An Epic Bondage Paintball Weekend (M+/M+) (CH 4 up!) w pictures
Posted: Sat Mar 30, 2019 1:34 am
03/30/19 update: Two chapters now up and all characters are introduced along with their photos!
[mention]bondagefreak[/mention] [mention]boundsub[/mention] [mention]boygagged[/mention] [mention]Canuck100[/mention] [mention]chloroboy[/mention] [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention] [mention]Exelsia[/mention] [mention]gaggedup[/mention] [mention]GoBucks[/mention] [mention]mikeybound[/mention] [mention]Scottstud94[/mention] [mention]sniffingyoursocks[/mention] [mention]socjuc[/mention] [mention]Tsuhaya[/mention]
An Epic Bondage Paintball Weekend
Description: A group of young men – nine against nine – compete in weekend long paintball game in the woods where enemies are taken prisoner and “interrogated” with plenty of bondage as well as humiliation ranging from smell torture, physical duress, and even homoerotic acts meant to break them. Almost anything goes!
Characters: To help track the players – since there are eighteen of them – you will see bolded all caps for their NAME when they’re first introduced. A picture insert also appears when they are first described.
Keywords:
Gay interest innocent bondage games encounters roleplay stories bound and gagged sweaty socks smelly underwear and jockstraps forced nudity embarrassment humiliate embarrass humiliated shame abused gear fetish powerplays fighting hazing hazed teasing blindfolded sensory deprivation limits tested smell torture wrestling kinky boys bros jocks military twinks straight dudes guys broey skaters punks bullies rednecks young men legal teenagers male hero fantasy erotic fiction story relationships best friends kissing sock gags light bdsm domination helpless body worship escape challenges hogtied chair tied spread eagle farting spitting simulated rape fondling fondled molesting tickling licking armpits boners erections edging horny sensual foreplay feet foot fetish sneakers shoe fetish sports uniforms outdoors body odor nut shave submission masters and slaves mild torture nipple torment sex tied up tie down with rope and duct taped prisoners captives kidnapping hostages
CHAPTER ONE:
A startling rat-a-tat tat sound of constant gunfire echoed amongst the trees for a few seconds immediately followed by five impact noises. Pop! Pop! Pop pop pop! ETHAN looked down at himself and saw red splatters all over his combat uniform. He’d been hit!
“Fuck!” Ethan exclaimed, removing his protective mask as he brushed the sweaty from his face and buzz cut dark brown hair. He realized he’d been shot multiple times with paintball pellets. He got tagged!
MALACHI, STEVE-O, and BILLY emerged from their hiding point in the woods, wielding their paintball guns over their shoulders, with satisfaction on their faces as they approached their capture. They were members of Team Red-Neck, a group of local older kids – late teens and twenty-somethings – from around the rural community.
Ethan was a player from Team Blue-Dawg, comprised of young soldiers like himself stationed at a nearby marine base.
It was, quite literally, a game of rednecks versus leathernecks!
“We lit ‘em up real nice!” Billy boasted as he and the others took off their sweaty masks, admiring the well-placed splashes of paint all over Ethan’s chest.
“Yea, real skillz, fellas,” Ethan smirked sarcastically “Three against one with incessant fire.”
“Life ain’t fair is it?” Billy teased with his southern drawl.
Billy had several short coils of white, cotton rope fastened to a carabiner at the side of his waist. He produced one of the pieces of rope and ordered Ethan to “turn around.”
“Oh, come on!” Ethan bitched knowing they were going to restrain him.
Ethan wasn’t too happy being taken prisoner. The boyish faced young man was on the smaller side, but inside he was a confident, slightly standoffish personality. A proud private first class marine ready to jump into manhood.
Ethan’s captors ignored his dissent as Malachi and Steve-O spun him around so Billy could tie Ethan’s hands behind his back.
This was “POW” style paintball where tagged players became prisoners instead of being immediately eliminated. They’d have to survive two hours of captivity under various duress. One of the rules, however, required restraining prisoners only with pre-sanctioned rope so there was an opportunity of escape that things like handcuffs wouldn’t afford. If during captivity, they managed to get free, they were allowed to re-enter the game field before their two-hour detention was up. The challenge was to be as effective as possible when tying up a war hostage.
Therefore, his hands were being tied up nice and tight! There was no room for any namby-pamby symbolic bondage in this game!
Steve-O took off Ethan’s wide elastic, Velcro armband, blue for his team color, and used it to blindfold him. This helped identify him as a captured player so they could remove him from the active playing field in safety.
Billy finished up binding Ethan’s hands. “Tagged and tied!” Steve-O hollered, high-fiving Billy. “You know it!” Billy returned.
Billy and Steve-O looked and talked like classic redneck boys. They were skinny but muscle toned from a lifestyle of working with their hands in blue collar jobs.
“Dude! Hurts!” Ethan yelled, complaining about the rope around his wrists.
Billy, wearing black, protective gloves, cupped his hand over Ethan’s mouth. “Shut up or we’ll gag you for the walk back!” he warned him.
Ethan’s lips were sealed by the warm, moist neoprene material of Billy’s glove. He was quickly silenced. He decided to settle down, and nodded in compliance.
“Get him back to base, I’ll go solo from here,” Billy instructed his teammates, releasing his hold on Ethan as he began to dash off to the east.
Malachi and Steve-O nodded. As they marched their bound captive west through the wooded area, they hustled. They walkie talkie to camp during their sprint. “Base camp, this is Mac and Steve-O, we caught a fish and bringing it back to fry up!”
“Copy that. Yeeha!!” a voice responded over the scratchy radio signal.
Team camps also served as prison for captured enemies. Ethan knew that’s where he’d be interrogated. He heard the stories about what went on there!
This was a beautiful summer day in a remote, heavily wooded landscape, dense with healthy trees, bushes, and slopping hills. It was a private property owned by the family of one of the Team Redneck players. It had tons of acres and privacy, perfect for this style of scenario paintball, also known as woodsball.
It was, however, hot and muggy so Malachi removed his chest and elbow pads and his camo patterned t-shirt during the jog back. He was unafraid to be shirtless. After all, they were granted “transport mode” status for the next ten minutes which meant they were allowed to move a prisoner to base without fear of being attacked by paintball pellets.
“Still can’t grow any chest hair, huh skinny?” Steve-O ribbed his friend.
Malachi was around most of their ages, early twenties, but his slender, smooth build, and boyish face with blonde hair made him appear younger, like a white trash version of Justin Bieber. His buddies hazed him all the time for all kinds of things but he took it in stride.
