Bound in Byzantine Bonds: A Simon DuWright Adventure (MMM/MMM) Updated with Chapter XVIII 12/31/22

Stories that have little truth to them should go here.
notreallyme06
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Post by notreallyme06 »

You've really out done yourself with this chapter. Reginald might be my favorite captive so far.
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KidnappedCowboy
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Post by KidnappedCowboy »

You've really out done yourself with this chapter. Reginald might be my favorite captive so far.
Do you mean "Reginald" or Reggie? 🤔

Thank you so much, [mention]notreallyme06[/mention]! Comments like yours inspire me to continue this tale.
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Chapter IX: Roped Reunions



Saturday Morning: A Hotel in Montreal
Simon DuWright awoke just after 5:30 Saturday morning to meditate before the round of tennis training and gym sessions that filled his calendar for the day. His roommate and partner for the tennis tournament – Hugh Warwick, the RCMP inspector from Manitoba – still lay asleep, so Simon quietly took care of his morning business in the bathroom before he assumed a lotus position by the foot of his bed. Within a few moments Simon had brought his thoughts to a peaceful plane. He focused on the physical ability and mental agility he would need to complete his mission to rescue the abducted athletes from the Brotherhood of the Black Rope and to crush that lethal league. As he neared the end of his meditative state, Simon saw Johnny in his mind’s eye smiling and holding his hand out to him only to disappear, as Simon reached out to take hold of his lover’s hand. A chill ran down Simon’s spine, but he dismissed any worries he might have for Johnny’s safety. His boyfriend was safe with his teammates in Lake Placid. Simon needed to keep faith in that, because he needed to remain incommunicado and focused on the success of his mission. Simon had no way of knowing that in just a short while from then, the Brotherhood of the Black Rope would have Johnny within its grasp once more.

“Good Morning.”

Simon opened his eyes and saw Hugh looking down at him from his bed.

“Good Morning, Hugh.”

“Do you do that every morning?

“I try to take some time during the day – morning or evening –to meditate. It’s both relaxing and energizing. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Not at all. I ought to try that. Could use some stress relief, but I’ll take it out this morning on the tennis courts.”

“Speaking of which – we should be getting ready.”

Hugh had gotten out of bed, and he made his way to the bathroom to take care of his own morning business. He soon made his way back to find Simon at the table by the window. He had pulled out some yogurt and hardboiled eggs from the small fridge in the room. There was a small selection of fruit also on the table. And Hugh smelled coffee brewing from the small percolator in the room.

“Thanks for laying this out.” Hugh said, as he sat down with Simon. Simon hadn’t bothered to put any clothes on and sat in his 2xist briefs. Hugh decided to follow suit and sat there clad only in his Jockey stretch boxer briefs. “This will energize me for our first session this morning,” Hugh said as he peeled the shell off an egg, ate half, and then soon plopped the rest in his mouth. Simon got up and poured two cups of coffee for them, took out some non-dairy creamer from the fridge, grabbed a few packets of sugar, and rejoined Hugh at the table.

“We need to be down in the lobby by 7:30 to catch a shuttle to the University Tennis Centre. According to what they told us at orientation, they’ll provide fruit, energy bars, and yogurt that we can snack on in the morning. We break for lunch at noon followed by a rest period. This afternoon we’re in the university gym with a shuttle to get back here at 5. Dinner is at 6 pm followed by some movie viewing. We have a curfew – time to be back here in the room is at 9:30 pm sharp…no exceptions!”

“We have a long, first day ahead of us – better get cracking then,” Hugh asserted. “Simon, you can hit the bathroom first to get showered and ready. I’ll clean up the breakfast stuff.”

“Thanks,” Simon said. He finished his breakfast and coffee, and he headed int the bathroom.

Hugh heard the water in the shower turn on. He quickly cleaned up after them. When he was done, he could still hear Simon in the shower. Simon’s duffel lay open on his bed. Hugh went over and cautiously looked through Simon’s belongings – not sure what he was looking for, and he did not want to disturb much in the bag to rouse Simon’s suspicion. Hugh felt sick to his stomach by what he was doing. “I’m an RCMP Inspector – God Damn It!” He thought, “This violates everything I’ve been taught. But I’ve got to get Danny back.” He soon heard the water turn off, so Hugh stepped back over to his own duffel to retrieve his dopp kit.

Simon shortly emerged from the bathroom with a towel draped around his mid-section. Hugh had noticed before, but he took a moment to admire his roommate’s physique. He appreciated what he saw of the man.

“I saved you some hot water,” Simon joked.

“Thanks, mate.” Hugh went in to the still steamed-up bathroom.

Simon took some clothes from his duffel, not appearing to notice that Hugh had just gone through it. He pulled training shorts on over a fresh pair of white, 2xist briefs. And he donned one of the “RCMP Tennis” tee shirts. He finished up with short socks and tennis shoes. He then retrieved his rucksack with the valise containing his mission’s dossier therein. After taking the key from the chain around his neck, Simon opened the rucksack to make sure the valise was still safely locked. It was then that Simon noticed, his rucksack had been opened after he closed it last…

That Same Morning: Westmount, Montreal, Quebec: The Depths Below the Estate of Michael Palaiologos

Reggie Percy noticed the guard attendants outside the cell that confined him and Danny Warwick were getting ready to enter. He and Danny remained strictly strapped to the decommissioned electric chairs next to each other. Leather bindings held each man to the legs, arms, backs, and headrest of the sturdy, wooden frames. Both were gagged under several layers of tape wound around their heads. Danny was still sadistically imprisoned further in darkness and silence with a mask plastered over his eyes and goop plugging his ears. Since Friday when their hardnosed “host” and his aide-de-camp had left them, Reggie had strained against the leather belts affixing his left arm to the chair so he could reach out with a comforting touch to the poor lad next to him. Danny had first flinched as Reggie’s arm brushed against his, thinking the perverse pokes to which he had been earlier subjected from his unknown assailant had begun anew. Reggie persisted in reaching out however, and he believed that Danny knew that this was no fiendish fondling but an encouraging embrace of sorts. Sleep had overtaken the captives at some point, yet they remained barbarously bound in those cruel chairs until Saturday morning.

When Reggie awakened earlier, he could see from the corners of his eyes that Danny still slept. From what he could see through the steel grid door of the cell Reggie noticed two other kidnapped men – identical twins so it appeared – led from their cells into the corridor. They were dressed only in jockstraps with their wrists bound behind them. Each was similarly ball-gagged, although the balls of the gags were differently colored – one blue and the other red. And each wore that calamitous choker, “The Collar.” Based upon the schedule his captors kept Reggie to, he surmised that the kidnapped twins – whose identity remained unknown to him – had already been led to relieve themselves and then fed, no doubt the same garish gruel his captors fed Reggie. He thought that the abducted brothers were now on their way to the gym below them, where they would be subjected to a forced workout. Other guard-attendants would soon arrive to take Reggie and Danny to relieve themselves and then give them that gruel for sustenance. As Danny awoke soon afterwards, Reggie once again strained against the bonds to brush against Danny’s arm. He dared to pray that their captors still had an ounce of humanity in them, and they would liberate Danny from the enforced darkness and silence in which they had interned him.

The steel-grid door to the cell slid open, and four guard-attendants entered. Two stood beside Danny Warwick, while the two others approached Reggie. One guard attached “The Collar” around Reggie’s neck. And then he and his partner began to unbuckle Reggie from the chair, starting with his legs. Once his arms were freed, his wrists were cuffed in front of him, before the guards moved to unstrap his chest and head from the electric chair. Reggie remained tape-gagged, as he was lifted from the chair. Weak from being immobilized for such a length of time, the two guard attendants stood on either side of him as he was escorted to one side of the cell, where he watched as the other two guards removed Danny’s restraints.

One guard attached “The Collar” around Danny’s neck. Reggie saw the green light brighten on “The Collar,” once the guards activated it. His stomach grew queasy at the thought of those malicious miscreants using it on Danny, who as yet was innocent to the razor-sharp sting of its “kiss.” The guards next extracted the goop from each of his ears that had deadened his hearing. Watching Danny grimace, Reggie guessed that being deaf to any sound since his kidnapping days ago would make a whisper now sound like a roar to the young man. Once they had taken out the goop from his ears, the guards un-plastered the mask from his eyes. Even in the darkened cell, it took some time for Danny to adjust to the light. His head, chest, and arms remained belted to the chair, and as he got used to sound and sight once more, Danny’s eyes darted back and forth from the black uniformed guard-attendants to Reggie bound and gagged, then stared down at the electric chair to which he was still bound, its mate next to it, the dimensions of the cell, and the corridor outside – all incomprehensibly processing what had happened to him and where he was. Danny’s eyes came to rest on Reggie. Danny realized the bound and gagged man must have been the same person who had been restrained in the chair next to him and who had helped him get through the nightmare of the last godforsaken day. Reggie returned that eye contact to continue encouraging Danny through the ordeal still to come. This connection between the two men did not go unnoticed by the guard-attendants in the cell.

One of Danny’s guard-attendants addressed him. “Listen carefully. We have a attached a devise around your neck – “The Collar.” If you attempt to disobey any orders we give you, your fellow “guest,”” the guard-attendant paused and pointed at Reggie. He went on, “this man will experience “The Collar’s” “kiss.” Nod, if you understand.”

Danny’s eyeballs turned to look to Reggie before he answered. Reggie blinked once, hoping the lad understood his affirmative. As best as he could with his head still strapped to the electric chair, Danny nodded yes – he understood.

“Good. You wouldn’t want your fellow “guest” to experience punishment for your indiscretions. We will now remove the rest of the bindings. You will be handcuffed and remain gagged. We will then take you to attend to your business and feed you. You will be brought back here afterwards to prepare you for your workout. Remember – “The Collar” has a memorable “kiss.””


The guard-attendants then removed Danny’s remaining restraints, handcuffed him, and led him and Reggie to the facilities where they could empty their bladders and move their bowels; then the two were led on to the refectory, where they received sustenance and nourishment. Danny, like Reggie had before him, experienced the humiliation of another man directing his every move down to attending to his most personal business. After the loo visit, Danny and Reggie were ungagged to allow them to eat and drink in silence. Danny could hardly contain his urge to speak and have his many questions answered – all centered upon understanding what had befallen him. With the slightest nods of his head, Reggie alerted Danny that now was not the time to speak. They ate in silence and were then escorted back to their cell. There the guard-attendants prepared them for the gym. While Danny remained handcuffed, Reggie was uncuffed to allow one guard to remove Reggie’s sleeveless tee-shirt. He was then handcuffed with manacles. The guard then pulled Reggie’s briefs down. Another guard-attendant yanked Danny’s speedo from him and replaced his handcuffs with manacles. The two men stood naked momentarily, while the two guards retrieved jockstraps and ball-gags from nearby. The men then lifted each of their feet in turn, as the athletic supporters were hoisted in place. Danny for the first time felt a guard – a stranger – adjust his rod and nuts in the pouch and then smooth the straps against his butt cheeks and around his waist. Another guard-attendant fixed Reggie in a similar fashion.

When the guard-attendants finished dressing the men in their workout wear, they were about to affix the ball-gags onto Danny and Reggie. At that moment, the Leicester Twins were being escorted back to their cells from their own forced gym session. Danny caught sight of them in the corridor, as they passed into the view in front of his open cell. Danny could not believe whom he saw, and he cried out.

“Chase…”

Chase Leicester glanced over and recognized his boyfriend, before he was quickly ushered away to his own cell. Danny thought that Chase looked horror-struck at finding him in this dungeon. A guard-attendant immediately activated “The Collar,” and Reggie fell down, writhing in pain on the floor of the cell.

“We punish disobedience straightaway, Mr. Warwick,” another guard warned Danny and wasted no further time in inflexibly ball-gagging him.

Danny looked distraught, as he saw Reggie in such pain on the floor of the cell – pain that his insubordination had authored. The guards lifted Reggie up, forced the ball-gag into his mouth and strapped it tightly around his head. As best he could, Danny attempted to telepath a plea for forgiveness to the man who had comforted him in his anguish and to whom he had now caused suffering in return. Still stinging from the shock of the “kiss” of “The Collar,” Reggie blinked once at Danny, hoping that the younger man understood it was alright. The only ones to blame were the sadistic savages who ensnared them and forced them into subjugation to the will of their master. As their hideous handlers steered them to the forced workouts, Reggie became more determined than ever to find a way to communicate with Danny to settle the younger man’s boggled mind and together to figure out a way to escape from this torment.


Later That Saturday in the Study of Michael Palaiologos Above the Subterranean Prison Underneath His Estate

Michael Palaiologos sat at the mahogany desk of his study poring over various reports and dossiers detailing the intended abduction of an entire Argentine rugby squad. The plans were ambitious – kidnapping an entire fifteen-man team required months of forethought and design. The Order would execute the project in a few months’ time, once Phase One – the current project – was complete. Agents and operatives had infiltrated the coaching and support staff of the rugby club already under the cover of the club’s own reorganization to win several shields and a championship cup in the upcoming season. The abduction would occur while the squad was on tour. Flying from one match to the next, the airplane carrying the team members and staff would simply disappear from the radar screen. The world would be led to believe the plane went down over the southern Pacific Ocean with all lives lost. In reality the airplane, or more specifically its passengers – the rugby squad – would be hijacked and spirited away to Palaiologos’ remote estate at the northern edge of Patagonia. Oh! He had such designs for those egg chasers. There were a few international players on the squad – one in particular, Palaiologos thought, had such magnificent features. His Argentine good-looks and his impressive build combined perfectly with his athletic abilities! After one match, Palaiologos watched as the man stripped off his tight shorts and stood in his sweat-drenched, white briefs at the entrance of the tunnel to the sheds to autograph the discarded shorts for a fan. It was a sight to behold! Those wet briefs clung to the man’s muscular hindquarters marvelously. He would be the centerpiece of the Second Phase of the Order’s ultimate plan of world domination…

A knock on the door of his study interrupted the Grand Prior from his reverie.

“Komm herein,” Palaiologos said in German, one of several languages he spoke fluently – and the one he used when considering world domination.

Peter deVere entered, shut the mahogany door behind him, walked across the plush Persian carpet, and stood at the front of the desk before his Master. He waited until his Master had finished reading and closed the dossiers.

“You have something to report, Brother deVere?”

“Yes, Master. This morning as guard-attendants were readying Inspector Reginald Percy and the swimmer Danny Warwick for their gym session, there was an incident involving the young Warwick with the Leicester Twins, whose attendants were returning the duplicate duo to their cell from their own workout.”

“An incident? What occurred?”

“The swimmer was ungagged, when the Leicester twins passed the open door of his cell. He recognized one of them – Chase Leicester – and called out his name. Chase Leicester turned and reacted in shock at seeing the young Warwick.”

“So – the two know each other?”

“We are certain of that, Sir”

“And what do we know of the personal life of the young Warwick?”

“Since we are using him as insurance so that his brother does our bidding, our research into his background was not as extensive as it was with our other abductees, but…” deVere hesitated.

“Yes? Go on.”

“Danny Warwick is openly gay.”

“I see. Danny Warwick is openly gay. From my examination of Chase Leicester yesterday, I discovered that he is gay too. We discovered that the two young men attended the same American university. We now know they know each other. There’s a strong likelihood that they may in fact be more than friends.”

“It would appear so, Master.”

“And if Brothers Courtenay and Clifford had been more precise in their research of the Leicester brothers, they would have discovered a possible relationship between Chase Leicester and Danny Warwick. That makes three mistakes on their part. Yes?”

“Yes, Sir. Both Courtenay and Clifford failed to discover Chase Leicester’s sexuality and the fact that Danny Warwick attended the same university as Chase and Hank Leicester attended. The incident this morning pointed to their third slip-up.”

Palaiologos thought for a while. He looked at the dossiers on his desk that he had been going over about kidnapping the Argentine rugby squad. An impish smile came slowly to his face.

“Well, it’s the sin bin for Brother Courtenay and Brother Clifford. Where are they now?”

“They are not on duty, so they are in their quarters, Sir. More precisely, they are in Courtenay’s quarters. He and Clifford are lovers, Master.”

