UNSCHEDULED PRACTICE (M/MMM) - Pt 7 (Final) Now Uploaded

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benji2387
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Post by benji2387 »

Great, thrilling story! Can’t wait to read more.
Scottstud94
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Post by Scottstud94 »

Another good one! Is it wrong I’m rooting for the janitor? Sounds like this kid could be in chains very soon.
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Post by Deleted User 3263 »

Scottstud94 wrote: 3 years ago Another good one! Is it wrong I’m rooting for the janitor? Sounds like this kid could be in chains very soon.
I'm kinda liking our manic Janitor, too...
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Post by Deleted User 3263 »

benji2387 wrote: 3 years ago Great, thrilling story! Can’t wait to read more.
Thanks for following!!!
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Post by Deleted User 3263 »

UNSCHEDULED PRACTICE Pt 4


Two sets of bare feet raced up the concrete steps to the diving platforms. Kyle pulled Jared behind him and took the upper steps two at a time.

“Not fair! Unsportsmanlike conduct!” Jared called.

Even though Kyle chose the higher position, and Jared the bottom, he still managed to get the first dive. Jared marveled at his form. In flight, Kyle was a lean, dark, taut and sinewed projectile, falling soundlessly through the quiet air, cutting the water’s surface with barely a ripple. Kyle swam to the side of the pool and tread water as he called up.

“Okay. Let’s see it.”

Jared grinned and went warm with self-consciousness. Even still, he liked it when Kyle watched him dive. Having his dark eyes trained on him. It filled him with a sense of…importance.

The blonde swimmer concentrated, erect at the back of the platform. He lifted on the fronts of his feet, bound forward, prepped, and jumped. He rolled into a flip and untucked at the last moment, straightening out to end a beautiful dive. When he resurfaced, Kyle was clapping.

“Give it up for him, folks! Hutchinson, take a bow!”

Jared wiped water from his eyes and shook his head. “I’d drown.”

He swam over and joined Kyle. They rested their arms and elbows on the edge, kicking afloat. It was just them in the natatorium.

“We’ve got to get in some work on our 50 meter sprints,” Kyle said. “Get us ready for quals.”

“There’s an added practice tomorrow for those,” Jared told him. “9 PM. Damon wrote it in.”

Kyle shook his head. “You think he gets part of Coach’s salary, too?”

“His family’s loaded. ‘Course it’s not like he can just buy back his top position on the team. You’ve got him scared.” Kyle dismissed the comment with a look. “Seriously, he pisses the pool every time you’re near. Why do you think they’re using so much chlorine lately?”

Kyle laughed and splashed Jared. Jared spat out the water in feigned disgust. There was a banging from a corner, and Jared caught sight of the new janitor pushing his cart down the hall.

“Closing up,” Jared said. “Creepy janitor alert.”

“The new guy’s got eyes for you,” Kyle teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Stop it.”

“He’s gonna have to fight off all those girls asking for your number.”

Jared disappeared into his shoulders a bit. “That’s…that only happened, like, twice. And I can’t do that…I have to concentrate on my classes and get through mid-terms. And quals.”

Kyle nodded and fiddled with the leather bracelet at his wrist. Jared watched him.

“Is that like a talisman — for good luck?”

“Someone gave it to me — back at my old school. It's -- a reminder.”

Jared grinned and leaned over. “What was her name?”

“She never told me, Hutchinson. She just took my money at the food court. She had a face mole the size of South Dakota. That mole was so hot.”

They laughed and shoved each other and splashed. Water spilled onto the pool deck. Suddenly, the lights in the nat shut off. Everything went pitch black.

“We’ve got to go,” Jared said nervously.

“We still have shower privileges,” Kyle said, pulling himself out of the pool. “Jason Voorhees can lock up. We’ll leave out the back when we're finished.”

“My eyes suck in the dark.”

“Take my hand.” Kyle helped Jared out of the pool. “I’ve got you.”

Kyle grabbed onto his wrist, and Jared surrendered to him. He liked being led by Kyle. He would follow him anywhere.

Down the darkened back hallway…

Down the darkened factory tunnel…

Through water standing on the smooth concrete floor…

Through rusty water staining broken tile…

Toward warm light streaming from an open and inviting room…

Toward light escaping a forgotten door at tunnel’s end…


******


The near-naked boy was pushed through the top doorway of the old boiler room. Ropes still wrapped around Jared’s mid-section, and between his legs, cementing his tied hands below his stomach in front of him. The Janitor clapped a large hand on the back of his bare neck and guided the boy down the high metal staircase and into the cramped room. Trouble lights hung from pipes above, casting eerie shadows.

Jared touched down onto the freezing concrete floor. It was like standing on a block of solid ice. The man removed his grip and went deeper into the room. Jared looked around.

An extension cord ran down from the hallway, providing power. Trash piled in corners. There were upended chairs, file cabinets, and lockers — one of which was dusted off and stood upright. There was a gas boiler against a wall. A bed was shoved in the corner, covered by a greasy blanket. A side table held a boom box and a stack of cassettes. There were buckets and boxes. On the floor were back issue copies of Drummer, Bound and Gagged, and Barely Legal Boys. Spent Kleenex was scattered about. Jared quickly glanced away from the sight — and noticed a back part of the room separated by a curtain on a rod. The curtain was closed. Jared imagined an exit door on the other side. If he could just get free…

He was suddenly struck by an aching longing. He wanted to see Kyle… He wanted him to rescue him and take him as far away from this horrible place as possible…

Chain rattled above. Jared looked up to see another hook — not so sharp but still menacing — lowering toward his head. He stepped out of its way, but the Janitor moved him back in line with a grunt, then pulled the hook all the way down and looped it through the ropes behind Jared’s back. Returning to the hoist point, the Janitor tugged on the chain, and it rattled through the pulley/winch, lifting the boy slightly off his heels, painfully digging into his lower back, and forcing gravity to hold him in place. The chain hooked to the wall, locking-in the height. Jared dangled, looking like a sad marionette twisted up in its own strings.

“Whooooo!” the Janitor exclaimed, his breath coming in clouds. “S’um bitch is cold! You cold?” He suddenly reached under Jared’s hands and grabbed the boy’s speedo-covered crotch. Jared cried out. “You feel cold,” the Janitor nodded and released.

He turned up the gas on the boiler, and the flame sputtered to life. Water gurgled. After a time, steam began to hiss from the vents.

The Janitor rubbed his arms and bounced to keep himself warm as he crossed to the upright locker. He opened the door and emptied his pockets on the shelves. He kicked off his boots and began to strip out of his uniform. Jared looked away and took in the room once more.

“This…this is where you live?”

The Janitor hung up his uniform and grabbed another pair of overalls from a peg. He stepped in and zipped up. He righted a chair, sat, and pulled on his boots.

“Most of the fellas went to work at the new plant,” he said. He stood and stepped to Jared, tapping the name on his uniform. It said ‘Ray’. “Employee of the month — two months straight — and who don’t get asked to go, too?!?” He looked sad for a moment, then cracked a crooked smile. “So I kept my keys.”

He got a bottle of water from the locker, twisted the cap, and chugged.

Jared saw and spoke up. “Can…can I have some water? That rag made me really thirsty.”

The Janitor stared at him for a long beat. “Ain’t pretty swim boys s’posed to be made of water?”

Jared blinked. “Please…would you give me the rest of that?”