They came across two of Ethan’s teammates and fellow marine privates, NATE and JENSEN, during the journey. At first the soldiers raised their weapons but stood down when they saw it was a prisoner transport situation. In fact, both pairs from these opposing teams took a mutually agreed timeout so they could have a casual chat.
“Congrats, fellas!” Nate said. “Don’t go too easy on our bud,” Jensen laughed, looking at his teammate Ethan tied and blindfolded, flanked by Malachi and Steve-O. Jensen reached out and playfully pinched one of Ethan’s earlobes.
“Thanks,” Malachi responded to Nate. “And don’t worry. We haze the shit out of our detainees,” Steve-O said, responding to Jensen.
When Ethan knew fellow teammates were there, he was a little embarrassed, especially with Jensen being one of them.
Like Ethan, Jensen was a smaller dude but much cockier. He was one of those broey, bragging types who could be a troublemaker. A former star high school wrestler, Jensen had a nice physique. And though he had kind of a mutt face, he had deep dimples when he smiled or grinned that made him attractive.
“Sharp markers, bro!” Nate remarked referring to Malachi and Steve-O’s paintball guns.
“Tippmann Alpha Black Elite,” Steve-O said showing his weapon.
“Spyder MR100,” Malachi said about his.
“You guys are real ballers,” Nate said.
“Yea, a bunch of us do Mil-Sim matches too,” Malachi said. “But with airsoft guns. Not these paintball rifles.”
“Shit! For real? Respect!” Jensen flattered.
“Yup,” Steve-O proudly beamed.
Indeed, Steve-O and Malachi as well as most members of Team Red-Neck were hardcore nerds for military simulation play, which was a more realistic based form of war roleplay where advanced elements like interrogation tactics were used. Between MilSim and hunting, they were in some ways more skilled than the soldiers they were fighting in this game. The marines nonetheless tended to discount those guys as just local white trash. Real quick, however, the young marines would learn the local boys took paintball seriously and incorporated unique “interrogation” methods of their own that involved stress and humiliation.
Ethan didn’t want to stand there, tied up and blindfolded, having to endure more of this banter. He was so pissed to be in that submissive role. He chimed in with a cocky comment to insult his captors in front of his teammates. “Well, we shoot with real rifles and real ammo,” he bragged.
Ethan quickly discovered a prisoner talking smack was a mistake in this intensive game.
“Shut him up!” Steve-O nodded at Malachi.
Malachi took his sweaty shirt and tied it around Ethan’s mouth to gag him. Unfortunate for him, one of the armpit parts of the shirt landed squarely between Ethan’s lips and sunk into his mouth. He could taste the salty, smelly sweat on his tongue.
“Mph!” Ethan grunted, demonstrating his displeasure from the foul odor. He shook his head and the shirt fall off. It wasn’t an ideal gag because it wasn’t long enough to knot that well. Thank god for him!
Nate leaned in and caught the dirty shirt.
“Thanks. It kind of stinks, I know,” Malachi shyly smiled at Nate as he took his t-shirt. Nate smiled back with a head gesture as if to say “no worries.”
Meanwhile, Jensen was ready with a little prank to help his opponents solve their problem of silencing Ethan. He put his finger to his lips to indicate “Shh!” and unlaced one of his combat boots.
Jensen peeled off a long, black sock from his foot. He stretched the dirty sock out between his hands. It was nice and sweaty. He approached Ethan, unaware of what was coming since he was blindfolded.
“Hey! Mhhh!” Ethan gasped as he felt the smelly sock going between his teeth and being knotted tightly behind his head.
“Sock USMC approved and ready for service!” Jensen laughed.
“Grrrr! Phhfucker!” Ethan grumbled, shaking his head and swirling around his mouth and jaw trying to reject the sock gag.
“What’s a matter? Can’t take even a sock? You’re SOOO gonna break down under interrogation!” Jensen teased Ethan as he sarcastically patted him on the cheek.
It was so damn humiliating for Ethan to get subjected to that treatment. He hated it!
Malachi and Nate, meanwhile, were more preoccupied with looking each other over.
“So, where’s the rest of your gear?” Malachi asked Nate curiously.
Nate was indeed someone who stood out. While he was in combat boots, and camo BDU pants, his upper body was scantily protected. He wore only a tight, sleeveless green Under Armour compression shirt. It highlighted his physique well. Nate was undeniably a gorgeous blue eyed looking young man. He looked like the idealistic All American with his blonde crew cut hair, high cheekbones, and square jaw. Like a young Channing Tatum.
“Too fucking hot and uncomfortable.” Nate explained. “Sweatin’ balls out here.”
“And, yea, I kinda stink too,” he added looking at Malachi with a warm grin and softer tone.
“Sides’, Paintballs are nothing. I can take it!” Nate snapped back into a more elevated braggadocio tone. He was one of the youngest corporals in the marines, a testament to his strong spirit.
“Yea, you’re a tough one, huh stud?” Steve-O asked with a smirk. “We’ll have to remember that, pretty boy, ha hah.”
They all realized it was late afternoon and the sun was getting low from the west, shooting narrow rays of amber light through the tree foliage. Day one of this epic, two-day paintball excursion was almost over.
The two pairs of warriors wrapped up the banter so they could go their separate ways. Nate and Jensen ruffled Ethan’s sweaty hair and said their goodbyes. “Hang tough, bro! Don’t surrender!” Nate encouraged. “Enjoy my sock!” Jensen laughed. Right before they fled, Nate and Malachi would exchange a last glance of fascination at one another. They both hoped to meet again.
Malachi and Steve-O resumed their fast march through the forest forcing their bound and blindfolded prisoner to keep up with their pace. Ethan groveled degradingly into his dirty sockgag.
--
ELSEWHERE IN THE WOODED BATTLEFIELD…
An intense firefight was afoot. POOTER, a member of Team Blue-Dawg, was engaged with two enemies, PIKE and TOMMY, from Team Red-Neck.
Pike and Tommy were using a leap frog tactic to gain dominance in the battle. They moved around in alternative shifts. While one charged towards Pooter, the other provided cover fire, and vice-versa.
Pooter, however, was an adrenaline junky and loving the one against two challenge. He was running and gunning, openly firing as he sprinted from cover to cover, hiding behind trees.
A few minutes later, during a run and gun, one of his bullets caught Tommy right in the chest. Tagged, Tommy was out. Now it was one on one.
Pike wasn’t fazed. He was every bit the alpha male Pooter was, and kept charging him, openly firing on him now in a similar run and gun tactic.