“Are they, indeed? Well, their punishment for such gross negligence will be exacting. Assemble a unit of six Brothers – your most trusted and skilled novices – the ones who handled the kidnapping of the Welsh and Irish rugby players – and prepare them to be ready in two hours’ time to subdue Brother Courtenay and Brother Clifford. I will oversee this myself with you. Courtenay and Clifford will be defrocked and expelled from the Brotherhood. They will be bound, gagged, and packaged for shipment from the estate here…”

“And where do you intend to send them, Sir?”
“My private jet plane leaves tomorrow morning to take Brother Mark Hopkins to my estate in Argentina. He is overseeing the abduction of the Argentine rugby squad. And we are shipping the Welshmen and Irishmen there as well. Courtenay and Clifford will go along with them. Brother Hopkins can use Courtenay and Clifford as test subjects to explore new binding techniques and gagging methods that we can employ on the rugby players.”

“I’ll see to it, Sir. Is there anything else?”

“The swimmer and inspector – where are they now?”

“Finishing their workout, Sir.”

“After you feed them tonight, sedate them. The same with the former American football player who took up a baseball glove – Tommy Neville. And the Canadian hockey player, whom you kidnapped. When they have been fed, sedate them too. The same goes with the Leicester brothers. Ask Dr. Richelieu for a powerful narcotic to keep them all comatose until our preparations are set to unveil the project once we have Inspector DuWright within our tentacles.”

“Very well, sir.”

“And young Warwick’s brother – the Mountie – do we know his sexuality.”

“Hugh Warwick is also gay, Master.”

Michael Palaiologos thought for quite some time before speaking. “Mm mm…Yes…that’s it. Has he reported anything about Simon DuWright to us yet?”

“Not yet, Sir. Our operative is due to meet with Hugh Warwick tomorrow morning.”

“Good. Tell the operative to inform Inspector Hugh Warwick to keep close to DuWright. Our operative will direct Warwick to make sure that Simon DuWright is lured into a trap here at the estate. I am hosting the Canadian Mounted Police’s tennis team at a reception here Monday night, but Warwick will see to it that he and DuWright are the only team members who will attend. Once he’s here we can then fiddle with the mind of DuWright by using his boyfriend – Johnny Trudeau. I intend to bend the upright Simon DuWright to our will. Prior Penrith arrives in a few hours with the Canadian bobsledder. Penrith netted him this morning.”

“A job well done, Sir.”

“The American cowboy – Bucky Johnson – who interfered with my business associate’s enterprises in Montana arrived late last evening. Dr. Richelieu has examined him. And he is very pleased. Mr. Johnson has maintained the physique he had while playing college football. I cannot understand why he would relinquish the opportunity and a multi-million-dollar contract to play professionally to remain a cattle rancher – but be that as it may! Dr. Richelieu believes his All-American genes that help him to fill out his All-American jeans so well will contribute nicely to our designs. Make sure Johnson and Trudeau join the inspector and swimmer tomorrow. Then, gather Neville, Marbot, and the Leicester brothers. Prepare them for cages in a group cell...the larger one adjacent to Dr. Richelieu’s laboratory. It is big enough to hold eight men in four cages. The room may be cramped, but the combined robust bouquet of eight prime examples of American, Canadian, and British beefcake should prove intoxicating. Make sure you gag each of the eight men with the tape treated with the pungent paste Dr. Richelieu concocted in my name. The provocative perfume of their penitentiary will further awaken their lust and ready them for Phase One of our project.”

Michael Palaiologos was very pleased with how things were shaping up, except for the ineptitude of the blundering Brothers Courtenay and Clifford. “I will meet you and the unit you have prepared for that incompetent pair fifteen minutes before we move on them. That is all for now.”

“Yes, Master.” Peter deVere turned and left to prepare a team to take down the disgraced Courtenay and Clifford. Michael Palaiologos returned to reading dossiers on future kidnappings of male athletes across the globe.

Saturday Evening in the Quarters of the Brotherhood at Michael Palaiologos’ Estate
In the corridor outside John Courtenay’s room in the quarters of the novices of the Brotherhood, Michael Palaiologos with Peter deVere and six novices accompanying him knocked once and entered John Courtenay’s room without waiting for an invitation to enter.
Courtenay lay in an embrace of John Clifford. They were startled by the intrusion and quickly leapt from the bed and stood naked beside it at attention.

“Master, we did not expect you…” John Courtenay began to say.

“Silence, Courtenay.”

“Sir, we…” Clifford stammered.

“Did you not understand me, Clifford?” Palaiologos barked.

The two men bowed their heads in atonement. They stood with their legs slightly apart, their arms behind their backs with their left hands clasping their right wrists. Their eyes were lowered to a point at their Master’s knee level. Michael Palaiologos coolly stared at them for some moments. Peter deVere stood silently at his side with his hands clasped behind his back. The six-man team he had assembled came into the room and stood on either side of John Courtenay and John Clifford – two beside each man with the remaining two standing a little behind their comrades with black, nylon duffel bags in their hands. Coming forward to stand within inches of each man, Palaiologos spoke in a measured but firm voice.

“Our kidnapping designs on men must be perfect and leave no stone unturned in their planning and execution. You executed the abduction of the twin brothers well, but you jeopardized the overall mission by not knowing all facets of the lives of those men beforehand. One mistake will earn you a warning. A second mistake will earn you a punishment. A third mistake will result in your expulsion from the Order.”

“Please, Master…punish and expel me, but not Brother Clifford. I oversaw the mission. The mistakes were all mine,” John Courtenay pleaded.

John Clifford, too, beseeched their Master to show mercy on his lover. “Please, Sir, it was I who failed the mission. I am to blame, not Brother Courtenay.”

Michael Palaiologos eyeballed each man carefully. “How touching that you are willing to take the fall for your failures to spare your fellow brother – or lover as the case appears to be. No matter – each of you must share in the blame.” Addressing the men on either side of the chastised couple, the Grand Prior roared, “Seize them!”

The men on either side of John Courtenay and John Clifford grabbed hold of them by their upper arms. Courtenay and Clifford were startled and appeared to struggle, but the men on either side of the chastened couple were stronger. Both quickly realized resistance was futile. Palaiologos turned to the two men holding the duffel bags and ordered them to open the bags.

“I will tie you up myself, so that you might truly experience the wrath of the Brotherhood of the Black Rope for your transgressions.” The Grand Prior held out his hand, and the attendants handed him coils of the execrable cables. Palaiologos quickly went to work lacing their Poles and Bojangles into corded cages with the ropes leashed around their waists and across their muscular hindquarters. Meanwhile, deVere secured the wrists of each man behind their backs. When Palaiologos was finished, each man’s Johnson & Cojones strained against the embroidered enclosures. The Grand Prior had threaded Courtenay and Clifford into obscenely obsidian jockstraps with more rope dangling from their cross-stitched pouches.

Palaiologos next went over to the bed on which only a short time ago Clifford and Courtenay had made love to each other. He took two handkerchiefs from the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and began to wipe up the spilled man-seed of Courtenay and Clifford from the bedsheets. Quickly folding each handkerchief into a clump, Michael Palaiologos turned to face the soon-to-be expelled and exiled pair.

Lifting the spunk-soaked bundles to their mouths, the Grand Prior commanded Courtenay and Clifford, “Open!”

The two immediately did so, and Palaiologos stuffed the wank-moistened wads into their mouths. He nodded to a guard attendant, who came forward with a roll of black duct-tape and began to wrap the sticky adhesive several times around the mouth and head of Courtenay first and Clifford next. While he did this, Palaiologos took antiseptic wipes from another guard attendant and began to clean the gentlemen’s relish from his hands. Once the two were gagged, Michael Palaiologos addressed them.

“I hereby expel you, John Courtenay, and you, John Clifford, from the Order of the Black Rope for the serious errors you made in the research and planning of the abductions of Henry and Charles Leicester. Since the Brotherhood is an elite, secret order, we cannot simply laicize you and allow you to return to ordinary lives. You both know far too much of our ways to risk discovery of our methods by slips of your tongues. And your transgressions demand punishment. So, you will remain within the grasp and embrace of our order, but as perpetually bound and endlessly gagged captives in exile within the houses of the Brotherhood.”

Courtenay and Clifford began to struggle against the men – their former Brothers – holding them tight and to plead plaintive appeals from their muffled mouths.

“MMMFFPPPUULLLEEEZZZMMMMASSSTTUURRRMMMPPPPPHHHH!” Each beseeched their Master for mercy, but Michael Palaiologos stood impervious to their appeals. He continued.

“Allow me to explain what you will soon experience. I must start with a history of the supporters I myself bound around your two-jeweled canes, before we administer a libidinous cocktail to you which will mix with those wads reeking of your man gravy that you now taste behind your gagged lips to stir you to feverish torment.”

Courtenay and Clifford grew still and silent in their subjection.

“As you know, I am a descendant of a family of ancient lineage. My family produced several emperors of the Byzantine Empire, and other ancestors of mine served that empire in other ways. One of my ancestors – Petronas Palaiologos – developed certain methods in the fourteenth century to interrogate captured Silahdars – the elite bodyguard warriors of the Ottomans. Petronas was learned in ancient potions and ancient methods of restraining captured enemy warriors. He discovered that some units of Silahdars were comprised of pairs of lovers, like the Sacred Band of Thebes before them. Using his knowledge, my ancestor concocted a potion to arouse men, keep them in that state of arousal, but to give them no release or relief from it. Petronas was also well-skilled in binding men in inescapable bondage. It was an art passed down to him from generations of forefathers going back to an ancestor who had been a Vizier to Ramesses II of Egypt in the 13th century BC. Petronas perfected the family gift, if you will, so much so that enemy warriors wished to face death rather than to fall into his Byzantine Bonds!”

“Petronas saved his most effective and tortuous techniques on the captured pairs of Silahdar lovers. His master-craft involved weaving an intricately tight net around the private parts of the captured officers. That “Persian Cauldron” – as Petronas named it – would press down on the warrior’s member and ballocks in constricting discomfort. Petronas would then take rags soaked in his love potion and stuff them in the captive officer’s mouth. Silken scarves would be used to gag the man to keep the drugged cloth in his mouth. The potion would soon take effect. The prisoner’s arousal, however, would be stymied by the choking hold of the netting around his privates. Soon, the captive officer would experience the sharpest pain amidst waves of desire. Petronas would then order the man to be tied face to face to his lover who would have been similarly tied up, gagged, and experiencing the same outbreaks of pain and pleasure. The “Persian Cauldron” of each man would be joined together in even more restrictive bindings. Writhing in sync, their agony would soon overtake any bliss they hoped to find in their forced embrace. Begging for release – release from their bonds and release of their man seed – behind their silken gags, Petronas’ prisoners of war would eventually break. Even the most dedicated Silahdar officer of the sultan would betray the plans of his Master to Petronas.”

“Now – Courtenay and Clifford – since I believe your relationship with each other may have been the cause of the mistakes you made in not discovering all details of the lives of the Leicester brothers, I want to make sure that the pleasure you took in each other continues.” Michael Palaiologos insidiously smiled, before continuing. “But that pleasure you take in each other will now bring unrelieved frustration to you both.” Turning to Peter deVere, the Grand Prior nodded. DeVere stood behind the butt-naked and pinioned pair. He took a small, black leather case from one of the guard-attendants. He unzipped it and removed two syringes and two small vials. As deVere filled each syringe with a dosage from the vials, one of the duffel-carrying attendants stood ready with antiseptic wipes. When deVere was ready, he nodded to the attendant who then swabbed the right buttocks of John Courtenay. Peter deVere then injected the contents of the syringe into Courtenay’s brawny bum. The attendant then quickly cleansed Clifford’s left buttocks and deVere stuck the second needle and injected its contents into his buff bun.

The effects of the narcotic were soon apparent to all in the room. Courtenay and Clifford began to sport very stiff erections, but their lengthening poles fought against the choking ropes that throttled them. Palaiologos’ foxy smile grew even slyer, as he watched the punished pair struggle in lust-filled agony. Their hips began to gyrate, seeking to release their growing members from their cages. The Grand Prior and his minions could hear their former colleagues whimper wantonly behind their sealed lips. Palaiologos began to laugh menacingly.

“And so is the fate of those who run afoul of the Brotherhood of the Black Rope! Courtenay and Clifford – your bits and pieces are beginning to boil in the “Persian Cauldron” in which they are immersed. You have both been injected with the love potion first developed by my ancestor Petronas and which Dr. Richelieu has perfected. The musk and pungency of your seed that you taste behind your gagged mouths increase the potency of Petronas’ potion. The “Persian Cauldron” acts like a chastity device – locking your equipment within its cold cables and preventing your poles from reaching full mast.”

Courtenay and Clifford twirled in torture incapable – with their hands bound behind their backs and firmly gripped by their former Brothers – of touching themselves or each other. They alternated between desire and delirium. Their muffled moans increased in volume for mercy –

“MMMMPPPPHHHH!!! MMMMPPPPHHHHHHH!!! MMMMMPPPPHHHHHH!!!!”
Their muted beseeching fell on deaf ears. Michael Palaiologos would never extend mercy
to them again.

Palaiologos went on to explain what would happen next. “You will be taken from here to my private hangar at the airport. There you will be further packaged and readied for shipment. You will be bound face to face. Your “Persian Cauldrons” will be bound to each other to increase the agony you now feel. No matter how close your embrace of your lover, you will discover that you can find no relief, nor can you give such relief to him. Your delirious state will continue to drive you mad with craving and woe. Once we have parceled the pair of you, you will be loaded into a specially built compartment on my private airplane. After other cargo – a quartet of Welsh and Irish rugby players – is loaded, the plane will depart to Argentina, where you will be delivered to my estate in Patagonia. Courtenay and Clifford – you will spend the foreseeable future atoning for the serious errors you made in planning the Leicester twins’ abductions in pinioned penance with little if any hope of finding an absolution of relief or release.”

With that, Michael Palaiologos with Peter deVere close behind him departed the room. The remaining brothers of the order escorted the bound and gagged Courtenay and Clifford –wearing the crass, pitiful, and degrading “Persian Cauldrons” – from the room to the bottomless pit of yoked torment that awaited them.

Saturday Night
Peyer deVere returned to his suite of rooms once he and Michael Palaiologos parted company. He was very troubled by what had occurred with John Courtenay and John Clifford that afternoon. Each man had shown such promise, as they progressed through their novitiate in the Brotherhood. Yes – they had made serious errors, but they executed the kidnapping of the Leicester twins so well. And, deVere thought, we had discovered their mistakes before any real harm had been done. Their devotion to each other could have been harnessed to increase their devotion to the Brotherhood. Peter deVere did not care for the way his Master had so harshly punished Courtenay and Clifford. How could Master Palaiologos so easily expel them and sentence them to boundless bondage and interminably muffled silence? As he paced back and forth in his suite, Peter thought to himself, “Could Master Palaiologos so handily dismiss me and condemn me to ceaseless captivity and endless muzzling too?”

He retrieved the book of poetry by his bedside. Sitting down in an easy chair, he thumbed through the volume and opened it to the now familiar verse: “Or I could fuse with the fine quartz descending your green eyes, become a small dune in your palm and drown instead in the hola of your greeting.” Ever since Peter deVere returned from the kidnapping of Eddie Marbot, he read that poem and thought back to morning after he first went to bed with the hockey player. Peter had held Eddie in his arms, as he listened to him tell his life’s story. And then Eddie read that poem to him.

“It was just part of the mission – it meant nothing to me,” Peter thought. “Then why do I keep reading this damn poem over and over again? And why do I want to hold Eddie in my arms again and say ‘Hola’ to him? It’s not who I am!” Peter threw the book down in frustration. So many mixed emotions turned in him. He owed everything to the Brotherhood. It had given purpose to his life. Peter had found a family in the order. He was always so clinical in approach to a kidnapping. And he had kidnapped many men for the Brotherhood. Those men were all handsome. Some were charming. A few were intelligent. But Peter deVere had never let himself form any attachment to any of the men whose abductions he oversaw…until now. That damned hockey player touched something within Peter deVere…something Peter deVere believed had died a long time ago – if it ever beat to begin with – his heart. Sitting back in the chair, Peter began to replay in his head the events that led him to enter the Brotherhood of the Black Rope.