The Janitor considered his bottle, then drank it dry. He tossed it away. “None left to give.”

Jared nodded and looked down, licking his parched lips. The Janitor snorted and dug out another bottle from the locker.

“Hey, pussy,” he said, cracking open the plastic cap. “Show me your hole.”

Jared opened his mouth, and the Janitor fed the bottle to him. At first he was patient, letting the boy drink in small swallows. Then he tipped the bottle higher. Jared gulped faster. Finally, the bottle went upside down, and the Janitor dumped it over his soaking head. He threw the bottle away and used his wide hand to wipe the remains from the boy’s dripping face. He grabbed up a handful of wet hair and pulled Jared to him. He unrolled a thick white tongue and licked the side of Jared’s face. Jared tightened his eyes closed, shuddering at the action.

“Damn! Hits the spot!” the Janitor moaned, and he let go of Jared who swung back to a center position.

The Janitor took the phone from his locker, snapped a few quick pictures of Jared in bondage, and tossed the phone on the bed. He grabbed his “Ode to Joy” tape and added it to the cassette pile, selecting a different tape, and inserting it into the boom box. He pushed play.

An old pop song started. Jared knew this one, too. He’d heard it sung last summer at his cousin’s wedding. The Carpenters. “We’ve Only Just Begun.”

The Janitor dug through a stack of metal rods in the corner of his room. Jared decided to try a different tactic with the man.

“I…I can get you money. And other things, too,” he said calmly. “I can make your life easier. I can help you.”

The Janitor selected a metal bar and some short length of chain and walked back to Jared.

“You already are, kid, and you don’t even know it.”

The Janitor kicked Jared’s legs apart and attached the spreader bar from ankle to ankle using chain and quick link couplers.

…WE’VE ONLY BEGUN…

“Please, you don’t have to do this. Please stop. You’re really scaring me.”

“Awwwww,” the Janitor smirked. “That’s the nicest thing you've said all night.”

…SO MANY ROADS TO CHOOSE…

The Janitor lowered Jared to his feet. He removed the hook from the back rope on the boy and began to undo the cords wedging Jared’s crotch and encircling his lower arms. Once the arms were free in front of him, Jared spoke.

“Thank you so much. Thank you — ”

The Janitor slapped Jared’s still-bound hands high so they were over his head. He dug the metal hook between the loops of rope.

“Stay!” he ordered.

At the hoist, he raised the shackles. Jared’s hands stretched above his head. With his legs spread wide and his hands chained high, he was totally exposed and totally helpless.

“How much you weigh, swimmer boy? Buck-forty?”

Jared hesitated. “One-thirty six and a quarter.” A look from the man at the number’s exactness. Jared explained. “Coach makes us weigh-in every morning. If we’re off even a — ”

The Janitor pulled the chain with one hand, lifting Jared completely off the ground.

The boy screamed at the sudden, shocking movement and subsequent strain on his arms.

…SHARING HORIZONS THAT ARE NEW TO US…

The Janitor did two more reps of “not-so-free-boy weight” with one arm. He let the chain drop, and Jared slammed flat on his stretched feet. The ankle chains pinched. He cried out.

…TALKING IT OVER JUST THE TWO OF US…

The Janitor quickly switched to the other arm, lifting the boy up and down three more times. He lowered the chain and hooked it against the wall, leaving Jared panting and pained, still stretched with his hands high.

…TOGETHER…

The Janitor laughed and rubbed the burn from his arms.

“Who needs a fucking gym when you got a swimmer boy hanging around?!?”

The Janitor grabbed up a box. Jared felt a catch in his throat and his emotions welling up.

“Please…you can just untie me and let me go…I won’t tell anyone what you did.”

The Janitor quickly turned. “Are you a Wednesday or a Thursday?”

Jared looked confused. “Am I…? It’s Friday…”

The Janitor slapped the boy’s chest with the back of his hand. Jared gasped. “SHUT UP!” The Janitor studied him closely. “You’re a Tuesday.” He dumped out a box of dirty laundry. Soiled underwear and rancid socks spilled onto the filthy concrete floor. He selected a particularly disgusting pair of stiff briefs, sniffed and nodded. “Two Weeks Ago Tuesday.”

“Oh, God, no, please don’t put that…”

The Janitor shoved the underwear into Jared’s mouth, jamming it as far as it would go. Just a stained front flap stuck out. Jared fought the desperate impulse to retch. The Janitor grabbed a long, nasty-smelling sock, knotted it in the center, and yanked the knot between Jared’s teeth, pulling the sock tight around his head and tying it behind with cruel and excessive force.

“Like that taste, swimmer boy?” the Janitor hissed. “Brewed just for you.”

Back at the hoist, the Janitor lifted the chain another notch higher. Jared raised up more. Only his toes touched the floor

And the torture began.

…SO MUCH OF LIFE AHEAD…

Roaming hands invaded every inch of the boy’s exposed body.
Nipples were squeezed, pulled, tweaked.
Sides and underarms were tickled mercilessly.
His stomach was cruelly and repeatedly punched.
He was poked.
He was prodded.
He was spun.
He was stripped of his speedo.
He was attacked from behind.
More pictures were taken.
Video captured his every muted and weakening cries and strains.

…AND YES, WE’VE JUST BEGUN…

Finally, the music played out. Karen Carpenter was silent. The boom box shut off...

...and a moan rose from within the room.

The Janitor stopped. Jared’s breath caught. The moan sounded again.

Jared could tell the moaning was coming from behind the curtained-off part of the room. It started low, then grew into a persistent, grunting noise.

The Janitor grinned widely. “We finally got us some company!”

He walked to the curtain and slid it open so Jared could see…

No door was on the other side. Just a broken brick wall. And in front, a wooden chair…

A young man was tied to the chair, bound and gagged…

He grunted and stirred. His curly dark head lifted to the light…

It was Kyle.

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Last edited by Deleted User 3263 3 years ago, edited 1 time in total.
MaxRoper
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Post by MaxRoper »

The Janitor is a great character and all, but does he really deserve BOTH lads?
Greedy.
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Post by Deleted User 3263 »

MaxRoper wrote: 3 years ago The Janitor is a great character and all, but does he really deserve BOTH lads?
Greedy.
Some pervs get all the luck!
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LK3869
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Post by LK3869 »

We got some serious style here, flashbacks with transitions back to reality, songs inclusions; all the good tricks put to good use. Not saying too much without sacrifying intensity and darkness, j'dis bravo!
don't run ! I'm friendly ...
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Xtc
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Post by Xtc »

Got to echo [mention]LK3869[/mention]. The were passages that were almost poetic.
They all say boxer shorts are cool,
but little Speedos always rule.
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Post by Deleted User 3263 »

LK3869 wrote: 3 years ago We got some serious style here, flashbacks with transitions back to reality, songs inclusions; all the good tricks put to good use. Not saying too much without sacrifying intensity and darkness, j'dis bravo!
Merci, mon ami!
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Post by Deleted User 3263 »

Xtc wrote: 3 years ago Got to echo @LK3869. The were passages that were almost poetic.
Thank you, sir! I greatly appreciate the feedback!
BoundWolf
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Post by BoundWolf »

Wonderful work! I've been captivated by this story :D
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Post by Deleted User 3263 »

BoundWolf wrote: 3 years ago Wonderful work! I've been captivated by this story :D
Thank you! "Captivated" is an apt word to describe these two boys!
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Post by Deleted User 3263 »

UNSCHEDULED PRACTICE Pt 5


The shower head spat to life. Water chugged, regulated, and settled into a steady pulse.