Pooter boldly ran towards Pike and squeezed the trigger to unleash a spray of pellets on him. Nothing was coming out! “Shit!” he cursed realizing he was out of ammo. He reversed course and ran away and attempted to get another pod of paintball pellets from his harness vest as he fled. Pike was in close pursuit.
Pooter got trapped into particularly difficult area to maneuver. Suddenly, he was trapped and still, “Damnit,” not reloaded.
Pike, seeing his enemy was pinched, stopped his running and now casually strutted over to Pooter. He wanted to relish this moment and toy with Pike.
“Uh, oh! Soldier boy cornered!” Pike said with a laugh.
Pike was your stereotypical country boy in appearance, demeanor, and lifestyle with an Abercrombie and Fitch like attractiveness. He was broad shouldered, had a swagger, and a masculine drawl. He was a stud. At 26, he was the oldest of the bunch, which made him think he was king of the hill. Pike was loaded with arrogance.
“So, where do you want it? In the nuts? Or eat paint? Choose,” he offered, the latter referring to getting shot in the face mask. “Or you gonna turn around like a little bitch and cower away?” he said raising his weapon.
Pooter laughed back and gave him the finger with both hands. He grabbed himself in the crotch briefly with a tug, went back to standing tall and remained like that, not turning away.
Pooter was much like Pike; also one of the older boys, every bit the alpha male, and a smart alect. He was a broey type and classically handsome, a Midwest Nebraska boy and clean cut.
“Ok. The nuts it is!” Pike announced, raising his assault rifle and aiming at Pooter’s crotch. “I hope you’re not goin’ commando and got a cup down there!”
As Pike put his finger on the trigger, he added one more taunt.
“Afterwards… so you know. I’m gonna rope you like one of my calves at the rodeo!” he said concentrating on the trigger, keeping aim.
As he was putting the squeeze to his trigger… ZING!! POP!!
Pike was tagged at his head, shot with a pellet squarely on his mask, splattering blue paint all over the visor.
“Oorah!!” a voice in the near distance shouted with the marine battle cry.
“Oorah!” Pooter called back.
From a good distance to the north, a figure jumped from a tree perch and rushed their way. He was in a ghillie suit, a camouflage outfit.
It was KYLE, a member of Team Blue-Dawg, who made the kill. He was in a sniper’s position nearby as it turned out, fortunately for Pooter.
“Yo!!!” Pooter beamed, clasping hands with Kyle. “Sweet!”
Pike removed his paint covered mask and looked truly irritated. Tommy jogged over and joined him.
“You bitches got OWNED!” Pooter hollered to humiliate the others with annoying swag and bluster.
Tommy, nonetheless, complimented the other pair, especially Kyle, in the spirit of good sportsmanship.
“Hey, thanks, man,” Kyle said fist bumping Tommy. Pooter did too.
Pike just scowled, though.
“Woohoo!” Pooter went back to gloating loudly as he pulled out some white cotton rope. “Ok, turn around,” he told Pike and Tommy.
Pooter and Kyle began tying their prisoners’ wrists behind their back.
“Epic shot!” Tommy said turning his head back to Kyle who was busy tying up his hands. “That was like fifty yards range!”
“70,” Kyle corrected him as he put some good criss cross technique into bounding Tommy’s wrists.
Kyle was a lance corporal sniper in the marines so he had the training. He was a little nerdish but nonetheless a well fit, cornfed boy from Iowa.
“Damn!” Tommy said more impressed with Kyle.
“That’s what marines do!” Pooter boasted as he finished tying up Pike with a square knot. Then he double checked their restraint work.
As Kyle removed their captives’ red armbands, he added for Tommy, “Yea, I studied the specs of the paintball gun. Adjusted the muzzle velocity to comp for distance and impact speed. Calculated trajectory so…”
“Yea yea… enough geekin’ out! You marines think you’re hot shit,” Pike grumbled.
Kyle ignored Pike and completed blindfolding him and Tommy.
Pooter, however, said in an antagonizing tone, “Hey, bumpkin, you know you helped, right? Standing there for so long, allowed my bud to calculate and take his aim, ha hah! Thanks for that!”
Pike had an irked gesture.
As Pooter and Kyle used more rope to now bind their upper arms, above their elbows, Pooter rubbed it in further for Pike. “We dominated you!”
“Yea, not so much you though, right Rambo?” Pike mocked turning his head back at Pooter who was finishing up binding his arms, making the last cinch extra tight to piss him off. “Ugh! Your sniper boyfriend here’s the one with the skills.”
“Boyfriend? Ha hah, you got a smart mouth,” Pooter chuckled.
Tommy, standing arm to arm next to Pike, nudged him and said, “P, chill out, man.”
“Stay off my jock!” Pike yapped.
Tommy was Pike’s younger cousin. He was competitive and fearless like the rest of the bunch but more restrained, certainly more than Pike. He knew how Pike’s cocky attitude always got him into trouble. He knows, as well, Pike had a chip on his shoulder about the marines who rotated through the local base, feeling they were disrespectful.
“Your buddy can’t learn a lesson, huh?” Kyle said to Tommy as he removed the rest of the rope slack on Tommy’s arms and finished it off with a knot.
“I love it, someone cockier and even stupider than me!” Pooter laughed.
“Maybe cockier, but your dumber, jarhead!” Pike went on.
“Oh man, I’m so gonna put this one into total submission when we get back to camp,” Pooter said. Leaning into Pike’s ear from behind, he added, “I’ll make YOU my boyfriend!” Then he kissed him on the cheek.
“Fuck you fag!” Pike said.
“Yes!” Pooter delighted, hearing more trash talk. “You’re gonna be my puppy dog. I’m gonna lead you around camp on a leash and make you eat from a doggie dish!”
“Yup, homo, and kinky too!” Pike said, unphased.
“Enough out of you,” Pooter declared.
Pooter had just the thing to shut him up good. He pulled out a foamy orange Nerf ball from his backpack and stuffed it into Pike’s yap trap, pushing it deep down all the way in. Then he produced a thick roll of black gaffers tape and wrapped several layers around his Pike’s mouth. It was applied so tight it smashed in his face, slightly deforming it. The tape was used mostly for their weapons but it was as good as duct tape, if not better.
Pike didn’t’ yield his insolence and went to work loosening the tape gag by moving around his jaw. It was starting to free away from his mouth.