Peter’s mother had gotten pregnant with him in high school, and she gave him up for adoption. He knew little about her, except that she was unwed. He was born in the Northwest Territories. Peter was never adopted, and he spent his childhood shuttling between foster homes. He found himself in a loving home when he was 8 or 9 years old. His foster mother was a caring woman, who took a real interest in Peter. She showed him kindness and love. When he was ten years old, she developed cancer and could no longer care for him. He was sent to another foster home. He found out later that his foster mother had died. It made a lasting impression on the young boy. Peter deVere spent the rest of his formative years believing that those who loved or cared for you would leave you. His birth mother had given him up. The foster mother who came closest to a real mother died. The lesson he took away was to never grow close to another person again, because that person would abandon or leave you.

No one was ever cruel or abusive to Peter deVere as a child or adolescent, but apart from that one woman, all his other foster parents and all the other adults who could have made a difference – teachers and coaches for instance – did not. Peter grew up believing that the only person he could rely on was himself. And he also believed that everyone else in the world only cared for themselves. So, Peter grew to be indifferent. Peter wasn’t a bad kid – just detached. He excelled in certain sports – karate and ice hockey – as well as in his academic subjects, but he used them as his means of becoming independent and relying only upon himself.

As a child and as a teenager, Peter enjoyed cowboy, detective, spy, superhero, and police adventures – reading books about them, watching television shows about them, and seeing them on film. He loved it when the good guy or hero got caught in a trap. The villains would tie the hero up, gag him, and leave him to an uncertain fate. Peter loved one adventure where nosey detectives were tied up and gagged in the basement of a building that was wired for demolition. Those detectives fought against their bonds, called for help futilely from behind their gags, and all the while the clock clicked down the minutes to the hour the building would implode. Another time, a bare-chested cowboy was staked out in the hot desert sun. Wet, leather strips tied him down. As those strips dried in the hot sun, they would constrict against him. The rustlers had used the cowboy’s own bandanas to gag him. And the rustlers had poured molasses down the cowboy’s brawny chest and across the taut muscles of his stomach to attract stinging ants and other creepy, crawly insects. Jeez Louise! Did Peter deVere love those scenes.

The detectives, cowboys, and heroes always got loose at the last moment. Or someone came to their rescue! Peter hated that. He didn’t want to see the men come to a bad end – he was indifferent about that. No – Peter deVere just knew that he could have tied those men up better, so that they would not escape. And as for the gags – well if you are going to use a cloth gag, one’s not going to do. To gag a man effectively with cloth, you need to use several – a large wad to stuff in his mouth, another to cleave-gag him to keep the wad secure, and then one or more cloths over the mouth to keep the man really muffled and gagged. Peter thought to himself, “I could teach the villains a thing or two about keeping a man tied up for good and keep him stoutly silenced with a gag.”

By the time he turned eighteen, Peter deVere was out of the foster system. Because of his academic record and achievements in karate and ice hockey, Peter had earned scholarships to pay for a university education. That still wasn’t enough, however, to pay for room and board. So, when he moved to Montreal for university, he needed to find work. He had worked construction jobs for a couple of summers since he was in high school, and he obtained another job in construction between his first and second year at university. Working construction helped Peter with expenses, but Peter needed to find a second job to pay all his bills. Peter found that job waiting tables at a nightclub in Montreal a few nights a week. By the time of his second year at university, Peter had worked his way up to get the prime shifts of Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights at the club – the nights where you could earn the most money in tips.

At 21, Peter deVere stood 6’1” tall and weighed a very muscular 216lbs. He was a very good-looking man with dark brown hair, blue-green eyes, and he had a ripped, imposing body with a strong jaw-line. Peter kept himself to his studies and his work. The construction kept him fit. So too did working out, the martial arts, and hockey. He had no close friends. As a matter of fact, Peter deVere had no friends – only acquaintances. He had sparring partners in martial arts and teammates on an intramural hockey team, but none could say that they knew Peter deVere well. He kept to himself and would not let anyone become close – after all people who were close to you or were supposed to be close to you left you or abandoned you. At 21, Peter deVere was a loner. He studied, worked in construction, waited tables at a popular joint, practiced his martial arts and played hockey. But no one really knew him. And that was the way Peter wanted it.

The job waiting tables was at a gay nightclub in downtown Montreal. Peter deVere had no problem working there. He was indifferent to whether the place was a straight or a gay club. Besides, Peter was gay. He never came out to another person, simply because there was no one to come out to. He had a few experiences since starting university, but they were all hookups with guys his age or older whom he met on-line or at a bar. They were encounters that Peter approached with little, if any, emotional attachment. He found out, though, that he liked to take charge. And he had tied up and gagged a couple of the men he was with. He hesitated to untie them once they were bound. Hearing their muffled pleas for release really turned him on. Peter would in the end let the men go, but he always wanted to keep them tied up and gagged longer.

Sometimes in the construction jobs and in the nightclub, Peter saw things that were not always on the up and up – often it involved money changing hands in bribes to cut corners or to obtain a party drug. Peter deVere was indifferent to it all. He kept his head down and his mouth shut. It wasn’t his business. Peter just did his job.

In the spring of his second year at university and not too long after he had turned 21, Peter was waiting tables one Saturday night at the club. He was in his usual uniform of black trousers, long-sleeved black shirt, black narrow tie accented with a black leather belt and shoes. Peter made sure the trousers and shirt were a size smaller and well-tailored. With his good looks, Peter realized that men tipped him generously, but the fitted clothes accented Peter’s assets and increased the generosity of the men whose cocktails he served. For the past couple of weeks, he had noticed a certain guy about his age had begun to frequent the club. The guy was incredibly good-looking – a total dude. Like Peter, he had dark brown hair, but in contrast to Peter’s blue-green eyes, this fellow had deep brown eyes. He was about 6’ tall and around 205lbs. He also always seemed to have a permanent 5 o’clock shadow. That added to his sexiness. So, too, did his smile and apparent shyness. Almost as soon as he saw this guy, Peter deVere began to wonder how he’d look tied up and gagged.

When the guy first came to the club, he was alone – but not for long. He was a dude magnet, but the guy didn’t seem to be a lounge lizard. He was timid – still wet behind his ears. The next time the guy came into the club, Peter had found out a bit more about him from overhearing some of the other waiters gossiping. The guy’s name was Darcy Lovell. He was English and had come to Canada for university – the same one as Peter attended. Lovell played rugby on the university’s team. Darcy was 21. Unlike his first visit, however, Darcy was accompanied that night by two guys slightly older than he. Peter recognized them as guys who frequented the club and were friends of the owner. Peter waited on the trio that second visit and the next couple of times Darcy came in with them. Darcy always ordered a club soda with a twist. And he was polite, but always shy.

That Saturday night in spring, Peter again waited on Darcy and the two men. Darcy ordered his usual club soda with a twist, but the manager soon pulled Peter from that table to another, telling him that he needed Peter to work a busier station. The waiter who took over from Peter had just started that night, but Peter had seen him before in the company of the two men with Darcy Lovell. Peter did as the manager requested. After all, he was indifferent and kept his head down. He soon forgot about Darcy Lovell amidst the hustle and bustle in the club that night. Towards midnight Peter observed the two men escort a visibly wobbly Darcy from the table and through a backdoor to the kitchen, offices, and stockrooms of the club. It was an area usually off limits to the patrons. Peter also overheard the waiter who had taken his place tell another waiter, “Yeah, the guy had too much to drink, so his friends brought him out the back to take him home to sleep it off!”

“Too much to drink?” Peter thought, “On club soda??” But Peter deVere told himself to keep his nose out of it – so he kept his mouth shut and his head down. He went back to waiting the tables at his station until the club closed at 3:00 am. As per his usual routine, Peter helped clean up and straighten his tables, apportion tips with the busboys and bar staff, and helped restock. It was close to 4:00 am by the time he went down the cellar of the club to retrieve his jacket from the staff room before going home. He noticed the kitchen, stockroom, and office areas were a tad busier than usual after closing. The new waiter along with the two men who had accompanied Darcy Lovell to the club were back there. They were going through each of the rooms. By their worried expressions and hurried movements, it was apparent they were looking for something – or someone – they had lost!

Paying them little heed, Peter put his jacket on and was about to leave. It was then that he noticed a door to the room opposite the staff room crack open and quickly shut. Peter deVere’s curiosity got the better of him. He looked to each end of the corridor to check that no one was there, before he opened the door that had just been cracked open. Peter quickly entered the unlit room, closed the door, and turned the bolt to it behind him. He reached along the wall next to the door to find the light switch. When he found it, Peter turned the switch on. Standing before him was a very disheveled and frightened man – Darcy Lovell. He had a bandana around his neck. By the way it hung, it looked to Peter as if Darcy had quickly pulled it down from his face.

“Please…Help me!” Darcy whispered desperately.

“What happened?” Peter responded quietly.

“I’m not sure,” Darcy answered. His eyes kept darting about – looking behind Peter – afraid that someone would soon walk into the room. “I think they put something in my drink. I felt strange…dizzy all of a sudden. I remember them getting me up from the table. After that…Please…they’re looking for me. Help me find a way out of here.” Darcy was growing frantic. Peter drew closer to him.

“I must have passed out. When I woke up, I was tied up in some office. They had lashed my feet together and tied my hands in front of me. They had gagged me, too. With this.” Darcy tugged at the bandana around his neck. “And they stuffed some other handkerchief in my mouth. I tried yelling for help, but it was useless. The noise from the music in the club muted my already muffled cries. I managed to get the gag off, and then used my teeth to untie my wrists. Once I freed myself, I snuck out of the room into a corridor. It was empty. I could see an exit at the end. As I started to walk quickly towards it, I heard them coming. It was the men I was with earlier. I couldn’t make it to the exit without them spotting me. I saw the stairs leading down here. I ran down them and into this room. I’ve been hiding in here ever since. Please…help me…they’ll be back.” Darcy grasped Peter’s hands in his own, hoping he had found his rescuer.

“Never leave a man tied up with his hands in front of him without securing them to his sides – too easy for the guy to remove his gag and get loose,” Peter said.

Darcy looked at him strangely and with some uncertainty.

“Please…” Darcy begged.

Looking over Darcy’s shoulder, Peter deVere saw a hopper window, which led to the back alley behind the club.

“Yes. There’s a window above…on the wall behind you. Perhaps, we could get through that.”

Darcy turned around to look at the window Peter had pointed to. He did not see his “Good Samaritan” raise his right hand. With Darcy’s back turned to him, Peter deVere struck the man at his trapezius. As Darcy slumped down, Peter grabbed hold of him and placed the unconscious Darcy Lovell face-down on the floor.

“No. They did not fasten you securely enough.” Peter said to himself, as he looked around the room for something to fasten Darcy solidly with. As if the stars aligned that night, there was rope and duct-tape on a shelf in the room. Peter quickly drew Darcy’s hands behind him and lashed his wrists together. He used more rope to secure Darcy’s arms to his side. Then Peter went to work tying up Darcy’s legs at his ankles and knees. Once done, Peter pulled Darcy’s legs back and hogtied his secured ankles to his hobbled wrists. Peter made sure that the knots he tied were well out of the reach of Darcy’s fingers. Satisfied that the rugby player was firmly bound, Peter turned his attention to Darcy’s gag. Taking his own handkerchief from his pocket, Peter bundled it up, and worked it into Darcy’s mouth. He untied the bandana from around Darcy’s neck, and he twirled it around to cleave-gag him next. Once that was done, Peter took the roll of duct-tape and began to wrap it around Darcy’s mouth and head several times.

“That’s how to keep a man tied up and gagged, so that he can’t escape. No one will hear you now!” Peter declared in triumph, as he looked down at the hog-tied and tape-gagged rugby player.

Peter stood up. Peter was a bit surprised to realize that he had grown hard from his efforts. He would have to wait to take care of that later at home. The blow Peter had struck to knock Darcy out was not hard enough to keep him unconscious for long. Peter took once last look at the subdued and muted man before turning around to leave. He switched the light off, as he exited and shut the door behind him. As he climbed the stairs out of the cellar, Peter passed the two men and the new waiter descending the stairs once more. Peter merely nodded in recognition as they passed one another.

Upstairs in the club, one of the bouncers was still there. He was in his mid-thirties, ex-military, bald – and big and brawny as all hell. He and Peter had been eyeballing each other for some time.

“Got any plans?” Peter asked him.

“Only if they include you,” the bouncer replied.

“Come home with me.”

The brawny bouncer drove them both back to Peter’s apartment, and Peter got a chance to find the relief for the arousal from his earlier exertions. About noon that day, the bouncer woke up to find himself still naked in Peter’s bed. But he was surprised also to find himself spread-eagled with his wrists and ankles bound to the four corners of the bed. He was gagged, too. He tasted something acrid in his mouth. The bouncer found out later it was his own jockstrap held there by several layers of duct-tape. Peter was sitting naked in a chair next to the bed, just looking at the bouncer. The bouncer struggled mightily against the bonds and “MMMPPPHHHed” for Peter to let him go. Peter declined and told the bouncer to try and free himself. The man couldn’t, and he gave up. Before panic set into the bouncer, Peter climbed on top of him. The burly and bulky bouncer soon started to enjoy his captivity with Peter’s encouragement. Peter let the man go in the early evening. From then on, the bouncer came home with Peter on a regular basis after closing-time at the club to spend the next day fettered and bridled in seemingly unending peril.

About a week after the incident in the club, Peter deVere was exiting a class one late afternoon. As he left the building to make his way back home, a man approached him on the street.

“Peter deVere?’

“Yes?”

“Would you join me for a cup of coffee at that shop over there?” The man asked nodding in the direction of the shop on the corner.

Peter looked the man over. He was very well-dressed in an expensive-looking business suit. He looked to be about 40 years old or so. He was medium to tall in height, slim – even fit looking. He had an olive complexion, dark eyes, and a slightly aquiline nose. His hair was jet black and thick, and he sported a Van Dyck beard. Peter sensed that this meeting was about the incident that had occurred at the club.

“The coffee shop usually closes about this time,” Peter said.

“I’ve arranged for them to keep it open for me. Please…accept my invitation. I have a proposition to make to you. Hear me out.”

“Okay,” Peter agreed.

“Good.”

The coffee shop was theirs. The owner seated them and served them himself before leaving them to themselves.

“This is a delicious Turkish blend. You will enjoy it,” Peter’s unknown host said to him.

“Please forgive me, Mr. deVere. I haven’t introduced myself to you yet.” The man extended his hand over the table to Peter. Peter took it and shook hands, as the man introduced himself.

“My name is Michael Palaiologos.”

Almost ten years later now, Peter deVere looked back and assessed how much that first meeting with Master Palaiologos had changed his life. Palaiologos had been impressed by Peter’s skill at tying knots. He was thankful for Peter’s help in recapturing Darcy Lovell, and Palaiologos was above all impressed with Peter’s discretion. He then introduced him to the world of the Brotherhood of the Black Rope, telling Peter the Brotherhood would thereafter take care of his every need until the grave and provide a family of sorts to him. Palaiologos explained the workings of the order to him – kidnapping young, good-looking, athletic men for various purposes. The intersection of his relative isolation in the world, his interest in bondage, his self-centeredness, and a strong desire to be bound to something larger in this world came together to push Peter deVere to accept what Michael Palaiologos had to offer.

Peter deVere continued his studies at the university. The Brotherhood took over care of his expenses. And the Brotherhood wanted him to continue working at the nightclub, which he had already discovered was part of the Brotherhood’s operations. The Brotherhood also wanted Peter to continue working his construction job. At the club, Peter first became a scout on the lookout for potential subjects for procurement. And he took those skills to construction sites. In his last year at university, Peter was responsible for procuring a very fit, attractive runner from Japan, who was on the university track team. Manato was an orphan, and it was easy for the Brotherhood to arrange an explanation for his sudden desire to return to Japan. Peter also arranged for a lonely but extremely handsome, young welder to disappear into the clutches of the Brotherhood. Joe was all alone in the world, and when you are all alone – Peter had discovered – people soon forget about you. Not much fuss was made when either men disappeared. Peter found out later that a Russian oligarch kept both the dapper and graceful Manato and the brooding, brawny, and beefy Joe well secured to each other. That security prevented Manato from running, but Joe found a cure for his loneliness bound to the Japanese man.