The naked, dark headed swimmer backed into the hot stream. Thick rivers snaked down his shoulders, back, arms, and buttocks. Steam swirled around him.

He turned to take the water’s full blast on top of his head. His tight curls matted, parted, and shifted in the spray. He placed both hands flat on the tiles in front of him, leaned in, closed his eyes, and let the shower wash over him.

A moment of stillness. Of fretful peace. He let himself drift.

***

The younger college boy, Lukas, pulled off his hoodie and tossed it along with his ripped jeans to the dorm room floor. He was clad in nothing but dark blue boxers and ankle socks. He stared uncertainly at the coils of clothesline held between the older boy’s fingers.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” the older boy said. “You always have a choice.”

“But…you want me to, right?” Lukas looked deep into the dark brown eyes.

The older boy reached and traced the exposed pecs of his bare chest.

“You’re perfect like that,” he said quietly, then ducked his head slightly and smiled. “But you’d look even hotter this way.”

Lukas managed a smile and shot a nervous glance to the door.

“Carter’s at football practice. It’s just you and me,” the older boy reassured, and he ran his long, gentle fingers down the side of the boy’s warm face. “You trust me, right?”

In response, Lukas twisted his upper body and slowly offered his hands behind his back. The older boy crossed the wrists and doubled up the rope, looping it around them. Rings of white cotton built over the boy’s wrists, swallowing the leather wrist bracelet encircling one hand. Knots were tied securely.

They kissed as the older boy began to fashion a rope web around the younger one’s torso. Each wrap and tuck and pull drew Lukas’ arms tighter to his side. He gasped at each constriction of the web. The immobilizing feel of rope caging his body was intense. It excited him. The sensation, the surrender. The rise in his briefs was all the proof either boy needed of the power of this moment.

The older boy fastened the last knot and paused to appreciate Lukas tied up. He slipped behind him on the bed, sat against the wall, and pulled the boy to him. He wrapped his legs around his lower frame. The sides of their faces touched. He stroked the boy’s cheek and then inched his hand until it completely covered Lukas’ mouth. Lukas tensed, arched, and exhaled over the top of the hand. The older boy kissed his head and buried his face into the nest of dirty blonde hair. Lukas shut his eyes and moaned into the firm hand sealing his mouth.

And then — the world broke apart.

Laughter and peaking conversation. The door unlocked. Swung open. A few teammates piled into Carter as he halted a foot inside the room.

“What the — ?!?” Carter gasped.

The older boy released his grip on Lukas, and the boy tried to scurry away. Tied and still wrapped by strong legs, the most he could do was twist and turn his face to the wall.

“What’re you doing, Kyle, that’s sick!”

A touch of buttons on already held cell phones instantly weaponized them.

“Hey, Luke! Luke, you okay?” one of the guys yelled, and when Lukas finally turned his head, the cellphones clicked maddeningly.


***

“This is a private religious university,” the coach told Kyle in his office. “Those three words are all the justification the Regents will ever need. I’m sorry, Kyle. I really am.”

The swimmer rose from the chair. As he reached the doorway, the coach spoke again.

“Kramer at State owes me a favor,” he said, flipping through his division book. “Besides, he’d sell his left nut to get you on his squad.” The coach grabbed for the phone receiver. “They’re more liberal over there, but some things are still —” Kyle looked down. “You have to learn to protect yourself, Kyle. That’s the last advice you’ll hear from me.”

***

Kyle dug his fists into the pockets of his chinos and trudged along the quad. A group of students recognized him and broke into fits of suppressed laughter and hurried by. He walked past a girl arguing on her cellphone with her parents. He thought about his own recent talk with Mom and Dad.

“I knew that monastery wasn’t right for you,” the man had said on the shared call.
“Jim, don’t call it that —” the woman admonished.
“You had to take the first scholarship you got,” he complained.
“I wanted to do this by myself,” Kyle had said.
“What if people find out?” the woman asked. “This could follow you forever, Kyle.”
“Meg,” the man warned.
“Afraid I’ll embarrass the family, Mom?” Kyle said, his voice straining.
“Our business is drilling and fracking,” his father replied. “We’re not made of clay.” There was a pause, then he said: “Kyle, we love you, no matter what. But, why State?”
“They have a decent team,” Kyle said. “I can still compete and get into classes there.”
After a pause, his mother finally spoke her mind.
“I don’t understand how you could want to do something like that — and to that boy —?”
“We’re not going into this now,” the man said. “I’ll make a transfer into your account. If you need anything else, you let us know.”

Kyle turned a corner of a building — and there was Lukas.

He had an overstuffed bag flung over his shoulder. A milk crate full of personal things tucked under his arm. He piloted a large, rolling suitcase behind him.

The two boys stood opposite each other, filling a tense and awkward moment.

“So you’re really going?” Kyle asked.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

“It’s too — My parents didn’t know. About me. And they don’t exactly —” A car horn sounded from the parking lot. Lukas looked off. “They wouldn’t want us talking.”

Lukas put down the crate, dug in the bag, and took out a small envelope. He handed it to Kyle.

“I was going to mail it back.”

Kyle opened the flap, and the leather bracelet dropped into his hand. Lukas shouldered his bag and grabbed the crate.

“I’ll see you around,” he said.

“Lukas?” The boy turned back. “Don’t say things you don't mean.”

Lukas hesitated, then disappeared toward the parking lot.


***

Kyle shut off the shower. He readjusted the bracelet around his wrist and leaned on his hands against the tile wall. He dripped and thought.

He thought about the extra practice in an hour. It would be good to get in the needed work.
He thought about seeing Jared again. He wanted that more than anything.
He thought about the two of them in here last night. How good it had felt.
And he thought how maybe — just maybe — this was a chance to start again.

He became aware of a presence in the room. He opened his eyes and looked.

The new janitor was there, leaning on his mop, leering.

“Can I help you?” Kyle said quickly.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Kyle moved away from the shower heads and took up a towel from the side bench. He let it hang to cover himself and began to dry off. The janitor ran the mop over the slatted floor.

“You and blondie put on a helluva show,” the janitor smirked. Kyle looked over. “Now I gotta clean double in here.” The janitor shrugged vaguely. “Price of admission.”

Kyle started slowly. “You’re not supposed to be in here when the students — ”

“You’re hot, but little cutie’s my favorite. He don’t hardly know which end is up, but with that ass, who cares?”

Kyle shook his head.

“I'm sorry, but someone needs to hear about this,” he said, and he headed into the changing room. The janitor laughed to himself and dumped the bucket water down the center drain.

**

Toweling his hair, Kyle got to his locker. He left the towel draping his head and opened the door, bending to grab his speedo from on top of his folded clothes. The swimwear slid on, and he stood. Without looking, he reached for his phone on the top shelf —

— and found his hand entangled in rope!

He jerked his hand free, the towel dropped to the floor, and Kyle stared at the sight. The entire top portion of his locker was webbed off by white rope, looped through and held by the holes on the locker sides. The webbing was similar to the pattern he had used on Lukas.

The janitor was suddenly next to him.

“I make knots, too,” he hissed.