Pooter, countered this by grabbing a roll of VetRap bandage, normally used for treating sprains and other injuries. He wrapped the stretchy but strong adhesive bandage around Pike’s head vertically, starting under his chin, over his ears and head, and back down. He spared no expense, generously using most of the role to practically mummify most of Pike’s head which prevented him from moving his jaw. With that and the gaffers tape, it was virtually impossible to remove that gag. With the Nerf ball expanded in his mouth, it suppressed his tongue.
“Pretty. Freakin’. Awesome!” Pooter said.
Pike tried to grunt an obscenity but he was now so well gagged, barely a noise came from his person. Only the sound of his labored breaths through his nostrils was heard.
“By the way, you wondered if I was wearing protection down there?” Pooter said.
Pooter reached into his pants, shuffled around and removed a plastic athletic cup with rubber edges. He placed it over Pike’s face as you would an oxygen mask and held it there!
“Take some deep breaths! My eight-year-old football cup,” Pooter jeered. “It’s been covering my sweaty ball sack ALL day.”
Pike struggled but was held still and forced to inhale the rancid odor, taking it in through his nose. He grunted and groaned.
Tommy stood there, listening and feeling the toil of his poor friend’s grief and just said, “Sorry, Pike. Fuck.”
“Sick, Poot’! Sick!” Kyle laughed.
Pooter replaced his cup back in his pants.
It was high time to get headed back to camp. Pooter and Kyle then tied ropes around Pike and Tommy’s necks like leashes and led them back to base.
Tommy had it fairly easy, escaping the hinderance of a restrictive gag as they were briskly marched through the forest. Because the walk was more than enough exercise for Pike who struggled to breathe properly with his gag, he was now completely cooperative and putting up no more physical fights.
--
MEANWHILE AT CAMP TEAM RED-NECK…
Steve-O and Malachi arrived to their home base with their prisoner, Ethan, kept close in front being shoved forward with the butts of their guns.
The camp was nestled in a gently slopped, wide gully surrounded by heavy brush and trees. It was pretty junky but well stocked. Tents were set up and a campfire was there. A collection of other things made it appear this was a permanent setup used other times. It had a rickety wooden shed, tarps covering various pieces of furniture including a few vintage steel chairs with vinyl padding that was damaged and moldy but otherwise very sturdy.
At Steve-O’s instructions, Malachi removed Ethan’s blindfold so he could see it.
Ethan couldn’t believe his eyes. Two of his teammates, JARED and LANCE, were being held prisoner. They had been stripped down nearly naked and tied up together back to back, or more to the point bare butt to bare ass because Jared was in a jockstrap and Lance’s boxer briefs pulled down to his ankles! Their arms were raised over their heads with wrists tied by ropes that hung from an overhead branch of a tree. They were slightly suspended which forced them to stand on their tip toes to meet the ground. Otherwise they would just sway helplessly like raw beef hanging from a hook in a meat locker.
Their forced nudity and physical agitation was the least of the distress for the young soldiers.
A large dog, a German Shepard mix, was busy licking their toes and feet unmercifully! What looked like chocolate icing coated their feet and gave incentive for the animal to keep those torturous licks coming.
Any attempt to escape the dog’s harrowing tongue attacks meant moving their feet which cruelly sent them swinging off the ground.
They were in continuous jolts of laughter but their mouths had been duct taped which diminished their anguish to muffles.
The two young marines, bound together and subjected to the same fate, were very different types. Jared was a small, awkward eighteen-year-old runt newly enlisted into the marines, determined to become a man, yet looking exaserbated. Lance was a tall, handsome slightly older soldier and not an easy one to intimidate.
Ethan’s arrival finally caught their attention and they looked over at their teammate. Jared had a pitiful expression. Lance was stoic. Both, however, were dripping beads of sweat down their flesh.
The rules prohibited any form of torture that involved real or sustainable pain. Clearly there were creative ways to get around pain through discomfort or humiliation.
Ethan got genuinely nervous but was trying to bury it underneath. He could always “surrender” which meant giving a signal – snapping the fingers – and it would all stop. This mean, however, elimination from the game and, worse, shaming his teammates.
Two members of Team Red-Neck guarding the base and watching the prisoners, WEASEL and SETH, came over to greet Malachi and Steve-O and their new POW.
“Gotta say, that little one, is surprising me! I was sure he was going to break from the start!” Seth said referring to Jared, the younger and smaller framed one, as he approached.
Seth was a redhead farm boy with a slow speaking country drawl. Like so many in his group, he was a cocky, tough guy.
“Prime, fresh meat! I’d fuck him!” Weasel jested with an evil grin looking at Ethan as he also approached the arrivals.
Weasel was an interesting, intense dude. He was part redneck, part skater rat and part stoner. Weasel was tall, lanky, goofy looking jokester with a demented side that got him into lots of troube. He didn’t give a fuck about anything but having fun and was capable of doing anything.
“Let’s get ‘em prepped!” Seth said referring to Ethan.
They untied Ethan’s hands but left him cleave gagged with Jensen’s black sock and ordered him to strip to his underwear. He knew resisting was futile so Ethan dutifully took off his boots, camo fatigues, undershirt, and pads. He kept on his jock-strap and long black socks.
When he was done stripping, they quickly retied his wrists but behind his head and secured with more rope around his neck. This forced his arms to wing out, exposing his armpits, and putting Ethan into a more vulnerable position that promoted submission.
Steve-O, Malachi, Seth, and Weasel ominously surrounded Ethan and went right in to a variety of humiliating advances and forms of ridicules meant to test his will. Would he break right away?
For starters, they mocked and teased Ethan about wearing a jockstrap, just like Jared had. It was old jock from his hockey days he had since Freshman year of high school. It was well worn, dingy, and frayed around the edges of the wide waistband. “You piss in this?” they laughed noting the yellowed areas. “Trashed!” they mocked pulling at the back elastic straps and snapping them on his ass. Ethan didn’t flinch. “Look, with a cup!” as they tapped the protective cup inside the pocket over his groin. “That’ll be your drinking cup, then!” “Let’s see what he’s packin’,” Weasel said as he grabbed the waistband and pulled it out. They looked down at his crotch and checked out his dick. Even though he was nicely sized, they nonetheless teased him with insults about how tiny he was.
“Ready to surrender? You will eventually, might as well spare yourself the extra grief that will come. This ain’t nothin’,” Seth asked. “Just snap your fingers!”
Ethan was already tempted. This was only a stupid paintball game and did he really want to endure crazy pseudo homoerotic bullshit? “Fuck this!” he said to himself. From the corner of his eye, however, he saw his teammates looking over and shaking their heads as if to say “Don’t do it. Don’t give up,” even as they endured worse treatment.
