [mention]nchlsh[/mention]
Phil’s Punishment
The battle against the boyscouts ended with a satisfactory result for both groups: we got our traitor and Mike didn’t lose, which would’ve been a terrible strike to his ego. He would have never lived it down if a bunch of city kids beat the whole boyscout troop under his command.
As light dwindled into a bloody sky, the dusk started dropping its deep shadows of trees upon us, and Adrian said we’d better get going. We had to be back at the farm before dinner.
After the scouts helped us dismantle our tents, we all gathered for a final goodbye at the campfire.
Mike rose from a log he had been sitting on, slowly walked to where Adrian sat, and said, swallowing his honor, “Good game.”
Adrian was stunned.
Then Mike, to the further amazement of his whole troop, took his own light-blue scout scarf from his neck and put it around Adrian’s! All of us were speechless. The blonde kid, even more astounded by the gift, stood up and knotted his golden scarf—his favorite one—around Mike’s neck.
“This doesn’t mean I won’t kick your butt next time,” Mike said between smiles.
“Oh, you wish,” answered Adrian, “and I’ll get that scarf again when I catch you.”
“You’ve never been able to catch me,” Mike scoffed. “Not gonna happen.”
“Never say never.”
***
Phil could do nothing but sweat while tied down to the stakes. The sun had not been nice on his clear skin; when we prepared to return to the farm, his face and chest seemed already tanned into a light golden-brown.
We removed his gag and gave him some water.
“Thanks, my jaw was killing me! Guys, would you at least untie me so I can walk?”
We hesitated.
“Please! I’m kind of stiff here!”
Mike, seeing that we were going to untie his feet, said, “Can I make a suggestion?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Mike reached down and tied Phil’s ankles and hands together in front.
“Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Mike went inside his tent. We had no idea what the boyscout had in mind. It all became clear when he emerged carrying a long and reliably sturdy, thin wooden log. Despite Phil’s protests, he shoved it through the boy’s bound wrists and down through his likewise tied ankles. He finished by cutting loose the cord joining both.
I grabbed one end and told Adrian to take the other. We gently lifted the pole and with it Phil’s body, which remained suspended by his hands and feet. Struggling proved to be painful, so Phil stayed calm. I glimpsed down at his emerald green eyes revealing a mixture of surrender and weariness. I remember wondering what it’d be like to get tied like that.
“Just be careful not to hit his head with the ground,” advised Mike, pointing to Phil’s sweaty golden head drooping back between his shoulders.
“Thanks a lot, Mike!” Phil said sarcastically and we all broke into a general laughter.
Without more ado, the six of us—Adrian, Adam, Chris, Tyler, Phil, and I—set off through the steep path of the woods we had come from. Adrian and I carried the pole with the aid of our shoulders.
“You gotta see the bright side, Phil,” Chris said.
“What’s the bright side of this?!” the hanging prisoner asked.
“At least you won’t get tired of walking!”
“Ha, ha, very funny. Now, can I have some water? It’s so damn hot!”
We were arriving in the creek. Adrian looked back at me with a devious smile and then at his bound little brother.
“So, Phil, you said you’re hot?” Our prisoner suspected the amiability and craned his neck, staring open-mouthed at the freezing-cold stream ahead. He realized what a big mistake he had made.
“No! Adrian, Nick, please, not this!” Phil screamed as we ran to the shore, carrying him with us. Adrian and I took our shoes and socks off, got into the water and held poor Phil’s head a few inches from the dreaded liquid.
“Want water? Have some then!” Adrian said and lowered Phil’s body into the creek. We quickly lifted the pole, only to see him shrieking and wiggling hard to break free.
“Pleeeas—!” Once again Phil disappeared into the agonizing icy needles I had felt on my own skin earlier that day.
We watched the boy struggle for a few seconds underwater before pulling him out. His light locks of hair were now sodden and amassed on the boy’s forehead. He gave me the most piteous and begging plead with even more watery eyes.
“Still hot?” Before he could answer, we dropped him again.
“A traitor deserves nothing but punishment,” was Adrian’s sentence, even though Phil was unable to hear it.
During the whole ordeal, Adam, Chris, and Tyler watched from the shore, rolling around the floor with laughter. We never left Phil long enough that he lacked breath; seconds in that creek were enough for the manliest to yield.
We brought him up.
“It’s *gasp* so *gasp* cold!” He was shivering.
“I think he’s had enough,” I suggested.
“Yeah,” said Phil’s brother, “we don’t want him to catch hypothermia or something.”