He rammed Kyle’s head against the locker. The boy staggered back. The janitor spun and sunk a needle into Kyle’s thigh, forcing liquid into his system. Still stunned, Kyle reacted to the thigh twinge, glanced down, and took one moment too long to realize what was happening. He managed to knock the needle loose. It skittered across the floor. Then Kyle fought back.

The janitor matched his struggle and ended on top. His superior weight forced the boy down to the changing room floor. Kyle was beginning to lose energy. Whatever that injection was, it was starting to take effect. The janitor held Kyle’s arms as he bucked with weakening power, desperately trying to kick the janitor loose. The janitor brayed as Kyle fought the weight on top of him.

“You ever bottomed, big dick? ‘Cause you got potential!”

Kyle never called out for help. He just grunted and gasped and cursed and eventually lost the fight, slumping into a heap on the floor. The janitor slapped the back of his head. No response. The boy was out.

Then the hallway door opened.

Damon, in his team jacket, was standing there, staring down.

“What the hell are you doing?!?”

A beat. Damon closed the door and turned the bolt.

“Anyone could have walked in!”

The Janitor silently began to unweave the rope from the locker. He tossed the clothesline into the laundry cart, followed by Kyle’s clothes and personal effects. He left the phone alone. Damon found the hypodermic at the foot of the bench. He picked it up.

“Shit, did you tranq him?”

The Janitor grabbed onto Kyle’s foot and dragged him into the open center of the room.

“You were supposed to get him earlier. The rest will be here any — ”

The Janitor fished into his pocket and dropped a couple rolls of athletic tape onto the floor.

“Hell, yeah!” Damon exclaimed, putting the needle on the bench. “Payback time!”

The Janitor dug Kyle’s arms from beneath his body and tossed both hands to the small of his back. He began to tape the boy’s wrists together.

“Can I do his feet?” Damon asked excitedly.

The Janitor stared at him for a moment, rolled his eyes, and tossed him some tape.

Damon moved to below Kyle and pulled his legs straight.

“Coach Kramer didn’t care about your twisted little secret,” Damon told Kyle as he crossed his large bare feet, “but I don’t give up easily. This is going to fix things around here. This is going to get you. This is going to make you do whatever I — ”

“Hey, rich fuck!” the Janitor snapped sharply. Damon stopped talking. “He can’t hear shit. Just tie his ass. Enjoy the moment.”

Damon let the remark roll off, and he smiled as he stretched the tape from the roll and began to wrap Kyle’s ankles together.

“Well, well, look who’s getting tied now!” Damon laughed.

The Janitor shook his head in disgust and flipped Kyle over. Damon shot him an annoyed look, changed positions, and kept taping the ankles. The Janitor propped Kyle to sit and started strapping tape across his chest and stomach, pinning his muscled arms to their sides.

“Don’t go easy on either of them,” Damon reminded the Janitor. “I want them to suffer. Like how I’ve suffered these last —”

“Enough tape,” the Janitor said, grabbing the roll from Damon who quickly ripped the end free. “Save some for blondie later.”

Damon watched the Janitor finishing the chest wraps on Kyle. It was oddly arousing to see the good-looking swimmer bound and at his mercy. Revenge is truly sweet, he thought. Suddenly, he jumped up.

“We gotta fill his mouth with something nasty!” Damon rushed to his locker. The Janitor rested Kyle back to the ground and moved to tape his knees.

Damon found an old pair of ripped briefs in his gym bag.

“This’ll take care of that smug mouth, Tynan,” he said, crossing over and bending. “I was going to toss these smelly old fuckers. Lucky for you, I —”

Damon had started shoving the fabric into Kyle’s mouth, but he froze when Kyle’s eyes suddenly popped open!

“Aww, Christ!”

He scrambled back. A look of recognition crossed Kyle’s face — he saw it was Damon. He cried out, but found his mouth stuffed with some foul-tasting fabric. He tried to move, but he was taped tight. He strained and grunted and thrashed wildly on the floor. The Janitor flung himself on top of the boy, forcing him down.

“Aww Christ…Jesus!” Damon trembled, and he remembered the hypodermic on the bench. He grabbed it and plunged the needle into Kyle’s bottom, emptying the sedative into him. He dropped the needle to the side and scooted back against the lockers, breathing heavily, watching.

Kyle fought a minute more, quickly weakened, and finally fell still.

After a moment, the Janitor let go and took up the empty hypo.

“Nice going, scaredy,” he said, slipping the needle into his overalls. “You killed him.”

“Nuh uh,” Damon sputtered. “I — he’s —”

Damon went to check Kyle’s wrist, but both were encased in tape. He felt at his neck.

“I’ve got a pulse!” he announced. Then: “— sort of.”

The Janitor finished stuffing the briefs into Kyle’s mouth, pushing them deep until his smooth olive cheeks puffed out. Tape wrapped around his head multiple times, keeping the packing in place.

The job was done.

The Janitor moved to the tied swimmer’s head and bent to grab his shoulders. He waited, then glowered at Damon. Damon sighed, stood, and grabbed Kyle’s feet. They hefted and dumped the boy into the laundry cart. The Janitor tossed Kyle’s towel in with him.

Damon began to rattle off instructions as the Janitor calmly secured the top to the cart.

“No more slip-ups. No more deviations from schedule. I’m calling the shots, got it?” Damon pulled a cellphone out of his jacket and slid it over. “Use this phone. Text me when you’ve got them both. You know how to text, right? Take pictures. But what we really need is video. Of them together, like we discussed. You forget to take video, and so help me God, I’ll —”

The Janitor suddenly grabbed Damon by the neck and drove him into the lockers. The metal buckled and rattled and echoed in the room. The Janitor squeezed. Damon spurted. A yellowed mouth drew close to his. Damon pulled away from the smell.

“I’m a professional,” the Janitor rasped.

Damon stared at him, growing confident. “You’re a psycho for hire — who just forgot who’s paying the bill.”

The Janitor held his grip for a long beat, then he let go. Damon moved away quickly, rubbing his throat.

“You’re a crazy fuck, Ray,” Damon pointed and yelled. “You’re bat-shit!”

“I still ain’t got my smokes,” the Janitor said as he crossed to Kyle’s locker. “You said smokes.”

Damon reached in his jacket and threw a pack of cigarettes at him. The Janitor tossed Kyle’s phone back in trade. The locker door slammed closed. The Janitor raided the pack, popped in a cigarette, and lit up.

“What are — you can’t smoke in here!” Damon said, exasperated.

The Janitor blew a noxious cloud at Damon, unlocked the door, propped it open, and wheeled the cart down the hall. He was humming “Ode to Joy” as he left.

Damon waved away the smoke. “ — show a little decorum, honestly.”

***

His teammates called for him, but Damon was moving toward the outside entrance of the natatorium.

“Gimme a minute,” he yelled back.

Standing outside, still wet and in only his swimwear, Damon was freezing. But this wouldn’t take long. He powered up Kyle’s cellphone, punched-in the password he’d seen him use last week, and pushed the Messages icon. There were a couple of mushy texts from Jared. But the last one sent from him —

<Where are you, K??? Practice is starting!>

Damon glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one was watching. He replied to Jared’s text.

<Later, dude>

He pushed “send,” turned off the phone, and cupped it at his side as he headed back to the changing room to dispose of it.