TO BE CONTINUED (VERY SOON!)…
[mention]bondagefreak[/mention] [mention]boundsub[/mention] [mention]boygagged[/mention] [mention]Canuck100[/mention] [mention]chloroboy[/mention] [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention] [mention]Exelsia[/mention] [mention]gaggedup[/mention] [mention]GoBucks[/mention] [mention]mikeybound[/mention] [mention]Scottstud94[/mention] [mention]sniffingyoursocks[/mention] [mention]socjuc[/mention] [mention]Tsuhaya[/mention]
An Epic Bondage Paintball Weekend
Description: A group of young men – nine against nine – compete in weekend long paintball game in the woods where enemies are taken prisoner and “interrogated” with plenty of bondage as well as humiliation ranging from smell torture, physical duress, and even homoerotic acts meant to break them. Almost anything goes!
Characters: To help track the players – since there are eighteen of them – you will see bolded all caps for their NAME when they’re first introduced. A picture insert also appears when they are first described.
Keywords:
Gay interest innocent bondage games encounters roleplay stories bound and gagged sweaty socks smelly underwear and jockstraps forced nudity embarrassment humiliate embarrass humiliated shame abused gear fetish powerplays fighting hazing hazed teasing blindfolded sensory deprivation limits tested smell torture wrestling kinky boys bros jocks military twinks straight dudes guys broey skaters punks bullies rednecks young men legal teenagers male hero fantasy erotic fiction story relationships best friends kissing sock gags light bdsm domination helpless body worship escape challenges hogtied chair tied spread eagle farting spitting simulated rape fondling fondled molesting tickling licking armpits boners erections edging horny sensual foreplay feet foot fetish sneakers shoe fetish sports uniforms outdoors body odor nut shave submission masters and slaves mild torture nipple torment sex tied up tie down with rope and duct taped prisoners captives kidnapping hostages
CHAPTER ONE:
A startling rat-a-tat tat sound of constant gunfire echoed amongst the trees for a few seconds immediately followed by five impact noises. Pop! Pop! Pop pop pop! ETHAN looked down at himself and saw red splatters all over his combat uniform. He’d been hit!
“Fuck!” Ethan exclaimed, removing his protective mask as he brushed the sweaty from his face and buzz cut dark brown hair. He realized he’d been shot multiple times with paintball pellets. He got tagged!
MALACHI, STEVE-O, and BILLY emerged from their hiding point in the woods, wielding their paintball guns over their shoulders, with satisfaction on their faces as they approached their capture. They were members of Team Red-Neck, a group of local older kids – late teens and twenty-somethings – from around the rural community.
Ethan was a player from Team Blue-Dawg, comprised of young soldiers like himself stationed at a nearby marine base.
It was, quite literally, a game of rednecks versus leathernecks!
“We lit ‘em up real nice!” Billy boasted as he and the others took off their sweaty masks, admiring the well-placed splashes of paint all over Ethan’s chest.
“Yea, real skillz, fellas,” Ethan smirked sarcastically “Three against one with incessant fire.”
“Life ain’t fair is it?” Billy teased with his southern drawl.
Billy had several short coils of white, cotton rope fastened to a carabiner at the side of his waist. He produced one of the pieces of rope and ordered Ethan to “turn around.”
“Oh, come on!” Ethan bitched knowing they were going to restrain him.
Ethan wasn’t too happy being taken prisoner. The boyish faced young man was on the smaller side, but inside he was a confident, slightly standoffish personality. A proud private first class marine ready to jump into manhood.
Ethan’s captors ignored his dissent as Malachi and Steve-O spun him around so Billy could tie Ethan’s hands behind his back.
This was “POW” style paintball where tagged players became prisoners instead of being immediately eliminated. They’d have to survive two hours of captivity under various duress. One of the rules, however, required restraining prisoners only with pre-sanctioned rope so there was an opportunity of escape that things like handcuffs wouldn’t afford. If during captivity, they managed to get free, they were allowed to re-enter the game field before their two-hour detention was up. The challenge was to be as effective as possible when tying up a war hostage.
Therefore, his hands were being tied up nice and tight! There was no room for any namby-pamby symbolic bondage in this game!
Steve-O took off Ethan’s wide elastic, Velcro armband, blue for his team color, and used it to blindfold him. This helped identify him as a captured player so they could remove him from the active playing field in safety.
Billy finished up binding Ethan’s hands. “Tagged and tied!” Steve-O hollered, high-fiving Billy. “You know it!” Billy returned.
Billy and Steve-O looked and talked like classic redneck boys. They were skinny but muscle toned from a lifestyle of working with their hands in blue collar jobs.
“Dude! Hurts!” Ethan yelled, complaining about the rope around his wrists.
Billy, wearing black, protective gloves, cupped his hand over Ethan’s mouth. “Shut up or we’ll gag you for the walk back!” he warned him.
Ethan’s lips were sealed by the warm, moist neoprene material of Billy’s glove. He was quickly silenced. He decided to settle down, and nodded in compliance.
“Get him back to base, I’ll go solo from here,” Billy instructed his teammates, releasing his hold on Ethan as he began to dash off to the east.
Malachi and Steve-O nodded. As they marched their bound captive west through the wooded area, they hustled. They walkie talkie to camp during their sprint. “Base camp, this is Mac and Steve-O, we caught a fish and bringing it back to fry up!”
“Copy that. Yeeha!!” a voice responded over the scratchy radio signal.
Team camps also served as prison for captured enemies. Ethan knew that’s where he’d be interrogated. He heard the stories about what went on there!
This was a beautiful summer day in a remote, heavily wooded landscape, dense with healthy trees, bushes, and slopping hills. It was a private property owned by the family of one of the Team Redneck players. It had tons of acres and privacy, perfect for this style of scenario paintball, also known as woodsball.
It was, however, hot and muggy so Malachi removed his chest and elbow pads and his camo patterned t-shirt during the jog back. He was unafraid to be shirtless. After all, they were granted “transport mode” status for the next ten minutes which meant they were allowed to move a prisoner to base without fear of being attacked by paintball pellets.
“Still can’t grow any chest hair, huh skinny?” Steve-O ribbed his friend.
Malachi was around most of their ages, early twenties, but his slender, smooth build, and boyish face with blonde hair made him appear younger, like a white trash version of Justin Bieber. His buddies hazed him all the time for all kinds of things but he took it in stride.