As for Darcy Lovell – well – Michael Palaiologos promised Peter that he would one day learn his fate. Peter kept his head down, his mouth shut, and did not press for an explanation. And as for the men who did not tie Darcy securely enough – well – that was their first misstep. They were demoted, and they soon found themselves answering to Peter deVere himself, who was a fast learner. Peter worked hard for the Brotherhood, and the Brotherhood rewarded him well. Almost ten years – and so many abductions – later, Peter was now the aide-de-camp to the Grand Prior Michael Palaiologos himself.

All that time, Peter deVere remained indifferent – some might even say cold. And then, Eddie Marbot came along. Thinking back, Peter treated it as any other abduction of a handsome athlete – although this time he was a well-known figure. Michael Palaiologos had not yet revealed the extent of the operations he and Dr. Richelieu planned with these strappingly muscular, handsome, and intelligent athletes, police officers, and cowboys, but Peter had some knowledge of their plans. Now, he recalled what his loving foster mother had said to him, when they parted – “Make a difference in the world, Peter. Believe in yourself.”

Was this the difference she wanted him to make in the world? What would she think of him now? And Eddie Marbot unlocked Peter’s heart. Reading that poetry to him – telling Peter he had made a difference to him. Peter remembered Eddie saying that because of Peter, Eddie was finding the courage to come out of the closet – he was going to be the first professional ice hockey player to do so.

“Oh! What have I done?” Peter stood up from the chair in his suite of rooms.

“I will make a difference, if it’s not too late.” He resolved. Looking at his watch, Peter saw that it was nearly time for the kidnapped men in their cells in the depths below the estate to have sedatives administered to them, as Master Palaiologos ordered. Peter was determined to let Eddie Marbot know that he had made a difference in Peter’s life, and that Peter would get him out of this nightmare. But how? Peter began to pace back and forth in his suite, until he saw the book of poetry on the floor at his feet. Peter had his answer.

Peter left his rooms and made his way to the depths below the estate. Already, guard-attendants had sedated Tommy Neville and the Leicester Twins. Peter strode over to Eddie’s cell and informed the guard-attendant that he alone would administer the sedative to Eddie Marbot. The guard-attendant obeyed, and he handed Peter the tray with the narcotic, syringe, and accompanying paraphernalia. Peter waited briefly for the guard-attendant to punch in the keycode to open the steel-grid door of Eddie Marbot’s cell.

After the steel-grid door slid open, Peter entered the cell and put the tray down on a wheeled table close to the door. Eddie Marbot was still encaged in that pen that could barely hold him. He remained clad only in the white hockey cup jockstrap – the one Peter told him to put on the night he kidnapped him. The 6’2” tall, 202 lb. jock was bound with coils of rope around his ankles, knees, waist, wrists, arms, and chest. More rope still pinioned Eddie to the bars of that narrow and claustrophobic standing cage bolted to the floor. A leather head-harness still muzzled Eddie.

And still – when Eddie saw who had entered his cell – he seethed with rage behind that muffling mask.

“MMMMFFFUUUKKKUUUMMMPPPHHHUUUBBBASSTTRRDDMMMPPHH!”

Peter knew what Eddie was trying to say. And he couldn’t blame him. Peter was a bastard. But now he wanted Eddie to know that he had changed – that Eddie had changed him. And Peter knew he didn’t have much time. Peter stood there silently looking Eddie directly in his eyes trying to let the man know that he had changed him. Eddie stopped struggling and mumbling curses from behind that cruel gag. He stared back, and it looked like Eddie understood Peter. Peter walked back to the table and prepared the concoction to knock Eddie out. He wheeled the table to the back of the barbarous bars caging Eddie. Peter saw the hockey player’s massively muscular hindquarters pushing against the iron bars and jutting out from the openings between those same bars. Using an antiseptic wipe, Peter sterilized the right butt cheek of the hockey player. After filling the syringe with the appropriate dosage to sedate Eddie Marbot through the night, Peter pressed up against the back of the cage and thus embraced Eddie. Peter’s lips were close to Eddie’s right ear. Before injecting the sleep-inducing narcotic into Eddie’s hefty behind, Peter whispered one word to him.

Hola

That Same Saturday Night at A Hotel in Montreal
Simon DuWright And Hugh Warwick were both back in their hotel room by the time of the 9:30 curfew. Their training all day on the tennis court left both men exhausted. Simon had watched Hugh carefully that day, after he discovered earlier that morning that it appeared that someone may have gone through his rucksack. Hugh was a fellow officer on the Force, so he trusted him out of loyalty to the nation and its ideals they both had sworn to serve. He did not want to think that a fellow officer might not live up to the ideals that the uniform they wore represented. Simon did not know Hugh, however. Hugh seemed preoccupied on the courts and in their other training sessions. He was a great player, but Simon sensed that Hugh was not giving his all to the game. Simon observed Hugh take his mobile phone out several times throughout the day and look at something – texts, photos, the ‘net? – Simon did not know what.

As they both lay atop their beds that night in the hotel room watching some shark documentary, Simon decided on a course of action to get Hugh to open up to him. Simon sat up and told Hugh that he wanted to take a long, hot shower to relax before going to bed. Simon slipped off his sweatpants and shucked his sweatshirt. Walking over to the bureau in his 2xist briefs, he took off the silver chain with the silver Celtic Cross that had belonged to his Gramps and the key to the valise from around his neck and put it down on the top of the bureau. Simon then proceeded to the bathroom. He closed the door and turned the water in the shower on.

Hugh watched Simon take that silver chain from around his neck, and he heard the water cascade in the shower. Hugh waited a minute or two, before he got up from the bed and walked over to the bureau. He saw the key on the chain, and Hugh looked over to the corner in which Simon’s rucksack lay. Hugh hesitated.

“My God, man! What are you doing? Spying on a fellow officer? Betraying everything you’ve sworn to uphold…But…those bastards have Danny. They sent more photos this afternoon to remind me. The poor lad! They have him bound to an electric chair in his speedo – gagged – blindfolded – and from the looks of it – not knowing where he is, why he’s there, or what not. The bastards tell me they’ll hurt him or take him someplace where I’ll never see him again unless I find out what Simon DuWright has with him – My God! I don’t even know what I’m looking for!!! But I’ve got to get my little brother back!”

Still hearing the water running in the shower, Hugh picked up Simon’s chain and walked over to the corner of the room where the rucksack lay. Looking back to see if Simon exited the bathroom, Hugh saw that the coast was clear. He crouched down and unzipped the rucksack. Hugh removed the valise with the lock on it. He took the key on the chain to see if it fit the lock – it did. Hugh opened the valise, took out the folder within and opened it.

“Can I help you find what you’re looking for, Hugh?”

Hugh froze. He dropped the file on the floor, plopped down too on the floor, and hung his head down within both his hands.

“I’m sorry,”

“Tell me what’s going on, Hugh.” Simon extended his hand to the man. Hugh looked up and saw a man who wanted to help him. He grasped his hand, and Simon pulled him up. Hugh sat down on the side of his bed, and he handed Simon’s chain back to him. Simon picked up the file, put it back in the valise, locked the valise, and returned it to his rucksack. He put the chain back around his neck, picked up his sweatpants, put them on, and sat down in a chair facing Hugh, who still hung his head in shame.

“Talk to me, Hugh.”

Hugh looked up at Simon. He then reached back to the nightstand and grabbed hold of his mobile. He opened the texts and thumbed through until he found what he was looking for. Hugh handed it to Simon.

Simon saw a picture of a young man perniciously pinioned and ghastly gagged in various milieus – on an airplane, in a cell of some sorts, in an electric chair. Thumbing past the first few, Simon saw more pictures of the same young man tortuously tied up and maliciously muffled from different angles. Simon handed the phone back to Hugh. He had little doubt of who was holding the poor guy.

“He’s my little brother Danny. We only have each other. He looks up to me, Simon. We were supposed to meet up for his weekly cheat meal some days ago after his training. He never came back home. Instead, I got these photos and emails – all from burner phones or untraceable email addresses. I was told that I had to find out what you carried with you here to Montreal. If I did not get intelligence for them, I’d never see Danny again. Simon – I’m desperate. They told me, if I turned to the Force, they’d make sure I’d never get Danny back. He’s all I have, Simon. Please. I was willing to betray everything I hold dear to get him back. What can I do?”

Hugh started to cry. Simon got up from his chair, went over to the bed, sat down next to Hugh, and he put his arm around the distraught man. Hugh leaned into Simon and cried.

“We’re going to figure it out, Hugh. And we’re going to get Danny back safe and sound.” Simon let Hugh get his tears out. Sometime later, Simon stood up, and once again he extended his hand to Hugh. Hugh took it once more, and Simon pulled him to his feet. “Okay. Sit down at the table. I need to fill you in. We’ve got a good deal of work to do tonight.”


Simon briefed Hugh on his mission, the Brotherhood of the Rope, and his own history of entanglement with it. Hugh told Simon that he was due to meet with a representative of those who had kidnapped his brother the next morning at a – as yet unknown – rendezvous. Hugh would be sent the particulars early Sunday morning.

“Well, we’ll have to come up with something for you to give them, Hugh – and I think I know what it could be – to throw them off. Make them think that I am looking at another angle. Make them think that we don’t suspect Byzantine Bonds…”

For the next few hours, Simon brought Hugh up to speed on another branch of the Brotherhood of the Black Rope – its Slobobian branch. Hugh would tell the contact who he was to meet Sunday morning that Simon and the Force suspected the Slobobians of another attempt to kidnap athletes. Simon hoped that this would lull whoever was behind Byzantine Bonds into a false sense of security. It was close to dawn before the two men turned in.

“Hugh – I promise you – we’ll get Danny back.”

For the first time in the past few days, Hugh pulled the covers of the bed over him with a glimmer of hope.

To Be Continued…
notreallyme06
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Post by notreallyme06 »

KidnappedCowboy wrote: 3 years ago
You've really out done yourself with this chapter. Reginald might be my favorite captive so far.
Do you mean "Reginald" or Reggie? 🤔

Thank you so much, @notreallyme06! Comments like yours inspire me to continue this tale.
Lol. Reggie!
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Post by stimle »

Where has this story been all my life?! I love it and appreciate all the time and attention to detail you've put into it. Eagerly awaiting each new chapter!
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Post by george_bound »

Well... hmmm... a lot to unpack here but it seems there's about to be 2 extremely happening "parties" with an array of hot athletic studs as "guests"...I'm hoping I get an invitation to both of those parties as well ;)

It also seems there's some cracks forming in the plot with Peter and Hugh... hopefully that doesn't hamper too much of the fun!

And finally my greatest schtick is two hot guys tied to each other in predicament peril whereby one's actions have an unpleasant (or pleasant) impact on the other... I thought the Irktuskian Ball was one of the very top such predicaments I've encountered... that is until the Persian Cauldron came along, especially when they're placed face to face against each other... man-o-man... I have no words but I do have a rock-hard joystick, thankfully not entwined in the Persian Cauldron itself :? :twisted:
Last edited by george_bound 3 years ago, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by KidnappedCowboy »

[mention]notreallyme06[/mention]...well, I prefer Reggie as well over Reginald. Strangely enough, I modeled Reggie after Chadwick Boseman. I had written him before Boseman's death. What a tragedy. Reginald after the actor Laurence Fox. Many of the other characters are modeled after real-life athletes and others, but I'll leave it to the reader to guess who they are.

[mention]stimle[/mention]...thank you for the compliments. I always love the stories that go into details, but leave enough for the imagination.

[mention]george_bound[/mention]...there are a lot more potboilers to come!

Thank you all!

Here's a list of the "Kidnapped Men" of this tale. Some have yet to appear in the tale. Or is it disappear? 8-)

The Kidnapped Men

Gruffyd “Griff” Davies Welsh Rugby: Centre: 26 years old; 6’2” tall, 223lbs. in weight; Vanished somewhere in Thailand together with Osian “The Warrior” Williams; Byzantine Exports (BE) Office: Bangkok

Gabriel “Gabie” Desclaux French Rugby: Scrum-Half: 28 years old; 5’8” tall, 185.4 lbs. in weight; Went missing somewhere in New Zealand; BE Office: Christchurch

Dermot “Mucker” Kennedy Irish Rugby player: Centre 25 years old; 6’1” tall, 218 lbs. in weight; Dropped out of sight in UAE along with teammate Cillian “Murph” Murphy; BE Office: Ajman

Charles “Chase” Leicester Canadian tennis player: 23 years old; 5’10” 163lbs. in weight; Abducted and extracted from Ottawa, Canada

Henry “Hank” Leicester Canadian Tennis player: 23 years old; 5’10” tall, 163lb in weight; Abducted and extracted from Ottawa, Canada

Edouard “Eddie” Marbot Canadian Hockey player: Centre/Left Wing: 31years old; 6’2” tall 202lbs in weight; Abducted and extracted in Toronto

Cillian “Murph” Murphy Irish rugby player: Scrum-Half: 25 years old; 5’9” tall, 180lbs in weight; Dropped out of sight along with teammate Dermot “Mucker” Kennedy in UAE; BE Office Ajman

Thomas “Tommy” Neville American Baseball Outfielder, Former College and Professional Football quarterback: 32 years old; 6’3” tall and 245lbs. in weight; Abducted and extracted near Orlando, Florida

Arvid Christian Olsen Norwegian Speedskater: Aged 25; 6’2” tall, 170lbs. in weight; He disappeared in 1992.

Piero “Ballerino” Visconti: Italian Alpine Skier: 27; 5’11tall, 203lbs. in weight; Disappeared somewhere in Pakistan; BE Office Islamabad

Desmond “Des” Walsh New Zealand Charter Boat Captain: Aged 42; 6’ tall, 190lb; Disappeared in the South Pacific along with his son Geordie and their passenger Gabriel “Gabie” Desclaux over Christmas/New Year’s holiday.

George “Geordie” Walsh New Zealand university student and captain of his school’s rugby squad: Aged 21; 5’10” tall, 185lb; Disappeared in the South Pacific along with his father Des and their passenger Gabriel “Gabie” Desclaux over Christmas/New Year’s holiday.


Osian “The Warrior” Williams Welsh Rugby player: Fullback: 26, 5’10” tall, 187lbs. in weight; Vanished somewhere in Thailand along with teammate Gruffyd “Griff” Davies; BE Office: Bangkok

Unnamed Man (Reggie Percy) Aged about 30; 6’2” tall, 214lbs. in weight
Last edited by KidnappedCowboy 3 years ago, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by DeeperThanRed »

I'm looking forward to seeing all those guys getting "lost", especially that skier.
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Chapter X: Chapter Captured by Corsairs

Gabriel “Gabie” Desclaux hit the pause button on his career with Stade Normandie, after a five-game ban he received following a red card for a high tackle on the pitch against an Italian scrum-half early in the rugby season. The French scrum-half knew that he had anger management issues, and he to get his anger under control. Gabie spent the autumn at a rehabilitation facility in New Zealand doing just that. He had chosen a facility on the other side of the globe, so that it would be harder for the French tabloid press to spy on him and turn out daily reports of what he was up to. Gabie had made a great deal of money for the French tabloids, who loved to report on the latest drunken escapades, brawls, and arrests of the very good-looking French egg chaser. Yes – Gabie Desclaux was handsome. He looked as if Michelangelo’s David had come to life. He had the type of features – strong and fine – that would stop traffic. Despite all his brawls and run-ins on the pitch and off, Gabie had so far avoided breaking his delicate nose or ears. He had a sharp jaw, angular cheekbones, deep blue eyes and light brown curly hair that always appeared tousled just so. Of course, his body was muscular – at 186 lb. there was no body fat at all on him. And to showcase his toned, 5’8” frame, Gabie dressed in the chic fashion of a Parisian young man, often highlighting his silhouette in a retro American look of fitted jeans and a black leather bomber jacket over a white tee or in a well-tailored suit in black or navy.