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Tsuhaya
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Post by Tsuhaya »

Incredible chapters! The photos are a wonderful addition to any plot. I also really enjoyed the flashbacks, they were all very well added, your writing and stories captivate me more and more, you're AMAZING my friend!
Yes, it's me in the picture. What are you waiting for to tie me up and gag me?
Deleted User 3263

Post by Deleted User 3263 »

Tsuhaya wrote: 3 years ago Incredible chapters! The photos are a wonderful addition to any plot. I also really enjoyed the flashbacks, they were all very well added, your writing and stories captivate me more and more, you're AMAZING my friend!
Thanks for the support - it means so much!
(Glad your phone's back in working order...)
;)
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LK3869
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Post by LK3869 »

The plot's building up, our Janitor suddenly appears a little less frightening but I'm sure that's only momentary , maybe Damon will find out :D I'm sure he won't settle for a pack of smokes...
don't run ! I'm friendly ...
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Post by Deleted User 3263 »

LK3869 wrote: 3 years ago The plot's building up, our Janitor suddenly appears a little less frightening but I'm sure that's only momentary , maybe Damon will find out :D I'm sure he won't settle for a pack of smokes...
Our Ray's still plenty willful, and that can be the scariest thing of all. Let's see how he handles this next part of the assignment...
Last edited by Deleted User 3263 3 years ago, edited 2 times in total.
Deleted User 3263

Post by Deleted User 3263 »

LK3869 wrote: 3 years ago The plot's building up, our Janitor suddenly appears a little less frightening but I'm sure that's only momentary , maybe Damon will find out :D I'm sure he won't settle for a pack of smokes...
Our Ray's still plenty willful, and that can be the scariest thing of all. Let's see how he handles this next part of the assignment...
Msueta@2
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Post by Msueta@2 »

I loved the underwear gag
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Post by Deleted User 3263 »

Msueta@2 wrote: 3 years ago I loved the underwear gag
A particularly odious move on our creepy janitor's part. But not unexpected! :shock:
MaxRoper
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Post by MaxRoper »

Seems Damon has no idea what he's started here. I have a feeling he'll be finding out soon enough.

This is really good. You just keep getting better.
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Post by Deleted User 3263 »

UNSCHEDULED PRACTICE Pt 6


Adam had been working at the rendering plant since the spring of 2012, so only for a couple of months. Blonde, small but muscular, and a little shy, he had been a swimmer when he was at State. One of the best on the team. This was before the car rollover that ended his college career. Before the damage left him with a mangled leg and painful limp. Before the constant suffering had become unbearable. Before the pills took over his life. Before he acquired a hunger for anything that would give him a moment’s release from the agony. Before his arrest. Before the plant job became the only position he could find to help pay for his habit.

Adam kept to himself at the job and didn’t fraternize with the others.

He was just like Ray in this regard.

Which is why Ray thought they were perfect for each other — as friends — and potentially more.

They helped each other on the floor. Adam’s leg made him unbalanced for lifting heavy items, so Ray would do it for him. And Adam would take Ray’s shift climbing the compacter to clean it every other week. He had great upper-body strength and didn't need two able legs to scale the metal hull. Adam would laugh with Ray, and he’d place his hand on his shoulder sometimes (it always made Ray instantly hard). The others were not nice to him like Adam...they never swapped cigarettes at break…they never shared ear buds when listening to their iPods.

“It’s Beethoven,” Adam told him, as the music on his player crescendoed in both their ears. “They had it going during PT sessions. It helps you get through the pain. It helps you to concentrate.”

Ray didn’t really understand the music, but since Adam liked it, he did, too. Adam enjoyed classical rock and even sappy stuff like Anne Murray’s snow-dove song and anything by The Carpenters. But Adam couldn’t stand newer music, and he hated hip hop. “Fuck that shit,” he’d bellow out loud. That type of music made him angry. It made him want to lose control. So he avoided it at all cost. It only brought more pain and more aching and more hunger for the pills. Mostly, he listened to Beethoven, especially when he was working. It helped him to focus.

“There are words that go with this one,” he told Ray, indicating the song that was playing. “I looked ‘em up once:

‘Joy, beautiful spark of Gods
We enter, drunk with fire
All men become brothers.
Under the sway of your gentle wings.’”

Ray wanted Adam. He wanted to throw him on a bed, tie him down, take control of him, run his hands over his smooth skin, and pleasure his whole body. But he didn't know how to tell Adam what he desired. He didn't want to scare him. But he didn't want to lose him, either.

Of course, there were days when Ray didn’t want anything to do with Adam. Days when the young man was strung-out or manic or combative — the addiction on full display. When that happened, Ray’s head would fill with images of the unspeakable things he wanted to do to his so-called friend. On days like that, the only thing he wanted was for Adam to disappear.

But then Adam would cry, and they would huddle outside the plant and smoke cigarettes again, and listen on shared earbuds about someone leaving a cake out in the rain, and things would be better between the two.

Then Connor came back to work. After two months away.
After the incident with the lift.
After the load had dumped prematurely, and Connor had fractured his arm.
It was Ray who dug him out of the carcass pile. It was Ray who saved him from suffocation.
Ray even got an accommodation and was twice named Employee of the Month.
But Connor still blamed him for the accident.
Because Connor never trusted Ray — and he made everyone aware of it on the job.
Naturally, once Connor returned, so did the harassment.

They were in the changing area that morning before work.

“They’re officially building the new plant out by DIA,” Connor said. “Old Man Andrews let it slip at the hospital. His boy Wyatt’s going to college in a couple of years, so he wants to expand and make as much cash as possible. He said I’d be assistant foreman.”

The other guys wondered aloud if they would all have jobs at the new plant. Connor said the boss would need people trained on the floor — though there would be new equipment to learn.

“That means a minimum IQ requirement,” he said, smirking at Ray. “You even know what ‘requirement’ means, hulk?”

There was laughter in the room. Ray glared. Adam tried to keep him calm.

“He’s an asshole,” he told Ray. “Tune his shit out. That’s what you do with assholes. You close ‘em off.”

“Besides, they wouldn’t want a smelly fucker like you stinkin’ up their brand new place,” Connor continued. Ray moved toward him, and Adam grabbed on, shifting weight to his damaged leg. It gave, and he crumbled to the ground. Ray reached for him, but Connor got there first.

“Whoah, slick,” Connor said, helping Adam to stand. “You have a big night last night? Still buzzing about it?”

Adam flashed angry for a moment, but was rescued by the foreman appearing at the door to let Adam know there was someone waiting outside to speak with him. He limped off with the foreman as Connor laughed. Ray quickly finished putting on his overalls and started to follow after Adam. Connor blocked him at the door and addressed the others.

“I met a nurse at the hospital who knew this guy from growing up in Yuma,” he said. “She told me this sicko used to play tie-up games with the neighbor kids. Tied them to tether ball poles, to hooks in barns, even hung them in old railroad cars, you name it.”

“He ties-up kids?” one of the guys said, alarmed.

“When he was a kid,” Connor said, losing patience. “Now he probably just eats them raw.”

The guys laughed. Ray struggled to keep control.

“Let me…let me by,” he sputtered.

“Said he was on the high school football team for about a second. He’s big enough for it. But the dumb son of a bitch couldn’t figure out the rules. Kept tackling his own guys.”

More laughs.

“Never happened,” Ray said, and he pushed by to leave. Connor shoved his arm cast under Ray’s chin and pinned him against the door frame.