They came across two of Ethan’s teammates and fellow marine privates, NATE and JENSEN, during the journey. At first the soldiers raised their weapons but stood down when they saw it was a prisoner transport situation. In fact, both pairs from these opposing teams took a mutually agreed timeout so they could have a casual chat.
“Congrats, fellas!” Nate said. “Don’t go too easy on our bud,” Jensen laughed, looking at his teammate Ethan tied and blindfolded, flanked by Malachi and Steve-O. Jensen reached out and playfully pinched one of Ethan’s earlobes.
“Thanks,” Malachi responded to Nate. “And don’t worry. We haze the shit out of our detainees,” Steve-O said, responding to Jensen.
When Ethan knew fellow teammates were there, he was a little embarrassed, especially with Jensen being one of them.
Like Ethan, Jensen was a smaller dude but much cockier. He was one of those broey, bragging types who could be a troublemaker. A former star high school wrestler, Jensen had a nice physique. And though he had kind of a mutt face, he had deep dimples when he smiled or grinned that made him attractive.
“Sharp markers, bro!” Nate remarked referring to Malachi and Steve-O’s paintball guns.
“Tippmann Alpha Black Elite,” Steve-O said showing his weapon.
“Spyder MR100,” Malachi said about his.
“You guys are real ballers,” Nate said.
“Yea, a bunch of us do Mil-Sim matches too,” Malachi said. “But with airsoft guns. Not these paintball rifles.”
“Shit! For real? Respect!” Jensen flattered.
“Yup,” Steve-O proudly beamed.
Indeed, Steve-O and Malachi as well as most members of Team Red-Neck were hardcore nerds for military simulation play, which was a more realistic based form of war roleplay where advanced elements like interrogation tactics were used. Between MilSim and hunting, they were in some ways more skilled than the soldiers they were fighting in this game. The marines nonetheless tended to discount those guys as just local white trash. Real quick, however, the young marines would learn the local boys took paintball seriously and incorporated unique “interrogation” methods of their own that involved stress and humiliation.
Ethan didn’t want to stand there, tied up and blindfolded, having to endure more of this banter. He was so pissed to be in that submissive role. He chimed in with a cocky comment to insult his captors in front of his teammates. “Well, we shoot with real rifles and real ammo,” he bragged.
Ethan quickly discovered a prisoner talking smack was a mistake in this intensive game.
“Shut him up!” Steve-O nodded at Malachi.
Malachi took his sweaty shirt and tied it around Ethan’s mouth to gag him. Unfortunate for him, one of the armpit parts of the shirt landed squarely between Ethan’s lips and sunk into his mouth. He could taste the salty, smelly sweat on his tongue.
“Mph!” Ethan grunted, demonstrating his displeasure from the foul odor. He shook his head and the shirt fall off. It wasn’t an ideal gag because it wasn’t long enough to knot that well. Thank god for him!
Nate leaned in and caught the dirty shirt.
“Thanks. It kind of stinks, I know,” Malachi shyly smiled at Nate as he took his t-shirt. Nate smiled back with a head gesture as if to say “no worries.”
Meanwhile, Jensen was ready with a little prank to help his opponents solve their problem of silencing Ethan. He put his finger to his lips to indicate “Shh!” and unlaced one of his combat boots.
Jensen peeled off a long, black sock from his foot. He stretched the dirty sock out between his hands. It was nice and sweaty. He approached Ethan, unaware of what was coming since he was blindfolded.
“Hey! Mhhh!” Ethan gasped as he felt the smelly sock going between his teeth and being knotted tightly behind his head.
“Sock USMC approved and ready for service!” Jensen laughed.
“Grrrr! Phhfucker!” Ethan grumbled, shaking his head and swirling around his mouth and jaw trying to reject the sock gag.
“What’s a matter? Can’t take even a sock? You’re SOOO gonna break down under interrogation!” Jensen teased Ethan as he sarcastically patted him on the cheek.
It was so damn humiliating for Ethan to get subjected to that treatment. He hated it!
Malachi and Nate, meanwhile, were more preoccupied with looking each other over.
“So, where’s the rest of your gear?” Malachi asked Nate curiously.
Nate was indeed someone who stood out. While he was in combat boots, and camo BDU pants, his upper body was scantily protected. He wore only a tight, sleeveless green Under Armour compression shirt. It highlighted his physique well. Nate was undeniably a gorgeous blue eyed looking young man. He looked like the idealistic All American with his blonde crew cut hair, high cheekbones, and square jaw. Like a young Channing Tatum.
“Too fucking hot and uncomfortable.” Nate explained. “Sweatin’ balls out here.”
“And, yea, I kinda stink too,” he added looking at Malachi with a warm grin and softer tone.
“Sides’, Paintballs are nothing. I can take it!” Nate snapped back into a more elevated braggadocio tone. He was one of the youngest corporals in the marines, a testament to his strong spirit.
“Yea, you’re a tough one, huh stud?” Steve-O asked with a smirk. “We’ll have to remember that, pretty boy, ha hah.”
They all realized it was late afternoon and the sun was getting low from the west, shooting narrow rays of amber light through the tree foliage. Day one of this epic, two-day paintball excursion was almost over.
The two pairs of warriors wrapped up the banter so they could go their separate ways. Nate and Jensen ruffled Ethan’s sweaty hair and said their goodbyes. “Hang tough, bro! Don’t surrender!” Nate encouraged. “Enjoy my sock!” Jensen laughed. Right before they fled, Nate and Malachi would exchange a last glance of fascination at one another. They both hoped to meet again.
Malachi and Steve-O resumed their fast march through the forest forcing their bound and blindfolded prisoner to keep up with their pace. Ethan groveled degradingly into his dirty sockgag.
--
ELSEWHERE IN THE WOODED BATTLEFIELD…
An intense firefight was afoot. POOTER, a member of Team Blue-Dawg, was engaged with two enemies, PIKE and TOMMY, from Team Red-Neck.
Pike and Tommy were using a leap frog tactic to gain dominance in the battle. They moved around in alternative shifts. While one charged towards Pooter, the other provided cover fire, and vice-versa.
Pooter, however, was an adrenaline junky and loving the one against two challenge. He was running and gunning, openly firing as he sprinted from cover to cover, hiding behind trees.
A few minutes later, during a run and gun, one of his bullets caught Tommy right in the chest. Tagged, Tommy was out. Now it was one on one.
Pike wasn’t fazed. He was every bit the alpha male Pooter was, and kept charging him, openly firing on him now in a similar run and gun tactic.