To the relief of our friend—I mean, traitor, we deposited him on the rock carpet that surrounded the stream. After Adrian removed his bonds and helped him to his feet, Phil embraced himself for heat. We put our socks and shoes back on.
“OK, let’s get moving. It’s not a good idea to wander through these woods at night,” said Adrian and turned his back to the former prisoner, walking past the creek toward the trail. We did likewise, leaving a shirtless, soaked, and nonplussed Phil staring at us from the other side.
“Wait a second. You’re not going to tie me up anymore?”
“No,” Adrian said, not bothering to turn back.
“Is this all I’m getting for selling you out? I practically stabbed you in the back at the game you and this is it?”
“You want more?” I asked somewhat menacingly.
“No, no, for god’s sake,” Phil hurriedly answered back.
“Then move before we change our mind!”
Not wasting any time, the kid put his footgear on and picked up the pace.
It took us about an hour to arrive. The wind had swept away the afternoon heat. The starry skylight obstructed by high-tree foliage was the only source of illumination for the last part of the path. Mosquitoes, which I hated, flew all around me. As soon as I heard the bloodsuckers, I grabbed the repellent I always carried in my bag. My friends didn’t seem bothered by these miniature Draculas. Phil had no t-shirt on! They made fun of me, saying they would leave me tied up to a tree overnight. I just smiled and remained alert in case anyone tried to jump me, knowing my friends’ knack for pranks all too well.
I was surprised to see the back of the farm house when we finally exited the forest. We made a full circle, having left from another path.
The lights were off inside. By the pool, Mr. Silva surprised us with a crackling grill crammed with steaks, sausages, and tapioca. The smell tantalized our empty stomachs and watered our mouths. Any signs of exhaustion after a long day vanished immediately. Needless to say, we assaulted the food as though we hadn’t had any for days.
Mr. Silva’s famous storytelling then ensued, focusing on local tales and legends. For our part, we made no mention of the battle against the boyscouts and tried to keep our reddened wrists away from his sight. I knew Mr. Silva was well aware of our, let’s say, outdoor activities, and kept grinning to himself.
“… and that’s why if you ever hear a low whisper near you in this forest you should run as fast as you can,” Mr. Silva said, motioning toward the bushy horizon.
“Okay. Night kids, I’m off to bed now.”
“Can’t you stay, dad? It’s only eight o ‘clock,” Phil appealed.
“Easy for you to say it, son: you don’t have to get up at four in the morning to round up all the cattle spread over a hundred hectares!”
Mr. Silva entered the house, and once we heard the bedroom’s door close, we were alone. There was a long, disturbing silence. I could hear myself breathing.
“All right, the comedy is over. Get him!” Adrian’s words worked like a spell; we pulled out coils of rope from our pockets and attacked unmercifully. Within seconds, Phil lay in the grass hogtied and gagged, blindfolded and shirtless.
He’d not even had time to react. Phil squirmed around like a worm and twisted his arms up and down, much to of our delight.
“MPPPPPHHHHH!”
“Oh stop it, Phil! Don’t give me that surprised look!” I said.
“Please, did you really think we were going to let you get away with it?” Chris added, and we laughed.
“Poor kiddo, so naïve,” Adrian said, sighed, and patted Phil’s cheeks.
“Well, traitor, we’ll now go figure out a suitable punishment for you. Meanwhile, think about what you did to those who thought you were their friend.”
A few meters away, we assembled and pretended to be discussing, whispering meaningless things loud enough so Phil could hear it.
After a minute or two, Adam shouted back to our bound prisoner, “By the way, have you ever been whipped with a cat-o’-nine or a horsewhip?”
Phil, who had been calm so far, freaked out while groaning and shaking his head.
“How do you like being crucified?” I couldn’t help asking, which got him even more scared.
Next, we gathered around our traitor. I squatted and removed his blindfold and his gag.
“If you scream, you’ll be sorry for not changing your underpants today.” Phil agreed with nervous little nods, and I withdrew my hand.
“We’ve reached a verdict,” Adrian said seriously and handed Chris a permanent marker.
“You are guilty of high treason!” On cue, Chris kneeled, held Phil’s face, and wrote a big black “TRAITOR” on his forehead. He did the same on his chest.
“You will stay tied up and gagged until midnight between Saturday and Sunday.” There was a grim tone in Adrian’s voice. He was finally getting revenge.
“That’s two days!”
“Hey, no talking traitor!” I clamped my hand over his mouth.
Adrian continued, “If you try to resist, we will add an hour more.
If you try to escape, that’s another hour.”
Unfair? Yes. Cruel? Maybe. Enough? Not quite.
“Oh, and Phil, how was your dinner?”