“But this happened,” Connor said, shoving the implied cast further into his throat. “And I’m going to make you pay for it, every minute you're here.”

Ray’s windpipe was starting to close. His eye lids fluttered, but he managed:

“Adam’s waiting.”

“He’s talking with his boyfriend.” Ray snapped back to consciousness and stared over at Connor. “He’s his pusher, too. That’s why the boy goes down on him. Gotta pay the bill.” Connor let off pressure on the stunned man. “Ask me, all those druggies oughta be put on ice. That’s the only way to deal with them.”

A bell clanged down the hall.

“That’s us, fellas. Only eight more hours ‘til Miller time.” Connor released Ray, and he and the other guys fed through the door and toward the factory floor.

**

Adam was talking outside with an older man. Ray heard Adam use the name “Brian.” The two men exchanged familiar smiles. And Adam placed his hand on Brian’s shoulder. Ray felt his face get hot. Then Connor was next to him.

“You aren’t going to cry, are you?” Connor said in a faux-weepy voice. He grabbed a wired remote and punched a button. The steel hook started to drop from the winch above. The garage door opened, and the first load was backing in on the dump truck. Connor was trying to slip on his glove, one-handed, while still hanging onto the remote.

Ray watched as Adam and Brian shook hands, then held the contact for a beat longer as Brian slowly pulled away and got in his pickup truck and drove off.

Connor sneered at Ray’s expression. He stepped close to him.

“I didn’t know dumb fucks like you could get jealous,” Connor hissed. “He’s never gonna be yours. You're always gonna be alone, hulk. Dumb…ugly…rank as fuck. You’re gonna die like this — it’s only a matter of — ”

The moments leading up to the actual accident happened in exceedingly quick succession.

The foreman was on the phone in the side office, his back turned from the window, so he never actually saw what unfolded.

One of the workers was piloting the fork lift, moving a couple of stacked steer into position. He swerved to miss the dump truck and banged into the metal hook, sending it square into Connor’s back. The fork lift rammed into a power supply on the wall. Sparks flew.

Ray was staring at Connor. He heard the steel slice wet into flesh and crunch through spine and bone. Ray saw Connor’s delighted expression drain from his face and his eyes roll back into their sockets. His finger tensed on the “Up” button.

Adam limped in from the outside door by Ray.

Ray had a moment to think. He and Connor were close, and no one else besides Adam could see. He slammed a gloved hand beneath the remote and another on top of Connor’s finger, causing him to activate the hook.

The power arced, and the hook jerked Connor into the air. The top of the hook ground into the winch, and the chain caught, wrapped, and broke off, marooning him above.

Adam backed into the exposed insulation of the wall, terrified.

Ray slammed a fist against the emergency button on the wall. Klaxons wailed. Guys scrambled desperately for a way to get to their bleeding co-worker.

Connor was awake again and screaming.

Then Ray began to scream, too, but his scream was more of an animal-like howl — a releasing of years of pent-up anger, rage, and frustration.

The foreman stumbled out of the office and immediately ran to a side phone to call for help.

After a minute, Ray was quiet, and he stared up at Connor’s wriggling body raining blood. He was surprised how much there was of it. But he knew it would clean up. They had plenty of bleeders on the floor before.

***

It was night when Adam walked in the front door. He said hello to Mr. and Mrs. Schuler as he passed through their living room. He rented the room upstairs. They were sweet and old and clueless to all the things that went on in the house. They were almost deaf and kept the TV volume blaring. It was up now, tuned to ‘Wheel of Fortune’. The volume was fine by Adam. He really didn’t want to tell them about the day he had. About Connor — Ray — the blood — the fire rescue and ambulance — the police inquiry. He just wanted to get to his room. He had a blunt stashed under the bed, and it was going to help him start a pain-free night.

As he maneuvered up the stairs one leg at a time, relying on the railing for support, he thought about Ray and what he had seen. He had avoided him the rest of the day. Especially after it was Adam’s turn to sit with the investigators.

Adam limped through the doorway to his room and was thinking what he would say to Ray when they met next. The door suddenly slammed closed behind him, and an arm caught around his throat in a chokehold. Another powerful arm encircled his waist and pulled him flush against his attacker’s body. He felt the attacker’s firm manhood against his backside. Adam’s hands flailed as his airway was cut off and his vision began to cloud. His attacker sniffed him and kissed his cheek. That was when Adam knew it was Ray. But Adam was already passing out…

***

…when the boy’s eyes fluttered open, he saw the ceiling above his bed. He could hear ‘America’s Got Talent’ on the TV downstairs. A train sounded in the distance, its mournful wail stealing through the open window. Adam couldn’t speak nor move. He looked down at his body.

The boy had been stripped to his white ribbed tank top and skinny briefs.

Thick white rope was wrapped around his ankles (one scarred, one smooth) and cinched in the middle and tied-off to create secure rope-cuffs. The same wrap-and-cinch technique was present below and above his knees (one scarred, one smooth). Mid-thighs, too. His wrists were rope-cuffed together and tied in front of him at his midsection with loops of rope lacing in and out of the wrists and wrapping tightly around his waist. His upper arms were cinched just under the armpits, and more white rope wrapped under his well-defined pecs, pulling his arms snugly to their sides. He tried to speak, but his mouth was stuffed with some type of thick cloth, and a long athletic sock, knotted in the middle, was tied between his teeth to keep the packing in.

Adam bucked and thrashed on the bed, and a shot of pain exploded down his leg. He suddenly became scared of rolling and falling to the floor and injuring himself further. He began to settle.

A shadow moved from the corner of the room and came closer.

Ray sat on the bed and leaned over Adam. He gave a long look up and down his helpless body. His poor captured, damaged swimmer boy — a fantasy now bound and broken. His hands went out, and Adam flinched. The hands felt the boy’s defined chest and attentive nipples through the ribbed cotton undershirt. He felt the small waist under the shirt and firm ass beneath the briefs, all tied up and at his mercy. In a moment of total abandon, Ray hugged his bound object of affection. He squeezed and squeezed until Adam gave a cry of pain from behind the gag.

“Mmmmmmppppppppppphf!”

Ray let the boy drop back to the bed top. Adam winced.

Ray dug behind Adam’s head and released the sock, helping him to spit out the mouth packing.

“I didn't tell the police anything,” Adam said urgently. “I said Connor pushed the button. That is the truth. And since Connor’s in a coma and can’t —”

Ray placed a wide hand over Adam’s mouth, silencing him. With his other hand, he played with Adam’s cock. It pulsed and retreated at his touch.

“Do you like this?” he asked.

Adam shook his head.

“Do you like when I do this to you?”

Adam shook his head again, slightly.

“Do you…like me?”

Adam was still. There was a distant spark of terror behind his eyes. That was all the response Ray needed.

“That guy, Brian, gets you drugs? And you two are —?”

Adam slowly nodded.

Ray didn't want to know more. He stuffed the underwear packing back in Adam’s mouth. The boy protested, trying to change his answers, trying to save himself, but it was too late. Ray strapped the sock gag back in place, opened the window higher, then hoisted the squirming boy over his shoulder, climbed out the window, and started down the tree next to the house.