Pooter boldly ran towards Pike and squeezed the trigger to unleash a spray of pellets on him. Nothing was coming out! “Shit!” he cursed realizing he was out of ammo. He reversed course and ran away and attempted to get another pod of paintball pellets from his harness vest as he fled. Pike was in close pursuit.
Pooter got trapped into particularly difficult area to maneuver. Suddenly, he was trapped and still, “Damnit,” not reloaded.
Pike, seeing his enemy was pinched, stopped his running and now casually strutted over to Pooter. He wanted to relish this moment and toy with Pike.
“Uh, oh! Soldier boy cornered!” Pike said with a laugh.
Pike was your stereotypical country boy in appearance, demeanor, and lifestyle with an Abercrombie and Fitch like attractiveness. He was broad shouldered, had a swagger, and a masculine drawl. He was a stud. At 26, he was the oldest of the bunch, which made him think he was king of the hill. Pike was loaded with arrogance.
“So, where do you want it? In the nuts? Or eat paint? Choose,” he offered, the latter referring to getting shot in the face mask. “Or you gonna turn around like a little bitch and cower away?” he said raising his weapon.
Pooter laughed back and gave him the finger with both hands. He grabbed himself in the crotch briefly with a tug, went back to standing tall and remained like that, not turning away.
Pooter was much like Pike; also one of the older boys, every bit the alpha male, and a smart alect. He was a broey type and classically handsome, a Midwest Nebraska boy and clean cut.
“Ok. The nuts it is!” Pike announced, raising his assault rifle and aiming at Pooter’s crotch. “I hope you’re not goin’ commando and got a cup down there!”
As Pike put his finger on the trigger, he added one more taunt.
“Afterwards… so you know. I’m gonna rope you like one of my calves at the rodeo!” he said concentrating on the trigger, keeping aim.
As he was putting the squeeze to his trigger… ZING!! POP!!
Pike was tagged at his head, shot with a pellet squarely on his mask, splattering blue paint all over the visor.
“Oorah!!” a voice in the near distance shouted with the marine battle cry.
“Oorah!” Pooter called back.
From a good distance to the north, a figure jumped from a tree perch and rushed their way. He was in a ghillie suit, a camouflage outfit.
It was KYLE, a member of Team Blue-Dawg, who made the kill. He was in a sniper’s position nearby as it turned out, fortunately for Pooter.
“Yo!!!” Pooter beamed, clasping hands with Kyle. “Sweet!”
Pike removed his paint covered mask and looked truly irritated. Tommy jogged over and joined him.
“You bitches got OWNED!” Pooter hollered to humiliate the others with annoying swag and bluster.
Tommy, nonetheless, complimented the other pair, especially Kyle, in the spirit of good sportsmanship.
“Hey, thanks, man,” Kyle said fist bumping Tommy. Pooter did too.
Pike just scowled, though.
“Woohoo!” Pooter went back to gloating loudly as he pulled out some white cotton rope. “Ok, turn around,” he told Pike and Tommy.
Pooter and Kyle began tying their prisoners’ wrists behind their back.
“Epic shot!” Tommy said turning his head back to Kyle who was busy tying up his hands. “That was like fifty yards range!”
“70,” Kyle corrected him as he put some good criss cross technique into bounding Tommy’s wrists.
Kyle was a lance corporal sniper in the marines so he had the training. He was a little nerdish but nonetheless a well fit, cornfed boy from Iowa.
“Damn!” Tommy said more impressed with Kyle.
“That’s what marines do!” Pooter boasted as he finished tying up Pike with a square knot. Then he double checked their restraint work.
As Kyle removed their captives’ red armbands, he added for Tommy, “Yea, I studied the specs of the paintball gun. Adjusted the muzzle velocity to comp for distance and impact speed. Calculated trajectory so…”
“Yea yea… enough geekin’ out! You marines think you’re hot shit,” Pike grumbled.
Kyle ignored Pike and completed blindfolding him and Tommy.
Pooter, however, said in an antagonizing tone, “Hey, bumpkin, you know you helped, right? Standing there for so long, allowed my bud to calculate and take his aim, ha hah! Thanks for that!”
Pike had an irked gesture.
As Pooter and Kyle used more rope to now bind their upper arms, above their elbows, Pooter rubbed it in further for Pike. “We dominated you!”
“Yea, not so much you though, right Rambo?” Pike mocked turning his head back at Pooter who was finishing up binding his arms, making the last cinch extra tight to piss him off. “Ugh! Your sniper boyfriend here’s the one with the skills.”
“Boyfriend? Ha hah, you got a smart mouth,” Pooter chuckled.
Tommy, standing arm to arm next to Pike, nudged him and said, “P, chill out, man.”
“Stay off my jock!” Pike yapped.
Tommy was Pike’s younger cousin. He was competitive and fearless like the rest of the bunch but more restrained, certainly more than Pike. He knew how Pike’s cocky attitude always got him into trouble. He knows, as well, Pike had a chip on his shoulder about the marines who rotated through the local base, feeling they were disrespectful.
“Your buddy can’t learn a lesson, huh?” Kyle said to Tommy as he removed the rest of the rope slack on Tommy’s arms and finished it off with a knot.
“I love it, someone cockier and even stupider than me!” Pooter laughed.
“Maybe cockier, but your dumber, jarhead!” Pike went on.
“Oh man, I’m so gonna put this one into total submission when we get back to camp,” Pooter said. Leaning into Pike’s ear from behind, he added, “I’ll make YOU my boyfriend!” Then he kissed him on the cheek.
“Fuck you fag!” Pike said.
“Yes!” Pooter delighted, hearing more trash talk. “You’re gonna be my puppy dog. I’m gonna lead you around camp on a leash and make you eat from a doggie dish!”
“Yup, homo, and kinky too!” Pike said, unphased.
“Enough out of you,” Pooter declared.
Pooter had just the thing to shut him up good. He pulled out a foamy orange Nerf ball from his backpack and stuffed it into Pike’s yap trap, pushing it deep down all the way in. Then he produced a thick roll of black gaffers tape and wrapped several layers around his Pike’s mouth. It was applied so tight it smashed in his face, slightly deforming it. The tape was used mostly for their weapons but it was as good as duct tape, if not better.
Pike didn’t’ yield his insolence and went to work loosening the tape gag by moving around his jaw. It was starting to free away from his mouth.
Pooter, countered this by grabbing a roll of VetRap bandage, normally used for treating sprains and other injuries. He wrapped the stretchy but strong adhesive bandage around Pike’s head vertically, starting under his chin, over his ears and head, and back down. He spared no expense, generously using most of the role to practically mummify most of Pike’s head which prevented him from moving his jaw. With that and the gaffers tape, it was virtually impossible to remove that gag. With the Nerf ball expanded in his mouth, it suppressed his tongue.