And Gabie – for all his brawls – was the darling of Stade Normandie’s many fans – men and women alike. People of both sexes enjoyed his expertise in the scrum. And off the rugby pitch many women wished that he would romance them. And there were more than a few men who wished so too. But for all the tabloid reporting on him, none ever reported on Gabie’s romantic life. He always went stag to soirees and other events, and he always deflected questions from mates, friends, and reporters alike about finding the “right girl” and settling down with her. In truth – Gabie wanted to find the “right boy” to settle down with.

Yes – Gabie was a closeted gay man, and his inability to come to terms with his sexuality had fueled his anger on the pitch and off. Now after his six-week stay at the rehabilitation center in New Zealand under the care of Dr. Amelia Graham and her incredible staff, Gabie was finally at peace with himself. He had acknowledged his sexuality, and he was ready to tell the world that he was gay. And he was sure that when he went back to France and resumed play, the brawls on the pitch and off would be in Gabie’s past and not in his present or future. That would be after the New Year. For now – upon leaving the rehabilitation center, Gabie decided to remain in New Zealand over the Christmas and New Year’s holidays to explore its natural beauty and end his time there with a deep-sea fishing excursion for Striped, Blue or Black Marlin in the seas off the Bay of Islands.

The day Gabie booked for his fishing experience in the waters of the South Pacific was a glorious one – the weather was just perfect! The charter was for the full day. Another couple at the resort where Gabie was staying also booked on the same excursion, but they became ill and had to cancel at the last minute. The captain of the Murias – a 40-foot, purpose-built, sporting vessel – decided to sail without them, so it was just Gabie on board that day, apart from the captain and his two-man crew. The captain – Des Walsh – was 42 years of age. He was a handsome man with salt and pepper hair, dark, brown eyes, and tanned skin from a life spent on the water. He was also a powerfully built man, who handled his vessel well and easily helped tourists and others reel in the big fish. Captain Walsh was a widower – his wife Clare had died of cancer some years ago, leaving him to raise their son Geordie on his own. Geordie was now 21-year-old, and he was a handsomer, younger version of his Dad. Geordie was not as powerfully built as his Dad, but he was a well-muscled lad with his father’s fine features, albeit with darker hair and fairer skin. And while Captain Walsh stood a good 6’ tall, young Geordie stood at 5’10”. Geordie was at university where he captained the rugby team. He had such potential on the pitch that he hoped to turn pro once he obtained his degree in marine biology. When on holiday from school and in the summers, he served as his Dad’s first mate. Geordie followed international rugby closely, and he immediately recognized Gabie’s name, when the resort booked the excursion for the Frenchman. Geordie knew the career of Gabie Desclaux like the back of his hand. It was Geordie who persuaded his Dad to sail that day with fewer than the usual anglers. Geordie looked forward to spending a day with his rugby heroes, and to telling his mates about it afterwards.

Captain Walsh had recently taken on a second mate. He was Russian – Alexie Oblonsky. He was a tall, brawny man in his mid-thirties with a shaved head and hard, Slavic features. When he interviewed Oblonsky for the position, Captain Walsh learned that he was from Vladivostok, where his family were fishermen. Oblonsky had served in the Russian navy and for the past ten years wandered the globe, finding work on trawlers and on excursion boats like the Walsh’s. On his first trip to sea after Captain Walsh had hired him, Alexei had taken his shirt off in the hot sun and revealed a heavily tattooed torso. His chest, arms, and back were covered in a plethora of designs, images, and Cyrillic writing. In the jumbo of inked flesh, Captain Walsh could not notice a rather distinct motif above Oblonsky’s heart – quite unlike the Russian themes of the art elsewhere on his body.

Gabie arrived at the dock at 5:20 am, so they could cast off by the time the sun rose at 5:54 am. Gabie wore khaki shorts, topsiders, and a very tight-fitting nylon/spandex rash guard top with a blue windbreaker over it. He carried a knapsack with a hoodie, sunscreen, sunglasses and other essentials in it. He donned a Budgy Smuggler’s Sharkas Bucket hat on his head against the sun’s rays later on in the day. Gabie approached Des Walsh, who was dressed in topsiders, khaki shorts, a light blue polo with the New Zealand flag emblazoned on the left breast and “Captain of the Murias” stitched below it. He also wore a captain’s hat.

“Bonjour, mon Capitaine! Permission de monter à bord?” He greeted Captain Walsh.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Desclaux. Permission granted.” Captain Walsh replied.

Gaby boarded the Murias.

“I’m afraid that’s the extent of my French, Monsieur Desclaux.” The captain confessed.

“No problem, Captain. I speak English fluently.” Gabie heartily declared in his deeply resonant voice. “And please – call me Gabie.”

“Very well, Gabie” Captain Walsh replied. “Welcome aboard the Murias. We should have a great day ahead of us.”

Emerging from the cabin, Geordie Walsh stood behind his Dad, waiting to be introduced. Geordie was dressed in a similar polo shirt as his father, but with “First Mate” stitched under the New Zealand flag. He wore board shorts resting low on his hips, where a pair of speedo-like racers peaked from underneath. Geordie also wore topsiders. He could barely contain his excitement at meeting one of Stade Normandie’s star players. Geordie was so excited, he bounced from one foot to the other, waiting to meet Gabie. As he listened to his Dad exchange small talk with his sports hero, Geordie thought back to the events leading up to this moment.

I still could not believe this day had finally arrived. To be fishing with Gabie Desclaux and talking rugby – man, this is going to be a dream come true. The man is so chill here talking to Dad. When I took the booking from his hotel, it was surreal. I mean Dad has taken some famous people out on the Murias, but to have Gabie Desclaux – I was beyond excited and couldn’t wait for the day to get here. He is a phenom on the pitch. He’ll probably think I’m just some fanboy – but he was on the France squad that won so many cups and shields and with Stade Normandie – Man, Gabie Desclaux is standing in front of me talking to my Dad – and I’m about to meet him!

Geordie cleared his throat to get his father’s attention.

“Ah! And this is my first mate, also my son – Geordie – he has been dying to meet you. He’s one of your biggest fans!”

“Oh! – Dad – please…” Geordie blushed.

“A pleasure to meet you, Geordie. It’s nice to hear that I have fans in New Zealand.” Gabie extended his hand for Geordie to shake.

“It’s really great to meet you, Mr. Desclaux.” Geordie grasped Gabie’s and pumped it hard.

“Easy there, son – the man has to use that hand to fish today and feed the scrums, when he gets back to France,” Des Walsh playfully admonished his son.

“Oh! Sorry, Mr. Desclaux.” Geordie exclaimed.

“It’s okay, Geordie. And please, it’s Gabie’

“Oh – Gosh – Gaby.” Geordie gushed and blushed some more – surprised that he was acting like a little puppy yapping for attention in front of Gabriel Desclaux.

I love rugby – just chasing that ball, passing it to my mates, running it down the field. It makes me feel so free. At uni, marine biology fascinates me, and I want to pursue it later in life – but the rugby staff and Mr. Roberts think I have a real shot making it to a club, Super League, or in Europe. But there’s my thing – can the world accept me as I am? I just don’t know. Dad worries about it for me. Yeah, I’ve heard the yahoos in the stands. And there was that dickhead, Lucas – but I showed him! The jerk thought I touched him – as if I’d want to touch his sweaty, dirty arse on the pitch that way. Man, I just want to play rugby. I will prove them wrong. I hope I have enough courage to ask Gabie Desclaux about it when we’re at sea.

“We better prepare to shove off, Geordie. And Gabie – I insist that our passengers wear one of these – no matter their level as a swimmer.” Captain Walsh handed Gabie a Mae West, which Gaby took off his windbreaker and put the life vest on over his skin-tight rash shirt, as Geordie moved about the Murias preparing to depart.

Alexei Oblonsky came aft from the bow to get the boat underway. He had the same shirt as the Walsh’s but with “Second Mate” stitched on it. Des introduced Alexei to Gabie. The Russian grunted a greeting and went back to his work, and the Captain went to the cabin to take the wheel. Gabie did his best to stay out of the men’s way. He watched as the sun rose to take in the beauty of this enchanted land.

Before long Captain Walsh had heated up the engine of the Murias, and he checked the wind currents. The air was very still that morning. He told Gabie to be seated, and Geordie and Alexei each moved to the stern and bow. After Captain Walsh was certain that Gaby had seated himself, he checked for traffic. Seeing that no other vessels were setting off near his own, he ordered his crew to cast off the bow and stern lines. Once they had done so, Des slowly accelerated and eased his pride and joy from its berth. Geordie joined his Dad at the wheel, and Alexei busied himself about the boat. In a short while they were in the harbor and on their way to deeper waters for a full day of angling.

Once they were well on their way asea, Des turned to his son and suggested he break out the coffee, bagels, smoked salmon, and cheese to serve to their passenger.

“I’m sure, Geordie, you’d like to get to talk to the man about rugby. So why don’t you prepare him for fishing today. Get him set up and what not. Alexei won’t mind. Just don’t pester Gabie, if it appears that he doesn’t want to talk shop.”

If I get a contract – maybe Dad wouldn’t have to work so hard. It’s been tough on him ever since Mum died. His whole life is caught up in the boat and me – I could help him out. And he’s only in his early 40s! He still looks buff for his age. I’ve seen women check him out – and one or two men too. Dad’s a chick magnet! The old man needs to have some fun. He works too hard – yeah – he hired this Alexei guy – but I don’t like him. He’s a good seaman, but I saw him not treat one of our customers – a kid – very nicely. I didn’t tell Dad, but there’s something about Alexei that rubs me the wrong way.

“Thanks, Dad. And I’ll go easy interrogating him.” So, with a pat on his back from Des, Geordie went below to get the thermos of coffee and the bagels from the galley. He was soon back up and joined Gabie near the stern.

Merci, Geordie.” Gabie welcomed the food and the company of the younger man. “Has your Dad been operating this charter service long?”

“My Dad’s loved the sea, since he was a little boy. My grandparents immigrated to New Zealand from Ireland. He began working as a teenager on vessels like this. Ha! I think my Dad one day wants to get a schooner and set sail back to where his parents were born in County Kerry in Ireland. He and my Mum married young, and I came along soon afterwards. My parents saved enough, so they could buy this boat and business, as well as sending me off to school. My Mum passed away when I was younger from cancer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well – I think getting out onto the ocean has helped my Dad with his grief.”

“And – what about you, Geordie?” Gabie asked.

“Well – I love the sea. I help my Dad out on holidays and breaks from school. But my real love is the rugby pitch.”

“Ah! I can understand that.” Gabie laughed in reply. “It’s helped me work through a lot of difficulties in life.”

Geordie looked in surprise at his rugby hero. “You – Gabie – have had difficulties?”

“We all have difficulties, Geordie. I guess you don’t get the French tabloids down here in New Zealand?”

“I only read the sports pages. I’ve read about your last red card – “ Geordie paused and looked closely at Gabie. Gabie looked out onto the sea. Geordie excused himself. “I’m sorry if you don’t want me to bring that up –”

“No. That’s okay. I’ve learned to face my problems head on.”

“Well, Gabie – Gosh! I cannot believe I’m actually talking to you – But that last hit. It was clear that you had no intention to give a high tackle to the Italian scrum-half.”

“Thanks, Geordie. But no, the hit was wrong. I have to take responsibility for my actions on the pitch and off –“ Gabie paused deep in thought. Then he looked over to see the eager eyes of Geordie looking for guidance. “But enough about my game – Tell me about your game, Geordie. What position do you play?”

“I’m a scrum-half at university, who would like to pursue a career like yours, Gabie…” And so, Geordie went on. Gabie enjoyed talking to the younger man, and they were soon lost in conversation, only to be interrupted by Captain Walsh, who told his son to get Gabie ready for some fishing.

Geordie explained the latest fishing methods of lures, and tease and switch that stood Gabie a good chance of catching Marlin that day. Alexei got the dead bait ready. The sunshine had warmed the day, and Gabie slathered sunscreen on himself and donned a pair of Ray Bans. He asked Captain Walsh whether he minded if he stripped his shorts down to his racers.

“We’re New Zealanders, Gabie. We Kiwi men and our neighboring Aussies have long had an affinity for the speedo, “ Des laughed. “Besides – you’re the paying guest – whatever floats your boat, mate.”

Merci, mon Capitaine!” Geordie replied, before shucking his shorts to reveal his Budgy Smugglers in the design of the tricoleur. Alexei noticed the appreciative glances Geordie gave Gabie, as he beheld the Frenchman’s magnificently muscular hindquarters and well-endowed package. Alexei sneered in quiet derision, before he resumed his duties about the boat.

And the day went well. By noon, Gabie with Geordie’s help hooked a nicely sized Blue Marlin – a good ten-footer.

“Beginner’s Luck,” Gabie said, as the Walsh’s congratulated him. After catching the fish, they broke for a lunch of sandwiches and cold beers. After lunch, Des and Alexei busied themselves with the vessel, leaving Geordie alone once again with Gabie.

“May, I ask your advice, Gabie?”

Gabie looked at the handsome younger man. “Of course, Geordie.”

“Well, you said you’ve had some difficulties in your life…”

“Yes, Geordie.”

“As have I – Well, I’ve taken my frustrations out on the pitch, but I’m afraid I cannot go on with rugby.”

“Why not, Geordie?”

Looking over to see his Dad and Alexei busy before replying, Geordie looked back at the man whose skills he so admired. “I’m gay, Gabie. Will the world accept an out, gay man who wants to pursue a professional rugby career?”

Gabie was floored. He had come all the way to New Zealand to work through his own conflicted feelings about being a gay man. And now Geordie had confronted him with why it was so important for him to come out of the closet. He put his hand on Geordie’s shoulder.

“Listen to me, Geordie. I return to France next week. Once I’m back home, I’m arranging with Stade Normandie to call a press conference to announce that I, too, am gay.”

“You – Gabie? You’re gay?”

“Yes, I am gay, Geordie. Even a member of a World Cup-winning squad can be gay.”

“Man – to know that a man like you is like me, Gabie. It gives me courage – Thank you, Gabie. You don’t know how much this means to me. I told my Dad when I realized I liked men—you know – that way – and he told me that he loved and accepted me no matter what – and it was the content of my character that mattered. But my Dad is afraid for me – thinking there will be yahoos on and off the pitch who will use my sexuality against me.”

“Well, Geordie, your Dad’s a good, smart man. There will be yahoos on the pitch and off. Let me say this – This is how I plan to deal with those yahoos on the pitch – I’ll leave them in the dust as I score tries against them – and so will you! As for off the pitch – hold your head high and never be ashamed of yourself as long as you are a good man, like your Dad said to be. I learned that all that matters is a man’s good character – in the time I’ve spent in this wonderful country of yours.”

“Thank you, Gabie. You’ve made a difference to me.” A tear fell down Geordie’s face, as did one fall from Gabie’s.

Merci, my new friend! You’ve had an impact on me, aussi. You are braver than I was at your age – braver than I have been until recently. I’ve been afraid of telling anyone that I am gay. You Geordie – you had the confidence to come out earlier in your life. I did not have that confidence until recently. Now I know it is important to live openly and be proud of who I am. I’ve learned to focus on what is important, to change the things I can, and to accept that which I cannot.” The two men went on for some time talking to each other about life and rugby.

Gabie returned to fishing that afternoon. Captain Walsh permitted him to take off the Mae West. Again, with Geordie’s help, Gabie caught tuna and snapper. Where they were, they had not seen any other charter boats or other vessels. By three, Captain Walsh had begun to turn the Murias around to head back, when Alexi cried out,

“A boat in distress, Captain – about 1,400 meters on our portside.”

Captain Walsh grabbed his binoculars and saw a vessel similar to the Murias flying the naval ensign of French Polynesia, but it had been raised upside down – the traditional call of a vessel in distress at sea. Without thinking twice, Captain took to his bridge and headed course straight to the boat. He turned to his second mate and ordered the man to radio it in.