***

The man known as Brian was gagged with duct tape and expertly rope-tied to a stack of crates serving as a makeshift chair.
The crates were iced solid to the steel floor.
The boy who was Adam was suspended with his hands tied above his head, his feet spread apart by a metal bar. He shivered in the cold.
The two were positioned across from each other — so they could observe themselves the entire journey.
Carcasses of meat hung from hooks to the sides of the refrigerator car.
The two bound men were furiously squirming and mmmppphhhing behind their gags.
But they wouldn’t be heard. They wouldn’t be freed. And they wouldn’t be found.
Not for another two thousand miles.
At least according to the railroad manifest.
By then, it would be all over.

Ray took a final look back in the railroad car at the boy called Adam who had been his friend. Then he slid the door closed and engaged the padlock.

This is the way to handle the problem, he thought.
Put it on ice.
Close off the asshole Brian.
One less addict and pusher in the world.
One less mouth to tell the story.
It was the right thing to do.

So why did it hurt him so much?

***

A couple of miles down the road, Ray stopped Brian’s pickup at the crossing. The gate was down and the lights flashed as the train rolled through. Ray noticed that the truck lurched when it slipped into park. He’d have to get that looked at.

Ray got out and stood at the crossing at the exact moment the refrigerator cars came by.
He saw the car with the orange spray marking on its side.
He thought about jumping the gate and breaking the lock and rescuing Adam.
Then he would like him.
Then he would owe him.
But how long would that last?
And could he really trust Adam to stay forever like he had wanted him too?
Soon enough, the hurt came again.

So he closed his eyes and began to hum Beethoven.

He began to hum “Ode to Joy.”

******

The Janitor stopped humming and opened his eyes. He looked around the room.

The blonde boy named Jared was still naked, gagged silent, feet stretched by a bar, tied wrists above him and chain-suspended from a hoist above.
The dark-haired one called Kyle was bound and gagged to a chair, blinking up.
They were tied and facing each other across the room.
The Janitor stood in the middle, in his bedroom, in the boiler room, below the old plant.
And he was just about to…

…oh, yes. Now he remembered.

“Sorry boys,” he finally spoke with a smirk. “Went on a little trip.”

The Janitor crossed to Kyle, licked a finger, and wiped dried blood from the swimmer’s olive-skinned forehead.

“Glad you made it back, stud,” he said, ruffling his curly hair. “You had me worried.”

The Janitor crossed over to the cassette piles and dug around.

Jared and Kyle locked eyes. There was apology in their shared expressions — care, concern — and love.

The Janitor selected a cassette, put it into the jam box, and pushed “play.” He turned, a devilish gleam in his eyes.

“What say we get down to business?”

Hip-hop music began to fill the room.



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Post by Deleted User 3263 »

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UNSCHEDULED PRACTICE Pt 7


The tape jammed in the player.

The blasting bass, the auto-tuned artist, the swelling synthesizer sounds. All of it crashed and burned.

Well, broke, really.

A few impatient “Stop” and “Play” button-pushes by the boom box’s owner caused loose tape to wrap around the playback head, so when the spindles whirred again, excess tape began to spit out the front. The result: the entire jam box ended up being smashed violently against a concrete wall. Plastic shards, speaker hulls, metal springs, and a dozen D-cell batteries bounced and rained about.

No more Carpenters.
No more Beethoven.
No more Anne Murray or Simon and Garfunkel.
Bye bye, “Miss American Pie.”
Now just the “Sound of Silence.”

The Janitor raged silently for a minute more. Then he carefully collected the remnants of the destroyed player, stacked broken pieces on the table where a complete boom box once sat, and put the moment behind him. He had other things to do. He would just have to do them without a soundtrack.

Under a pile of rotting blankets, he located a collapsible army cot. It was set-up quickly in the middle of the room. Just as quickly, Jared was lowered from the hoist and laid out, stomach down, on the cot. His hands were momentarily freed from imprisonment in front of him, only to be ensnared with the same dingy rope behind his back. He didn’t resist. His arms were throbbing. They were jello. The excess rope was laced under the cot and tied back around to his wrists, securing the young swimmer’s hands to his lower back. His ankles were unchained from the spreader bar, then lashed to the corners of the cot. Rope passed under the boy’s arms, bound up his elbows, and wrapped under/over the cot several times, snugly securing his upper body to the canvas. The foul underwear remained packed deep in his mouth. The dirty sock was retied, much tighter this time, out of cruelty.

The Janitor stood back and watched the young swimmer test his new bonds. The cot swayed. Metal legs clicked on cement. The boy was helplessly incapacitated, exposed, ready.

“Now it’s too hot in here,” the Janitor grinned.

His hands roamed over Jared’s smooth body, exploring the contours of his back and rear-end, the muscles of his powerful legs pulsing and straining against the rope. Jared grunted in protest. Despite the unwanted invasion, he felt his own dick growing tumescent, a fact that embarrassed him even greater than being naked before this strange man — and in front of Kyle. But he couldn’t help himself.

The Janitor dug his hand into the front of his overalls. He began to pleasure himself as his other hand dragged thick fingers through the boy’s blonde hair, traced down the supple neck and shoulders, caressed the quivering, bound biceps, outlined the firm curve of that tight ass, and dared to probe the dark region between the swimmer’s legs. Clumsy fingers grazed light blonde hair at the rim of Jared’s asshole. Jared closed his eyes and clenched tight.

Kyle yelled. Though he was effectively gagged, his scream was clearly understood.

“STOP!!!”

And stop, the Janitor did.

“Someone’s jealous,” he laughed, moving away from the boy on the cot. “Don’t worry, stud. You get to play soon enough.”

The Janitor took up the cell phone and shot some video of Jared tied to the cot. The boy tried to turn away, but it just made a bigger target for the photographer who laughed his putrid laugh, shoved the phone deep into Jared’s frightened face, and refused to stop recording.

Finally having his fill, the Janitor set the phone aside and released the gag silencing Kyle.

“Why the video?” Kyle asked, voice dry and ragged. “Who’s making you do this?”

“You don’t need to know some things,” was the response.

“I’d like to know why you brought us here,” Kyle persisted. “Why target us?”

Jared grew warmer, proud of Kyle. Proud to hear the confrontation in his voice. But he knew it was wasted on a guy as unhinged as Ray.

“I’m here to help,” the Janitor said. “Blondie did a piss-poor job of it last night. Could stand a little practice.”

The Janitor dragged Kyle’s chair close to the cot. Jared found himself staring at the crotch on Kyle’s speedo — which was now located directly in front of him. The expectation of what came next was abundantly clear.

“Fuck you, you sick, twisted — mmmmmnphf — ”

The Janitor hand-gagged Kyle and reached into the front of his speedo. He was disappointed at his discovery.

“I get him all trussed up for you, and this is the thanks?” he blurted, beginning to stroke Kyle. “Look at him tied like that. That pert little ass. Those puffy lips wrapped around that gag — that spiky blonde hair — those pleading eyes. ‘Don’t.’ ‘Don’t!’ ‘Don’t!!!’”

Kyle looked apologetically at Jared. The boy nodded. It would be all right. Kyle closed his eyes. After a moment or two, the Janitor crowed.

“That’s more like it!” He let go of Kyle. “You keep building on that, super star. I’ll get us ready for showtime.”

He undid the sock from Jared’s mouth and fished out the dripping underwear. The boy coughed and swallowed to start the flow of fresh saliva. He hoped it might wash away the sour taste filling his mouth. He was wrong. Some tastes go on forever. The Janitor propped the phone against the broken jam box on the table and aimed the camera.