The blond boy looked at me; I let him speak.
“Good … I guess,” answered Phil, apprehensive.
“Glad you liked it, because the only thing going into your mouth from now on is a rag or sock to keep you quieter,” Adrian shot back. Phil knew that protesting would only motivate us to add extra punishments, and he just heaved a sigh of resignation.
Adrian went on explaining Phil’s punishment: the next day, Friday, all five of us would get a couple of hours each to torture Phil. Since he had betrayed the whole group, it was reasonable every member had a chance to get back at him.
“Tonight, we are all going to be in charge,” said Tyler and smiled mischievously at Phil. He didn’t seem happy at all.
“Wait! First I want to go to the bathr—mpppphfff!” I cut Phil in mid-sentence by shoving the sodden handkerchief back into his mouth. I forced his folded t-shirt between his teeth, tying it off tightly behind his head while he groaned and shook his head furiously. I also applied a blindfold, which consisted of a huge handkerchief wrapped several times around his head. We stood there watching how he thrashed around in a futile attempt to gain slack in his bonds.
We announced we would go to the basement and take a shower.
“Don’t go anywhere!” Adrian said.
Phil’s desperate mpphhhs got louder when he heard us walking away.
Thirty minutes later, we returned to find Adrian’s little brother the same way we had left him—only sweatier, covered with bits of grass, and drooling from his gag. On the other hand, we were clean and fresh to start the punishment fun.
We untied his feet, took him to the kitchen, and tied him down to a four-legged chair. His legs were pushed wide apart, drawn back, and secured at ankles to the rear legs of the chair; more rope surrounded below and above his knees, which we fastened to the chair’s front legs. Phil’s toes barely touched the floor. To make sure he wouldn’t sleep on us, we forced him to sip an energy drink with a straw.
Still bound to the chair, Phil was carried to the basement, where the thick walls would muffle his eventual cries. We wound a thick strong cord around his chest and the back of the chair, pinning his arms. Finally, we attached the chair to a post—not that he could walk away, but we wanted him to be as motionless as possible.
Nonstop, we made fun of him and threatened him with tortures.
“OK, bring the cross!” Adrian shouted. “Just kidding!”
The five of us tickled him relentlessly for twenty minutes. Being just a little more ticklish than his brother, Phil squirmed like a lunatic. All the water we made him drink during breaks swirled audibly inside his stomach when he jerked and jolted. But Phil was far from suffering; we all noticed how immensely he was enjoying it.
“Stop, stop. This is supposed to be a punishment!” Adrian barked and disappeared up the stairs. He came down with a small bucket full of ice!
I started to felt sorry for Phil.
“Let’s see how you like this, you little perv,” his brother said. Before the blindfolded boy could understand, Adrian pulled Phil’s underwear and dropped three big cubes inside.
“MMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPHHHHHH!!!!”
The coldness struck his nerves and made his body writhe and wiggle. We even had to retie a rope he had somehow managed to kick loose. This is going to leave some nice rope burns, I thought. He didn’t stop shouting until the next break from tickle torture.
A few minutes later, a slow yellow patch appeared on Phil’s already wet underwear. The liquid was soon dripping from the edge of the chair; the boy breathed heavily and hung his head low.
“Gross,” Adam said, pointing at the stream that ran down the boy’s lean leg.
“The warmth at least helped with the ice, right Phil?” Adrian said, and I couldn’t avoid giggling. He removed Phil’s blindfold to reveal a defeated and frightened kid, a look not commonly seen on Phil. He was released from the chair, but his hands were kept lashed diagonally, in front.
“Go use the toilet if you have to, and take a shower for god’s sake. You smell awful! You have five minutes,” Adrian said.
In the meanwhile, we prepared for the next tie-up: a two-inch wide board was secured horizontally to the pole. It was designed to look like a cross.
I realized we had forgotten to give Phil a towel, but the bathroom door was locked.
“Phil! I got a towel for you!”
Nothing. Long thirty seconds passed. I asked Adrian if there was any other way out of the bathroom.
“Of course, there’s a window that …”
“Shit!”
Were we able to capture Phil again, or did he betrayed us - once more -by bringing the boyscouts to attack us? Well, read the next part and find out! Please comment on this.
Nicholas H.
n1ckh@walla.com
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Nicholas H's stories
- 01 - The Boys' Knotty Summer 1 - Discovered! (mm/mm)
- 02 - The Boys' Knotty Summer 2 - Adrian's Farm (mm/mm)
- 03 - Phil’s Punishment (m+/m)
Index of all stories in the "Archive for Everyone" section