Desmond Walsh heard Alexei radio the distress-call in, their position at sea, and the approximate position of the boat in need of assistance. And Des heard the maritime authorities’ response to Alexei. What Captain Walsh did not know was that his second mate had fiddled with the radio dials and he was not in communication with the New Zealand maritime authorities.

As they headed to the boat in distress, Geordie explained the situation to Gabie.

“Gabie, we cannot ignore another seaman in need of help.”

Non, bien sûr que non – I fully understand, Geordie – if there is anything I can do – just let me know.”

For now Gabie, just sit tight. It’s probably nothing.”

As Geordie’s Dad began to decelerate as the other vessel drew closer, Geordie and Alexei hung fenders over the portside of the Murias and prepared the spring, bow, and stern lines to moor alongside the other boat. The boat was similar in size and capacity as the Murias. Gabie again stayed out of the men’s way, and he looked intently onto the deck of the other boat. Two men came into view. Dressed in swimming trunks and athletic tees, they appeared in their early thirties, beefy, and well-muscled. They caught the lines that Geordie and Alexei threw them and tied them on their boat, so that soon the two boats were soon tethered against each other.

The taller of the two men came to the starboard side of his boat to speak to Captain Walsh, who had turned off the engine of the Murias and come down from his bridge. The man looked about 6’2” tall. He was striking in appearance with jet black hair, a Roman nose, dark eyes, and olive complexion. His companion had the same features, but he was less handsome in appearance. He stood next to the taller man, who spoke first.

“Thank you. Our engine conked out a while ago, and we lost our radio transmission. We’ve been out here a few hours now.” He spoke with a slight accent. Gabie thought he might possibly be Spanish.

“I can come aboard to take a look, if you wish.” Captain Walsh suggested.

“Thank you, Captain, but that won’t be necessary.” The man reached behind him and pulled a revolver out of the waistband of his trunks and levelled it squarely at Des Walsh, as he and his companion, who had also pulled a revolver out and aimed it in the direction of Geordie and Gabie, leapt over the side of their boat and onto the deck of the Murias. While they did this, three more men dressed all in black emerged from below deck of the distressed vessel and jumped onboard the Murias.

What the hell!! Alexei saw the colors of that vessel flying upside down – the international call of distress – and Dad immediately turned the boat towards her. Gabie – Oh! God! Gabie! I’m sorry, mate! He’s been great – doing what we tell him to. As Dad drew closer to the boat, we saw that she was just floating in the water. Dad steered the bow so that it would come onto her starboard side, while Alexei and I threw the spring, bow, and stern lines to the two men on her deck. As they finished tying the lines, Dad came down from the wheel, and joined Gabie and me at the stern portside to talk to the men. Alexei stood behind Dad. One of the men told us that his boat had lost all power. No sooner than Dad had offered to go onboard and take a look then both men jumped onto our deck and were waving guns at us Three more men – all dressed in black tactical uniforms – came from below deck and rushed aboard the Murias.

“What’s going on…?” Des demanded and stood defiantly in the face of this armed man. Alexei stood behind Des, as the other men surrounded Gabie and Geordie.

“Easy, Captain.” The man said to him. “We’re commandeering your boat. My name is Carlos.”

“Dad – what’s going on?” Geordie pleaded anxiously.

“I don’t know, son. Stay calm.”

The three surrounded me and Gabie, who stood in front of me and held his arms out at his sides, as if he were shielding me. I could feel my heart racing. The first two are still aiming their guns at Dad and us. This guy – Carlos –just matter of factly told my Dad he was commandeering the Murias. Are they pirates? We’re not that far out, and piracy happens more in the Indian Ocean than the South Pacific. Dad is telling me to stay calm, but, how can I?

All sorts of scenarios rushed through Gabie’s mind. Who were these men? He had read about modern piracy and how yachts and other high-priced pleasure boats were often taken at sea leaving their crews and passengers murdered.

The second man with the gun is kind of distracted. Making a split-decision, Gabie muttered to Geordie, “Remember my red card, Geordie?”

Gabie’s whispering if I remember his red card. “Yes, Gabie.” He wants us to rush the four of them. I ‘m ready, mate – just waiting for you to give the signal…

“Now!”

Gabie and Geordie rushed at the men surrounding them, knocking them over, and a scuffle ensued. We rush them knocking all four down on the deck. The gun just fell from the man’s hand, but it was kicked towards Carlos – Sh*t! I got a good uppercut at one, before another guy drove his fist into my gut. Despite the pain, I keep flailing at him –throwing punches and kicks I hope will land a knockout. I look over and see Gabie grappling with the others, and he’s delivering some great blows to them, then –

As they scuffled, Alexei pulled a serrated knife from the waistband of his khaki shorts, pulled Captain Walsh into a chokehold with the knife’s sharp blade at the Captain’s throat. Alexei shouted,

“Enough!”

Both Geordie and Gabie ceased their fighting. Both knelt back on the deck and raised their hands. The shout from Alexei stopped Gabie and me in our tracks. He has Dad in a chokehold with a sharp serrated-edged knife at his throat – what the fuck? Their breathing was hard from the exertion of their resistance. Geordie looked in shock at the betrayal of Alexei. He’s one of them??? Two of the black-clad men raised Gabie and Geordie up and soon had a stranglehold on the two brave souls. as they pulled the arms of each tightly behind them.

That pathetic piece of sh*t – He set us up.

“We need to tie them up.” Alexei said to Carlos.

“Yes – as securely as possible.” Carlos replied. He turned to his companion with the revolver. “Fetch the bag, Diego.” Carlos handed the fallen gun back to his companion – he called him Diego – and told him to get some bag. Diego went back to his boat, went below deck, and quickly returned with a large, black nylon duffel. That scumbag Alexei continues to press that knife against Dad’s throat. Dad isn’t moving a muscle. Neither am I nor Gabie. Throwing it onto the deck of the Murias before he jumped aboard, Diego crouched down on his haunches, unzipped the duffel, and began to extract coils of black rope. He handed the coils to the third black-clad man.

Diego instructed the man, “Tie them back to back in a ‘Circassian Ball.’ But first strip Desclaux of his rash shirt, and the young Walsh of his shirt and boardshorts.”

He knows our names? “Circassian Ball.” What the hell was that? I took a history of the Caucasus and central Asian republics of the former USSR at uni, and I remembered that the Circassians were a fiercely independent people whose warriors were not easily defeated. I knew Gabie and I would be subjected to a tortuous binding – We would soon find out the meaning of the Circassian Ball…

Des struggled against the stranglehold Alexei, still held him in – when I get my hands on that piece of human garbage he’ll end up as chum bait –

Alexei kept the pressure of the knife on his throat and whispered in Des’ ear.

“Stop struggling. Enjoy the spectacle of your lovestruck son getting bound back to back to his hero.”

“Don’t harm them, Alexei…” Des grunted.

“Just do as we tell you…” Alexei spat back.

No! They’re going to find out what I’m wearing underneath the shorts! Diego is pulling bundles of black rope from the duffel. He’s handing them to the guys dressed in paramilitary uniforms to tie us up…

While Diego kept his revolver on the two men, his black-clad companions roughly pulled the shirts from Gabie and Geordie and pulled the boardshorts off Geordie. This freak tore my shirt off and yanked my shorts down. Once he had been relieved of his boardshorts Geordie could not hide the fact that he wore a pair of Budgy Smugglers with the exact same design as on the pair Gabie wore – the French flag! Now they know my France Budgy Smugglers. The poor lad was such a fan of Gabie that he had chosen to wear that racer that day, not knowing that his hero would wear the same. I had worn them that day because of Gaby – now he really knows I am a frackin’ fanboy! Alexei and the others are laughing and taunting me – I don’t care –I’ll keep holding my head high! But Geordie stood there defiantly proud, as the cadre of his cruel captors sneered at him. Although Alexei held a knife to his neck, restrained him, and their situation looked hopeless, Des was proud of the bold stance his son took against those jeers. He winked at Geordie to assure him of that.

Dad winked at me!

And Gabie murmured words of support.

“Pay them no heed, mon ami!”

Thanks, dude! – He and Dad are giving me courage.

Gabie and Geordie had their arms roughly pulled behind them and with coils of the black rope their wrists were crossed and tied tightly together. Once the third black-clad man had accomplished this, one of his other accomplices joined him in forcing the legs of Gabie and Geordie together, then they tightly tied together the ankles of the Frenchman and New Zealander. While their cohort steadied them as they stood, more rope was intertwined about their muscular thighs above their knees and around their legs.

Carlos and Diego kept their pistols trained on the pair of captives, as their fellow raiders forcefully tied them up. With a sharp knife at his throat and in the firm grasp of his Benedict Arnold, poor Des watched hopelessly as his son and the Frenchman were bound with rope. He could do nothing for them but listen to their grunts and groans as these pirates turned them into captives. Once the marauders mercilessly had tethered their wrists, ankles and upper thighs, they took still more rope and bound the men’s upper arms to their sides and across their torsos by interlacing the rope around the biceps, triceps, and across their well-toned chests and backs. And they retrieved still ever more rope from the duffel back to restrain the men.

Gabie and Geordie were forcibly pulled together back to back and pushed down by their shoulders until they were seated back to back on the oak deck. Their captors forced each man’s legs towards them so that their bound knees were up against their chests. The seedy sea rovers then lashed more rope through the cords knotting their ankles together fashioning a leash of sorts, which they then drew under their raised knees and under the toned tushes of each man to knot the ends around the other man’s bound wrists. Gabie and Geordie grunted loudly as the rope wedged itself between the Budgy Smuggler-covered crevices of their brawny buns as the tethers were tied securely. Now, if one pulled at his wrists or ankles, the rope would wedge itself further into their butt-cracks.

Still not satisfied with their handiwork, these cruel corsairs wound more of the black lanyard around their waists in an attempt to bind Gabie and Geordie to each other even more closely. The same was done at their abutting elbows , upper arms, and across their torsos. Next, they lashed rope around the meaty upper thighs of each man and then fastened the ends around the thighs of the other man, so that Gabie’s right thigh was chained to Geordie’s left thigh and Geordie’s right thigh haltered to Gabie’s left thigh. Standing back to observe their crafty craftwork, the abducting buccaneers took in the sight of the very muscular Gabriel “Gabie” Desclaux bound in a ball back to back to a less shredded but still muscular George “Geordie” Walsh in a similar ball.

Once when I was a kid, I found an old American baseball that had begun to lose its outer horsehide covering. Inside was yarn wrapped round and round – that’s what Gabie and I ended up looking like – I imagine – two tie- up human balls back to back. These b@st@rds know their knots. They’re tight and I can barely move. This black rope is holding firm – it just won’t budge –

Diego stepped once again and removed the topsiders from the feet of each man. Both Gabie and Geordie wore no-show white socks. Diego removed Gabie’s socks first. He could feel the clamminess of the material in his hands. They were wet and sweaty from the salt water of the sea and the exertions of catching fish all day. Diego tossed one sock aside, and he balled the other one up. He walked over to face Geordie and looked down at him. Geordie looked back at him with a mixture of fear and defiance.

No way, you fracker!

Diego crouched down before him and brought the balled-up sock to his face. Geordie kept his mouth firmly shut, correctly gauging that the man intended to stuff it in his mouth. Diego looked over to Alexei still holding his sharp, serrated-bladed knife against the throat of Geordie’s Dad and nodded. Alexei pressed the blade with ever-so-slightly more pressure against Des’s throat. Des let out a painful gasp.

No! no! no! You can’t let anything happen to Dad –

“Alright…”

Geordie opened his mouth to take in his hero’s sweaty, clammy sock. One of his cohorts handed Diego a roll of black duct-tape and gagged Geordie with strips of it on his mouth and around his head. The lad grunted futilely in inaudible curses at this cruel man.

“MMMPPPHHHHRRRCCCKKKRRRRR!!!!”

Uggh! The bum shoved it as far back, as he could – It reeks of Gabie’s sweat and salt water. That tape is squishing my cheeks in – making me bite down on Gabie’s sock. What’s he doing now?? Ah! I’m sorry, Gabie!

Diego then removed Geordie’s socks – that were just as soggy and sticky as Gabie’s – tossed aside and balled the other up before approaching the callously cinched-up Frenchman. As he crouched down to stuff it in Gabie’s mouth, Gabie spat at him and swore,

Tu es merde.”

Way to go, Gabie – he is a sh*t!

Wiping the phlegm from his face, Diego shot back, “You will regret that,” as he attempted to shove Geordie’s sock in Gabie’s mouth. Gabie kept his mouth as firmly shut as Geordie had. Diego nodded to one of his black-clad cohorts, who bent down and twisted one of Geordie’s nipples between his fingers. Geordie cried out in muffled pain.

Jeez ---ooowwwww!!! That hurst like crazy!!

Gabie opened his mouth to receive the sweat-stained sock, then he too was gagged with strips of black duct-tape plastered over his mouth and around his head.

Once Gabie and Geordie were soundly secured and tethered to each other on the deck of the boat, Alexei released his hold on Captain Walsh and pushed him forward to the middle of his boat’s deck. Des doubled over, coughing, and gasping for breath.

“You b@st@rd you!” He hurled the invective at his second mate.

Please, Dad! Don’t do anything stupid – You b@st@rds do anything to him – I’ll rip your throats out!

Alexei merely laughed in response.


Frack you, Alexei!

“Strip, Captain.” Carlos bellowed.

What??

Squinting his eyes to look squarely at the man, he asked, “What do you want with us, mister?

“All in good time, Captain – all in good time – Now, take off your clothes.”

Just do it Dad – don’t argue – Please!

Looking around at Alexei and his other miserable mates, Des saw them stare mockingly at him. He looked down and saw the gutsy spirits of his son and Gabie.

He looks so concerned about me – he’s always been so concerned about me – It’s okay, Dad!

Des pulled his shirt over his head.

““FWEET! Phreeeeeeeeww!” One of the men let out a wolf whistle.

Dirty Bums!!

Des Walsh stood with the shirt still in his right hand – his upper body exposed. Even past 40, he had a brawny chest matted with dark hair with only a few grey hairs. While his hair fanned out across his manly chest, it trailed down and covered the still firm muscles of his abdomen before disappearing below his nether regions covered under his khaki shorts.

“Don’t stop now, Captain.” Alexei taunted.

Dropping his shirt to the deck, Des used his feet to shuck the topsiders off, and then lifted each foot to take his socks off – dropping each atop his discarded shirt. He then unhooked his belt and unclasped the button holding his shorts in place. Des slid down the zipper, and he bent down as he slid the shorts past his bum and his hefty, hairy, and sturdy thighs and calves. Standing erect, Des Walsh now stood in his Budgy Smugglers , covering him from nakedness. Although he was thicker than his son, Des Walsh was still a strapping man. His arms and legs were as well-muscled as his chest. And he had an audaciously well-sculpted butt. Des also possessed a Johnson & Cojones that would make any man envious. His Budgy Smugglers were a pair that Geordie had especially ordered as a gift for him this past Christmas. The racer was designed with an Irish flag motif in a nod to the family’s Irish roots. Adorned across the back in large letters was “Captain.” Underneath in smaller letters, “World’s Greatest Dad!” was spelled out. Geordie had encouraged Des to date again that year. For some reason, Des now recalled his son’s words – “Dad, you’re still a fox – pure chick bait,” when he balked at the suggestion. In the midst of this unfolding nightmare, Des looked down at Geordie and saw his son’s disquieted demeanor. He gave his son a wink in hope that it would reassure him.

Oh! Man – I love you, Dad!

“That’s far enough, Captain” Carlos declared and stepped forward to take in Des’s robust figure. Des remained silent as he was measured up like the catch of the day. The privateer walked around Des and paused behind him. He touched the top of Des’s back and traced his fingers down the bumps of the man’s spine until he stopped at the top of the crevice between Des’s still powerfully built buns. The Budgy Smuggler had ridden up Des’ butt cleft, revealing the lower part of his lightly hairy right glute. Carlos cupped that glute and gave it a squeeze before walking around to face Des once again. He grabbed the Captain’s privates and held on.