“Please…please, Ray,” Jared started. “Don’t…uhm…I mean, we don’t have to do this.”

The Janitor reached and slapped Jared’s face.

“Stop that!” Kyle yelled.

The Janitor ignored the outburst.

“How else you gonna get better, boy?!?” he bellowed to Jared. “Buck up and listen to your coach. I’m your coach! Well, me and curly over there.”

The Janitor started the record function on the phone, yanked down the front of Kyle’s speedo, and pulled him out fully. He pushed the chair closer to the cot. Closer to Jared’s mouth. He slung an arm around Kyle from the back, putting him in a chokehold, and pushed him forward, aiming him.

“Tell him how you like it, stud,” he encouraged, a distinct threat in his tone. “Tell the swimmer boy exactly what to do…”


*****


“It’s blackmail,” Kyle said after everything was finished. “Someone’s trying to mess with us.
Keep us from doing something, maybe?”

“You’re about to find out,” the Janitor said, fumbling and typing on the phone. Goddamned auto correct. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about proper spelling. He could care fuck-all about the minefield of red underlines on the screen. He just had to get the information out. The video had to get sent. No video, no money.

“How much are you getting paid?” Kyle asked. “You can’t be doing this for the enjoyment.”

“You telling me you didn’t enjoy what just happened?” the Janitor smiled. He raised the phone. “I got proof says otherwise…”

“Please don’t send that,” Jared pleaded from the cot. “Please, leave us alone.”

The Janitor grabbed Jared by the hair and yanked his head up. The boy cried out.

“If you want more mouth-stuffing, twinkie, keep up that squawking!”

The Janitor turned back to the phone, growing increasingly frustrated.

“Why won’t you send, you son of a bitch?” he screamed at the device. “Send!”

“No signal down here,” Kyle offered cooly. “Better reception upstairs.”

Jared shot a quick look to Kyle. Why help him? The Janitor blinked at them both, then cracked a wry, sideways yellow grin. He started toward the stairs.

“If you send that, you’ll never know,” Kyle threw out as the man hit the doorway. The Janitor stopped, turned. After a long beat, he spoke.

“Never know what?” But Kyle was silent. The Janitor pounded over to him, grabbed his neck, squeezed. “Never. Know. What?”

“The deal you could lose,” Kyle finally said. The Janitor released his grip. It was Kyle’s turn to smile, now. “There’s a new offer on the table...”


*****


The dive was executed perfectly. He’d never done it better. The natatorium crackled and reverberated with spontaneous applause from his teammates. It felt good to have their support.

When Jared was at the benches and toweling off, he saw his name light-up the scoreboard: Hutchinson, J. He was second on the roster. Behind Tynan, Kyle, of course.

The trials were over. Both boys had done well.


*****


In the lockers after, the other guys put on streetwear, still buzzing about the latest controversy.

Did he cave under pressure? Did he freak-out? What happened? It wasn’t like that hard-ass to flake. One said he must be too good for the team. One called him a “privileged bastard.” Another said he finally had fun at the trials. All because Russo hadn’t shown up.

The team funneled out of the lockers in a flurry of gossip, leaving Kyle and Jared in their wake.

Kyle was already changed. Jared was just pulling on his chinos when he was pushed against a nearby locker. He felt Kyle’s breath on his neck. He felt his body press against his. The taller swimmer encased Jared’s wrist with his wide hand, swallowing the leather bracelet Jared now wore. Kyle pulled Jared’s hand behind his back and held it there.

“Gotcha, blondie,” he whispered in the boy’s ear. Jared exhaled a quick laugh. But he closed his eyes and gasped as Kyle began to kiss his neck. “We weren’t supposed to be here,” Kyle started.
“That was his plan.”

“But there’s no video anymore,” Jared replied. “Deleted.”

“Too bad,” Kyle went on. “Now we can’t relive it.”

“There’s always room for more practice,” the young swimmer responded.

Jared turned, and Kyle positioned Jared’s hands above his head, wrists crossed, held tight together. Jared exhaled at the overwhelming feeling of being controlled. He liked feeling this way with Kyle. He smiled. Kyle leaned in. Jared’s brow furrowed, and he stopped. “What?”

“Did we do the right thing? I mean, at least we’re not him, but… And all that money…”

“The only thing Russo and I have in common,” Kyle said. “Don’t think about it again. Just keep looking in my eyes.”

Jared smiled.

And then they kissed. It was the longest, most passionate kiss of their young lives. One for the ages, folks.


*****


A voice called out in the dark.

“Hey, asshole! Get down here and let me out of this thing! My nuts are freezing!”

The kid had been stripped to nothing but his speedo. His wrists were locked in manacles,
spread above his head, and chained to hang points in the ceiling. His legs were stretched by a bar, ankles cuffed to each end. He was struggling and making so much chain-clinking sound, he didn’t even realize someone was already there in the room with him. When the flame on the boiler ignited, the dancing light revealed the shadow of his hulking kidnapper standing before him.

“Fuck!” the kid said, jumping. “Ray, what’re you doing? Unlock these cuffs — let me out.”

The shadow dropped a large bulky item on the table. It landed with a thud. He dug out a packet of smokes from his overalls and pulled a cigarette to his chapped lips. A lighter flared, kindling the business end. He took a long drag and blew smoke toward the chained-up captive. The kid coughed.

“We had a deal, buddy. Remember? We had a plan!”

The shadow continued to smoke while he rummaged through a torn box overflowing with dirty clothes.

“I can get you that money. Get me the videos — I’ll pay you in full. That’s the agreement. Hey, listen to me, you fucking nut job! You understand what I’m saying to you? Hey, you! What happened to our agreement, you psychotic bastard?!?”

The shadow strode quickly over. He gripped the back of the kid’s head and spoke, cigarette dancing on his lips, curled in a yellow snarl.

“You got outbid,” he hissed. “And I’m not a psycho. I’m a professional. And you — you're nothing but a Monday.”

“Monday?” the kid asked, a growing sarcasm in his voice. “What the fuck’s a Monday?”

With his other hand, the shadow lifted a ripped and stained pair of underwear in front of the kid’s eyes.

“A Monday’s a Monday.”

With a quick, violent motion, the shadow shoved the underwear into the kid’s mouth, filling it up. He coughed and fought but was unable to prevent the invasion. His cheeks puffed out. The shadow grabbed-up a roll of duct tape and plastered an end over the kid’s lips. He proceeded to wrap the tape around the kid’s head about a dozen times. He ripped off an end and stepped back to observe his work.

Damon Russo was chained, spread-eagled, tape-gagged silent, and about to finally be shown his place.

The shadow pushed a button on the bulky box on the table. A drawer slid open. He took a CD from his overalls pocket, blew dust from the disc, and inserted it into the tray. He pushed “Play,” and the disc retracted. The boom box blasted music. Thumping bass. Auto-tuned lyrics.
Synthesizer strings.

Hip hop.

The Janitor took a long drag from his cigarette. The end burned red and hot. He aimed it at Damon’s chest.

Then he got to work.
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DeeperThanRed
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Post by DeeperThanRed »

Great ending to a great story. So glad you finished this.

Jared and Kyle getting together is lovely and the Janitor is still out. Not to mention Damon's poetic end.

Kudos.
College dude. Likes cute guys, underwear, and bondage, preferably together.

You can reach my list of written work here: viewtopic.php?p=38808#p38808
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