“Pretty. Freakin’. Awesome!” Pooter said.
Pike tried to grunt an obscenity but he was now so well gagged, barely a noise came from his person. Only the sound of his labored breaths through his nostrils was heard.
“By the way, you wondered if I was wearing protection down there?” Pooter said.
Pooter reached into his pants, shuffled around and removed a plastic athletic cup with rubber edges. He placed it over Pike’s face as you would an oxygen mask and held it there!
“Take some deep breaths! My eight-year-old football cup,” Pooter jeered. “It’s been covering my sweaty ball sack ALL day.”
Pike struggled but was held still and forced to inhale the rancid odor, taking it in through his nose. He grunted and groaned.
Tommy stood there, listening and feeling the toil of his poor friend’s grief and just said, “Sorry, Pike. Fuck.”
“Sick, Poot’! Sick!” Kyle laughed.
Pooter replaced his cup back in his pants.
It was high time to get headed back to camp. Pooter and Kyle then tied ropes around Pike and Tommy’s necks like leashes and led them back to base.
Tommy had it fairly easy, escaping the hinderance of a restrictive gag as they were briskly marched through the forest. Because the walk was more than enough exercise for Pike who struggled to breathe properly with his gag, he was now completely cooperative and putting up no more physical fights.
--
MEANWHILE AT CAMP TEAM RED-NECK…
Steve-O and Malachi arrived to their home base with their prisoner, Ethan, kept close in front being shoved forward with the butts of their guns.
The camp was nestled in a gently slopped, wide gully surrounded by heavy brush and trees. It was pretty junky but well stocked. Tents were set up and a campfire was there. A collection of other things made it appear this was a permanent setup used other times. It had a rickety wooden shed, tarps covering various pieces of furniture including a few vintage steel chairs with vinyl padding that was damaged and moldy but otherwise very sturdy.
At Steve-O’s instructions, Malachi removed Ethan’s blindfold so he could see it.
Ethan couldn’t believe his eyes. Two of his teammates, JARED and LANCE, were being held prisoner. They had been stripped down nearly naked and tied up together back to back, or more to the point bare butt to bare ass because Jared was in a jockstrap and Lance’s boxer briefs pulled down to his ankles! Their arms were raised over their heads with wrists tied by ropes that hung from an overhead branch of a tree. They were slightly suspended which forced them to stand on their tip toes to meet the ground. Otherwise they would just sway helplessly like raw beef hanging from a hook in a meat locker.
Their forced nudity and physical agitation was the least of the distress for the young soldiers.
A large dog, a German Shepard mix, was busy licking their toes and feet unmercifully! What looked like chocolate icing coated their feet and gave incentive for the animal to keep those torturous licks coming.
Any attempt to escape the dog’s harrowing tongue attacks meant moving their feet which cruelly sent them swinging off the ground.
They were in continuous jolts of laughter but their mouths had been duct taped which diminished their anguish to muffles.
The two young marines, bound together and subjected to the same fate, were very different types. Jared was a small, awkward eighteen-year-old runt newly enlisted into the marines, determined to become a man, yet looking exaserbated. Lance was a tall, handsome slightly older soldier and not an easy one to intimidate.
Ethan’s arrival finally caught their attention and they looked over at their teammate. Jared had a pitiful expression. Lance was stoic. Both, however, were dripping beads of sweat down their flesh.
The rules prohibited any form of torture that involved real or sustainable pain. Clearly there were creative ways to get around pain through discomfort or humiliation.
Ethan got genuinely nervous but was trying to bury it underneath. He could always “surrender” which meant giving a signal – snapping the fingers – and it would all stop. This mean, however, elimination from the game and, worse, shaming his teammates.
Two members of Team Red-Neck guarding the base and watching the prisoners, WEASEL and SETH, came over to greet Malachi and Steve-O and their new POW.
“Gotta say, that little one, is surprising me! I was sure he was going to break from the start!” Seth said referring to Jared, the younger and smaller framed one, as he approached.
Seth was a redhead farm boy with a slow speaking country drawl. Like so many in his group, he was a cocky, tough guy.
“Prime, fresh meat! I’d fuck him!” Weasel jested with an evil grin looking at Ethan as he also approached the arrivals.
Weasel was an interesting, intense dude. He was part redneck, part skater rat and part stoner. Weasel was tall, lanky, goofy looking jokester with a demented side that got him into lots of troube. He didn’t give a fuck about anything but having fun and was capable of doing anything.
“Let’s get ‘em prepped!” Seth said referring to Ethan.
They untied Ethan’s hands but left him cleave gagged with Jensen’s black sock and ordered him to strip to his underwear. He knew resisting was futile so Ethan dutifully took off his boots, camo fatigues, undershirt, and pads. He kept on his jock-strap and long black socks.
When he was done stripping, they quickly retied his wrists but behind his head and secured with more rope around his neck. This forced his arms to wing out, exposing his armpits, and putting Ethan into a more vulnerable position that promoted submission.
Steve-O, Malachi, Seth, and Weasel ominously surrounded Ethan and went right in to a variety of humiliating advances and forms of ridicules meant to test his will. Would he break right away?
For starters, they mocked and teased Ethan about wearing a jockstrap, just like Jared had. It was old jock from his hockey days he had since Freshman year of high school. It was well worn, dingy, and frayed around the edges of the wide waistband. “You piss in this?” they laughed noting the yellowed areas. “Trashed!” they mocked pulling at the back elastic straps and snapping them on his ass. Ethan didn’t flinch. “Look, with a cup!” as they tapped the protective cup inside the pocket over his groin. “That’ll be your drinking cup, then!” “Let’s see what he’s packin’,” Weasel said as he grabbed the waistband and pulled it out. They looked down at his crotch and checked out his dick. Even though he was nicely sized, they nonetheless teased him with insults about how tiny he was.
“Ready to surrender? You will eventually, might as well spare yourself the extra grief that will come. This ain’t nothin’,” Seth asked. “Just snap your fingers!”
Ethan was already tempted. This was only a stupid paintball game and did he really want to endure crazy pseudo homoerotic bullshit? “Fuck this!” he said to himself. From the corner of his eye, however, he saw his teammates looking over and shaking their heads as if to say “Don’t do it. Don’t give up,” even as they endured worse treatment.
TO BE CONTINUED (VERY SOON!)…