Behind gritted teeth, Des asked once more, “What do you want, you Bastard!”

Carlos ignored the question. He held Des’s gaze. He massaged Des’s balls with his right thumb for a moment, then let go of the jewels. Walking away from Des, Carlos ordered his men,

“Tie him up.”

They’re pushing and pulling him around so roughly – he’s a hundred times’ worth what you are – So Help them – When I get out of this – I’ll…

After binding Des’ wrists behind his back, the cold-blooded thugs fashioned a black-roped harness across his torso that pinioned his sinewy arms to his sides. As they threaded the harness down Des’s torso, it became a jockstrap encasing his Irish heritage meat and potatoes and jutted them forward depravedly while squeezing his muscular hindquarters together lewdly. More rope fastened his upper and lower thighs together, while his legs were belted below his knees and at his ankles with more black rope. As he stood precariously, Alexei came forward, bent down and picked up one of the socks stripped from either Geordie or Gabie. Like his brave son and the equally brave Gabie, Des refused to open his mouth. The ruthless Russian gave Des a hard slap to his bro globes. Still, Des remained defiant.

Owwww!! That had to hurt – don’t fight him, Dad – Please!

“Do the same to his son, Diego.”

If Dad can take, so can I – you b@st@rd!

As Diego was about to hit Geordie in his groin apples…

Here it comes – Brace yourself…

Des shouted.

“Stop.” With a look of pure hatred, Des opened to the clumped-up sock in Alexei’s hand.

“Maybe you will taste Monsieur Desclaux, or maybe you will taste your son.” Alexei swiped at him.

Dad was so kind to him – You Miserable Sh*t!

Des’s lips were then sealed with black duct-tape sealed across his mouth and around his head.

Carlos had spied a nylon net in the corner of the stern. He picked it up and walked over to the trussed-up Captain of the Murias.

What’s he doing’ with the net?

He threw it over Des., and it enveloped him from head to toe. Carlos turned to his underlings and told them to secure it around him. They added more rope until Des was soon truly like the catch of the day.

My poor Dad!

Carlos was still not done with Des. He whispered some words to Diego, who once more returned to the other boat and came back this time carrying a medium-sized but still heavy anchor. Rummaging through the duffel bag, Carlos took out a short chain and padlock.

Omigod! No…No…Please God! Please – No! Don’t let anything happen to him! Please…

Carlos and Diego threaded the chain around Des’ already bound and netted ankles before attaching and padlocking it to the anchor. They dragged Des over to the stern of the boat right next to where Geordie and Gabie were bound.

Oh! God! – No! I need to get out of these ropes – No! Please! Please – Please – Please!! Take me – Not him!!!

“UUUGHGHHH! MMHHHPPLLLLZZZZZ!!! NNNUUTTTT UUUHHMMMM! NNOOOO!! MMMMPPHHHMMMEEEEEE!!!!

“MMMMMEEERRRSSSIIIII!NNNHHHH FFFFFUUUU PPPPHHH SSSSSAAA!!” (“Merci – Ne fais pas ça!") Gabie shouted through his gag.

Fearing the worst, Geordie began to thrash about – wrestling to break free of his bonds – not caring how the black rope dug into his butt. Gabie, too, was fighting against his bonds oblivious to the pain in his own butt. Their gaolers laughed at their predicament in the knowledge that they only tightened the knots holding them and would only knock themselves over. Des shut his eyes preparing to meet his Maker, but he quickly opened them, because he wanted to somehow let Geordie know how much he loved him before these miscreant marauders consigned him to the ocean depths.

No, No, No, No, No – Please God – Please God! Please – Please – Please! Don’t do that! Take me instead!!!”

Carlos paused as he and Diego pressed Des against the stern of the Murias. “I could very well drop you overboard, Captain – to punish these two for their pathetic attempt to overpower my men before…But not now – I will if any of you attempt resistance again before we reach our destination. Is that understood?”

“MMMPPPHHH! PPPPMMMLLLLEEAASS! MMMYYSSS!” Geordie pleaded.
Huh… Phoo…Huh… Phoo…Huh… Phoo – Puff – Puff- Yes! Yes! – Huh… Phoo Huh… Phoo…Huh… Phoo!

“MMMYYYSSSSSHHH!!!” Gabie assented.

Des slowly nodded his head up and down.

“Good,” Carlos answered. He and Diego then lay the bound, gagged, netted, and still anchored Captain Des Walsh on his stomach on the deck beside Gabie and Geordie bound back to back. The callous corsairs walked away from the little grappled group to consult amongst themselves. Left alone, tears soon flowed down Geordie’s face. He began to convulse, as he could no longer control his sobs –

Omigod – sniffle – Omigod – sniffle – What just happened? Sniffle – GASP – Thank you, God – sniffle – Thank you, God!! Dad – sniffle – Dad – sniffle – sniffle – sniffle – Dad – I’m going to go crazy!!

Thinking only of his son, Des choked back his own tears and fear of having just escaped certain death. He marbled a grunt through his gag to get Geordie’s attention.

“MMMPPPHHH! IIIIIRRUUUVVVUUUU JJJRRRHHHDDDEEE.” Des groaned and then winked at his son.

Geordie understood that his Dad was trying to tell him he loved him. In reply he gargled a response,

“IIIIRRRUUUVVVVUUUU222HH DDDUUUDDDEEEE!!”
Sniffle – sniffle – I love you too, Daddy!


Geordie then felt Gabie’s hands bound behind his back attempting to lace over Geordie’s own. Their hands somehow locked around each other. Geordie’s sobs began to subside, and soon his sobs turned to a trickle as Geordie concentrated on his father’s love and the support of his hero and newfound friend.

Huh… Phoo…Huh… Phoo – Thank you, Gabie!

As best he could, Geordie clasped Gabie’s hands back and kept his gaze on his Dad who never looked away. Somehow, the three men knew that they’d find a way out of this ordeal.

To Be Continued…
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Post by DeeperThanRed »

I really liked the captives in this target. Despite their short time spent together, they almost felt like a family with how much they care about each other, with father and son supporting each other and quickly warming up to Gabie. Just makes it more dastardly how pirates used this to threaten them into submission.

Aslo, it was hot seeing Geordie and Gabie getting tied up in their swimming briefs but wow, I wasn't expecting Captain Walsh to get the same treatment. Yay for silver foxes in bondage!

This was the first new chapter in this site for me and you didn't disappoint. Keep up the great work!
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Post by george_bound »

Well Gabie and Geordie seem to have hit it off, thankfully so since it seems they'll be spending a lot of time bonding ;) Looking forward to their transport and also how the captain will be left... hopefully not tied to a pier post awaiting his doom at high tide :twisted:

Wow... first the Irktuskian Ball... then the Persian Cauldron... now the Circassian Ball... yikes! We're gonna need a catalogue for all these intricate predicaments :P

Keep it up, mate!
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Post by Socksbound »

[mention]KidnappedCowboy[/mention] I'm a bit late to this story but really quite enjoying it. Love your attention to detail.
See all my written works here :
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Post by bondagefreak »

KidnappedCowboy wrote: 3 years ago And thanks to the bobsleigh fitness regimen, Simon DuWright never skipped leg day. His muscular hindquarters had developed so much more, that he needed to find a tailor to adjust all his trousers to accommodate his amply sized derriere. Finding jeans to fit was nearly impossible!
I can very much sympathize with Simon's plight in the jeans department.
I could only chuckle whilst reading the truth behind those lines.

[mention]george_bound[/mention] You must've been positively leaking at the thought of Simon trying out and struggling to fit inside a pair of denims 8-) Now you know why I have trouble wearing those pants and why I've given up in favour of wearing trackies ;)
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Post by george_bound »

bondagefreak wrote: 3 years ago
KidnappedCowboy wrote: 3 years ago And thanks to the bobsleigh fitness regimen, Simon DuWright never skipped leg day. His muscular hindquarters had developed so much more, that he needed to find a tailor to adjust all his trousers to accommodate his amply sized derriere. Finding jeans to fit was nearly impossible!
I can very much sympathize with Simon's plight in the jeans department.
I could only chuckle whilst reading the truth behind those lines.

@george_bound You must've been positively leaking at the thought of Simon trying out and struggling to fit inside a pair of denims 8-) Now you know why I have trouble wearing those pants and why I've given up in favour of wearing trackies ;)
You are quite right, Sir BFreak ;)
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Post by KidnappedCowboy »

I can very much sympathize with Simon's plight in the jeans department.
I could only chuckle whilst reading the truth behind those lines.

@george_bound You must've been positively leaking at the thought of Simon trying out and struggling to fit inside a pair of denims 8-) Now you know why I have trouble wearing those pants and why I've given up in favour of wearing trackies ;)
And it is a problem, [mention]bondagefreak[/mention] and [mention]george_bound[/mention] for which you receive many appreciative second looks! ;)
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Post by KidnappedCowboy »

Chapter XI: The Pirates’ Price

On Board the Murias
When he heard the sound of the engine of the “distressed” vessel starting with ease, it was like pouring salt on the already festering wounds of the captain of the Murias. Since he and his clutched companions were tied up on the deck below the gunwale, Des Walsh could see very little of where the privateers intended to sail, after the kidnappers unmoored the Murias from their boat. Two of the paramilitarily garbed raiders returned to their boat to follow the Murias to its unknown destination. Alexei had taken the helm of the Murias, while the third black uniformed raider stood guard over their captives. Carlos and Diego stayed near the captain’s wheel in consultation with Alexei, returning to the stern every once-in-a-while to check on the commandeered crew and their compatriot in compelled cordage. The hijacked huddle could do little but hunker in hushed timbres forced upon them by these horrid sea rovers and their accomplice – that Siberian snake. As a visitor to New Zealand with no sailing experience, Gabie could hardly assess any landmarks, even if he could peer over the side of the gunwale. Geordie – still struggling with his emotions -- was of little help at the moment. And bound, netted, attached to an anchor, and lying flat on his stomach on the deck, Des could bring little of his vast knowledge of the sea to use, except to judge how much time had passed after these miserable marauders lay hold of them and his boat from the light of the day and the direction he believed that Siberian snake steered the Murias toward.

You’ve got to stay calm, Des – for the sake of Geordie and also for Gabie. Breathe – man – Breathe! Deep inhale…Now exhale…Again…

Des took a deep breath in through his nose and exhaled to a mental count of five seconds. He repeated the process until he held his fear and anger at bay.

Okay, man! Now – I need to get Geordie to do the same. Gabie’s a professional athlete. He may have his own techniques on focusing, but I’ve got to get Geordie’s attention. His breaths sound labored –

Bound back to back as they were, both Gabie and Geordie had to turn their heads sideways to look at Des bound next to them. At the moment, both men had their heads down – Gabie lost in thought and Geordie near despair. And since Des was on his stomach, it was quite a task for him to gain their attention.

“JJJHHHHHRRRRDDDDEEEEE!!!” “GUUUUUUHHHHHHBBBBBEEEEE!!” Des grunted like some animal through the bundled sock stuffed in his mouth and the layers of tape wrapped across his mouth and around his head to get the others’ attention. He did not want to groan too loudly, or he might rouse the suspicions of the man standing guard over them. But the man was far enough away from them that he might not notice Des trying to communicate with his son and Gabie.

“JJJJRRRRDDDDDEEE!” “GGUUUUBBBEEEE!” Des mumbled.

“MMM?” Gabie looked down.

“BBBHHHRRRRUUUUTHHHH! GGGUUUBBBEE! JJJHHHHHRRRDDDEEEEE!” Des gasped.

And then he began once again to draw in deep breaths and slowly exhale them through his nose.

Gabie caught on quickly, and he shook Geordie’s hand bound in his own to shake the poor lad from his agony.

Look at me, son! My God! Gabie gets it, and he’s trying to help Geordie – Thank the Saints! He’s a good man –

Geordie felt Gabie’s hand pressing against his own. He looked up, around, and down at his Dad –

“BRRUUGGHHTTHH! JJHHHJJJRRRDDEEEEE – BRRUUGHHHTTHH”

Come On – Laddie – Breathe – Geordie – Breathe! He’s looking at me – In – Out – Again!

And Des got through to Gabie and his son. Both men were soon following Des’ example. Gabie was quick to pick up on Des’ concern that the guard not notice them. He kept looking over to see if the guard realized that they were communicating.

Gabie gets it! Thank you, God! He keeps looking up to see if one of those miserable marauders knows what we’re doing – and I can see him grasping my son’s hands in his – he’s a good man.

The breaths of the men soon became even, and Des hoped that could keep Geordie calm.

Jesus! This sock tastes like a crab left on the beach in the hot sun! And the boys are gagged with them too. The sea water will dry our mouths out. Staying calm – Frackin’ Hell, Man! Staying Calm may make our throats from getting parched – we have to find a way out of this – this nightmare! Trussed up as we are now – there’s little we can do – but hold tight – I have to – to keep the boys calm.

Des looked up at Gabie –

Yes – he’s a good man.

Des thought back to earlier in the day before all this happened…

Geordie didn’t realize that I could hear him talking to Gabie – but I’m glad that I did. Geordie – God! How I love him – I’m so proud that he is mature enough to accept himself – but he’s still so young and innocent – he doesn’t know that acceptance of gay people is so recent – I try to tell him to be careful – Be who you are – but know that the bigots are still out there – and want to hurt you! He’s so loving and accepting – he doesn’t know that there are so many out there who aren’t. Then I heard talk about himself to Gabie. And I heard what Gabie told him. Jeez – the man was so kind to my kid! I won’t forget that! And I see now how they’re both so cruelly tied up together – Those Bastards!!! – But Gabie is trying to comfort my son! I’ll get us out of this. I need to protect my son! And I need to make sure a man who came onto my boat returns safely to shore! But he’s now more than just a tourist out for a fishing trip – No – my son connected to him – I owe it to him to get him out of this –

Feeling the boat turn to port, Des returned to gauging their direction –

What’s this? We turned to port. We must be heading north. They can’t take us far – Alexei knows we don’t have the fuel for that – We’re returning to harbor – But, No! They couldn’t – return us to the Murias’ berth? No! We must be heading north of the harbor. Sunset is approaching – Jeez! What do these men want?

Darkness soon fell as the sun set, and Des was left pondering what Alexei and his confederate corsairs wanted of them –

A Private Estate on The Bay of Islands: Early Evening
In a very secluded, private harbor on an estate further north of where the Murias usually berthed, two men accompanied by three assistants – men in black, paramilitary uniforms – stood at the entrance to a dock capable of mooring 40ft. sporting vessels. They waited for boats with their latest cargo of good to arrive in the early evening. The two men were impeccably dressed in bespoke, dark business suits. One stood patiently at the entrance to the dock, while his companion paced back and forth along the length of it.

“Why do you continue to tread those boards, Guy? The boat will arrive, when it arrives,” Leopold de Châtillon, Comte de Dunois, admonished his younger brother. The Count was a strikingly handsome man, standing 6’6” tall and weighing approximately 190lbs. He had straight, light brown hair that hung down the top of his ears, and he often pushed back the locks that hung so seductively across his forehead. He was blessed with deep-set blue eyes on either side of a straight nose and above very sensuous lips. His finely cheek-boned, thin face most often sported a couple days’ scruff of growth that added to his allure.

“We should never have outsourced the procurement of this cargo to the Chileans and that Russian. Their methods are crude – unprofessional even – and often come close to skirting the customs of the Order, Leopold.” Guy de Châtillon answered. At 27, he was two years younger than Leopold, and at 6’4”, he stood two inches shorter but was similar in weight to Leopold. Guy was also strikingly handsome with the same features as his brother. He, however, kept his hair cropped short in a more stylish, Parisian mode. And he was always clean shaven.

“I agree, Guy. The Chileans and that Russian are not as professional or as strictly dedicated to the Order as we are, but their methods are highly effective. And their plan was flawless to me. Please, remain calm. They should be here shortly.”

“Don’t you remember what they did with our last cargo from Australia, Leopold? It arrived damaged!”

“But it was not ruined, Guy. Their attention to the details of packaging the cargo may have led them to have been a tad too – shall I say – particular – but the packaging stood up to transportation.”

“’Attention to details of packaging,’ Leopold? They nearly strangled that Australian shot putter!” Guy exclaimed.

“Well, Guy – you know as well as I do how very hard it is to keep a man – an Olympic athlete no less – who stands 5’11” tall and weighs 282lb. tied up securely.” His brother retorted.

“Leopold, they went overboard – they used the true “Circassian Ball” on him. Not only was that shot putter tied up in a ball – they placed the tightening knot around his neck, so if he struggled too much, he would choke! He had that leather muzzle gag with the balloon-ball inflated in his mouth, Leopold! That Olympian nearly garroted himself by the time he arrived.”

“Nearly is the operative word, Guy. He survived – a little blue I’ll admit – but he soon recovered his color when we unpackaged him. Please, don’t worry, Guy. I gave the Chileans strict instructions when I contracted with them that when they used the “Circassian Ball” on our French import, they needed to use the reformed and not the traditional version.”

“But…”

Monsieur le Comte…

Guy de Châtillon was cut off by a fourth armed man, who joined the entourage on the dock and addressed Leopold.

Oui, Marc?”

“We have received word that the cargo should arrive in ten minutes.”

Très bon. Merci.

Soon, Leopold and Guy de Châtillon could see two boats heading into the darkened entrance of the secluded harbor. They stepped aside to allow their four underlings onto the dock to grab lines thrown from the boats to moor each on either side of the pier. Twenty minutes later, the supposedly distressed vessel to whose aid Captain Des Walsh immediately but unwittingly went was berthed on one side of the dock and the Murias tied up on the other side. The lights of the pier were then turned on, brightly illuminating the two boats. Carlos, Diego, and Alexei stepped onto the dock from Captain Walsh’s vessel. While Carlos went directly up to Leopold de Châtillon with open arms, Diego and Alexei stood back on the dock.

Bon soir, gentlemen.” Leopold greeted the party.

“’Gentlemen – hardly!’” His brother thought in disbelief.

Buena noches, Conde! Buena noches, Señor.” Carlos returned the count’s greeting and acknowledged his brother.

“I trust all went well.” Leopold said.

“But, of course…not one glitch.” Carlos responded.

“May we examine the cargo, then?” Guy interjected.

“Just one moment…” Alexei stepped forward.

“Alexei, please – I said I would handle it.” Carlos put his hand out to chide the Russian and hold him back.

“No, Carlos. We need to do this quickly. I need to disappear before anyone sees me still around.” Alexei demanded.

“Alright, Alexei.” Carlos agreed.

“What’s going on…?” Guy asked.

“Yes, Carlos, what is going on?” Leopold joined his brother in questioning the Chilean.

“Our price has changed, mi señor. We want $2 million American.”

“This is most unusual, Carlos. We agreed to $1million American for the French import and $500,000 American for the domestic product. What has changed?”

“Well mi señor – we now have two domestic products to sell.”

Leopold and Guy looked at each other in surprise. They turned back to Carlos.

“May we inspect the product before we agree to buy it, Carlos?” Leopold asked.

“Of course, Conde. Will you and your brother follow me?”

The brothers accompanied by two of their adjutants followed Carlos, Alexei, and Diego down the dock to board the Murias.

Haggling over Hostages
As Alexei and the Chileans led the way, Leopold and Guy de Châtillon boarded the Murias. Once they were all on deck, Carlos gestured for the brothers to follow him astern, where the trio of men lay tied-up and gagged. Carlos stayed close behind the count and his brother, while the others remained in the cabin near the captain’s wheel, content for now to allow Carlos alone to bargain with the Frenchmen. Leopold and Guy took in the sight of their French import – Gabie Desclaux -- not only tied back to back to their domestic product – Geordie Walsh, whom the Chileans and the Russian had offered in the bargain – but their limbs, joints, waists, and chests lay tethered to each other in an intricately webbed design. Guy noticed right away that their necks remained unbound.

“Well, at least you had the good sense to apply the reformed technique of the ‘Circassian Ball.’” Guy noted.

“As per your brother’s instructions, Señor.” Carlos purred.

Leopold and Guy began to assess their purchases – for the moment ignoring the bound, gagged, netted, and still anchored man next to the ordered merchandise. In quiet conversation with each other, they measured Gabie up first.

“There is not an ounce of fat on him.” Leopold spoke approvingly.

“I told you he would be a perfect specimen for the project.” Guy said with satisfaction.

Leopold squeezed Gabie’s bound right arm, then slid his hand across the scrum-half’s trussed- up chest.

“Very nicely muscled.” Leopold continued.

Gabie winced at this manhandling of him and grunted his objection to it.

“DDDHHHLLLLEEEEVVV UUHHMMMM AAAALLLUUUNN!” (“Leave him alone!”), Des protested.
“WWHHHHHHMMMMPPTTT! GGGGUUUUUTTTTT OOMMMPPPHHHH MMMUUUU!”

But the brothers would not get their hands off him.

Guy crouched down and looked Gabie straight in the eye. Gabie stared back at him. His stare was cold and filled with determination. For a moment, Guy thought he saw something else. Was it a look of recognition? Guy was not sure, and he soon paid no heed to him, as he continued to take stock of the new inventory. He stroked, pawed, and squeezed Gabie’s trussed-up thighs, drawing closer to sa bite et ses couilles. Gabie attempted to push his pelvis back to evade Guy’s hands from taking hold of him, but it was useless. Guy cupped his hand over Gabie’s smuggler-covered gentleman’s package. His look at the men spoke volumes to the resignation descending upon him – Gabie closed his eyes to the uninvited fondling of him and concentrated on his resolve to find a way out of this horror.

Control the anger, Gabie – Control it! I cannot control the situation, but I can control my response to it. Ces salauds! They’ve now brought others onboard – what is it that they want? If they were drug runners – we would have been dead already! What? Oh, mon Dieu! -- I know this man – but from where? Think, Gabie – Think – he’s touching me likes he’s appraising a thoroughbred horse – Is that what they want? To breed us? Where do I know him from? I’ve met him before, but where, Gabie? Where? Casse-toi! Do not touch me there! Ugh! What I cannot control – Let it go, Gabie – Let it go!

Geordie knew what was happening to Gabie. He reached out to his rugby hero, new friend, and now fellow captive by returning Gabie the comfort that he had shown him only a short time before. Behind their bound backs and with their hands fettered to one another, Geordie sought to grab hold of Gabie’s hands to distract him from the unwanted touches of this stranger. With the thumb of his right hand, Geordie rubbed – no – caressed one of Gabbie’s hands.

What’s this? Geordie is stroking my hand with his thumb – He’s trying to tell me something – Thank you, Geordie! For the umpteenth time today, this lad has comforted me. I know you see me as some kind of hero – Geordie – but it is you who are hero to me! You’re younger than I am – but you are out and do not care who knows it, my new friend! I was too scared until now – God help me! Together you, me, and your father will get out of this!

And so Gabie –as best he could – ignored Guy de Châtillon fondling his sa bite et ses couilles, and instead concentrated on the warmth, friendship, comfort, and solidarity Geordie conveyed to him by that ever so simple gesture.

Guy stood up and spoke to Leopold. “He will do quite nicely. He should provide copious amounts of what we need, mon frère!”

“Bon – and the domestic product?”

“DDHHHHUUNNTTHHH TTHHHHUUUCCCCHHH UUHHMMMM!!!” (“Don’t Touch Him!”), Des sought vainly to protect his son.

Guy turned his attention to Geordie, and he once again bent down to run his hands over the firm muscles of “the domestic product.” He began by handling Geordie’s firm chest across which hair the color of the thick hair on his head fanned across his pectoral muscles. Guy noted how his skin was tanned, but it remained unblemished and supple to his touch. As he appraised Geordie, Guy observed how he did not have the ripped and finely-honed musculature of the foreign import – which were the effects of the strict regimen of exercise and strict adherence to diet by the elite professional rugby player bound to him. No – this egg chaser still indulged himself with his mates – Guy thought – and he would need to be pushed to his limits. But – Guy judged as he petted him – he will soon develop into an elite sportsman.

Guy could not help but tweaking one of Geordie’s nipples and marveling how it and its pair became erect – –

“MMMPPPHHH!” Geordie mewed helplessly.

Hold on mon nouvel ami…Hold on! – Gabie sought to telepath his words of support to his new friend, and he held Geordie’s bound hands in his trussed-up ones as a sure sign of his support. Geordie held tight to Gabie, and Gabie would not let himself lose his grip on the young man. Either Guy and Leopold did not notice the backing the two captives gave each other, or they chose to ignore it. Guy drew his fingers down Geordie’s obliques. Geordie quivered at the touch, but he remained quiet as Guy moved next to size up Geordie’s thighs and his bait and tackle.

“What do you think, Guy?” Leopold asked his brother.

“Alexei and the Chileans promised us that he would be an asset well worth acquiring for their purposes. And so far, I like what I see of this domestic product. Very well-toned – he should develop further under our strict regimen.” Guy responded to his brother, while he slid his hand down Geordie’s thigh.

Gabie clasped Geordie’s hands tighter in his bound ones.

Hold tight, Geordie! I’m here with you. – Gabie willed his new friend to hear his thoughts of comfort, as Guy grabbed hold of his equipment.

Geordie flinched, but he was powerless as Guy ran his fingers over his balls and the length of his cock encased in his budgy smuggler.

“Very impressive.” Guy shared his assessment with his brother. “They are well worth the price.” He added as he stood.

“Well then…” Leopold paused. He looked down at Des.
While Des had grumbled and grunted protests as Guy groped Gabie and Geordie, the brothers de Châtillon had completely ignored him. Now they stood over him, as he remained on his stomach bound, netted, still anchored, and stripped – like Gabie and Geordie – to his budgy smuggler. The rope that bound him was very tight as was the net draped around him. Between the firm bonds and the laces of the net Des’s body bulged out. The speedo-like swimsuit still rode up the crack of his caboose, and the ropes and netting were so taut that Des’ exposed buns and -- indeed the entirety of his still muscular hindquarters – puffed out from behind the tethers and from beneath the latticed snare. Enveloped so completely, it was only with the greatest of efforts that the captured captain could move his head from side to side to watch as these two men took stock of the shanghaied trio.

“Yes…another domestic product,” Guy mused, as he dropped once again to his haunches beside Des for closer inspection. “He does not fit the profile of our usual acquisitions, but…” Guy poked and prodded Des’s burly arms bound behind his back. Des tried to evade Guy’s touch, but he could only worm away so far.

“BBBHHHHUUUGGGRRRR UUPPPHH!” (“Bugger Off!”), he grumbled through his gags.

“He’s a strong buck still – I’d estimate in his early 40s.” Guy said.

“He’s the father of the domestic order.” Leopold declared.

“GHHHLLLEEEHHHVVV UUUHHHMMM AAHHHHLLLUUUUHHHHNN!”
(“Leave Him Alone!”), Des blared inaudibly and in vain.

“And still possesses a great deal of spirit…hhhmmm.”

“What are you thinking?” Leopold asked.

“Well, you can see the resemblance between him and his son. The father is thicker – but herculean rather than soft. And…”

Guy grabbed Des’s meaty rump and slid a finger back and forth across his cheeks and pushed down into Des’s Budgy Smuggler-covered crevice.

“UUUMMMPPPHH!” Des groaned at the unwanted touch. You miserable sadist! What on earth do you want of me and these young men? – Des wondered.

Yes, and what Guy?” Leopold sounded slightly impatient.

Ici – c’est un beau cul d'homme! And you know, Leopold – how I cannot resist a nice arse on a man.” Guy sighed as he continued to molest Des’s derrière.

Guy stood up and motioned one of the black, tactical-garbed men over.

“Help me roll this merchandise over.” Guy instructed him.

Guy crouched down at Des’s mid-section and legs, while the sentinel squatted at his head and shoulders. Together, they rolled the man over and were startled at their discovery.

Des was a big man in all respects. His equipment bulged under the swimming racer, and the net rendered it very erotic.

“Is he Jewish?” Guy asked his brother.

Des was trying to fight off Guy feeling him up. He squirmed and rocked back and forth – all to no effect.
“GGGHHHUUUTTT UUPPHH MMMEEE!” (“Get Off Me!”), he pleaded plaintively. This is all my fault! What have I gotten Geordie and Gabie into? I should have realized Alexei was a snake. French import? Domestic product? That snake slithering on my boat – he worked as a scout for these two villains. My poor lad and poor Gabie – I’ll get them out of this. Good God – this man is copping a feel all over me. I’m just some piece of stock for him to acquire…What designs do they have on us?

Leopold responded to his brother’s question. “Non. According to the report of the original orders, the domestic product is of Irish descent and was raised Catholic -- as was the French import by the way. Why do you ask?”

“See for yourself, Leopold.” Guy pressed down on the net and the material of the budgy smuggler, exposing the outline of Des’s mushroom-headed tool. “Obviously cut – unusual for most men in this part of the world. And ’The Irish Curse’ certainly did not blight him – and his mast is not even erect!” Guy added appreciatively.

Guy then let his hand roam upwards to Des’s firm stomach and stout chest, pinching his nipples as he had done to Geordie – with the same results. He caressed the still mostly dark hairs on Des’s upper body and tracked his hand down again as the hair trailed down his abdomen. When he reached the Budgy Smuggler, Guy pushed it lower to reveal Des’s very thick and supple man-bush.

“So warm and fluffy,” Guy murmured as he played with the short hairs – oblivious to those within earshot. Looking up at his brother, Guy expressed more satisfaction with what he saw. “A nice coat of fur on him – where one wants it,” Guy waved his hand over Des from head to toe, “And no fur where one does not want it – on his back – except for a slight patch at the small of his back above his arse crack. And that – I suspect – is a tease that may reveal un cul moucheté de cheveux (“a hair-speckled arse”).

Guy rose to his feet, leaving Des on his back – a rather more uncomfortable position since his weight pressed down on his tied -up wrists and arms. Guy dismissed the sentinel, so he and Leopold could discuss matters privately.

“And what is your opinion – although I’m pretty sure I know what it may be?” Leopold asked, when he was certain no one would overhear him or his brother discussing the additional merchandise except for the merchandise themselves.

“We should acquire him.” Guy stated.

“May I remind you – mon petit frère – he is much older than what we require for the project.”

“I realize that, Leopold, But he is such a magnificent example of virile manhood. We can use him as a control. He is what his son may grow into – or through our very exacting program of diet, development, and discipline – the son may become an even more robust paragon of potency than his father…”

“Yes, Guy. Go on –”

“And you know I like a challenge – especially with a spirited procurement – and now to have an older stud brought to heel. He shows such fight – trying to defend his son and the rugby player – and attempting to fend off my inspection of his qualities. I will enjoy breaking him. And as for the project -- sa bite et ses couillesils sont magnifique! Son lait d’homme sera copieux!

Oui – I agree with you, Guy. His nuts still look pretty ripe and could still yield us much fruit. D’Accord! We will buy him. But let me do the negotiating of the price.”

“I will leave that in your more skilled hands – Merci beaucoup, Leopold! I promise you – you will not regret this decision. And if we did not chose to purchase another domestic product – I am afraid these bush-league stockbrokers would have unloaded him at sea! I do not have to remind you that our colleagues and we in the Brotherhood who are behind the project insist that the commodities we acquire have no blood or other close ties that might search too ardently for them once they disappear from view. From the way they have chained the anchor to him, it looks like these gauche amateurs had that in mind – only keeping him around to keep the other two in line or in hopes of later striking a deal with us.”

The Châtillon brothers were speaking in hushed tones, but Des heard what they were saying.

You were much closer to discovering Davy Jones’ Locker than you thought, Old Boy! –Des thought, as shivers went down his spine. He looked over at Geordie to see if he had heard what these men had discussed. The lad’s head was turned astern, and he appeared to be staring out to the darkened harbor beyond. – Thank God for small mercies! I don’t think he heard. Glancing over at Gabie, Des saw a tear run down the rugby player’s face.

He heard – Don’ t Worry, Gabie! I’ll get you lads home – I promise you that! – Des encouraged him with a wink.

Leopold and Guy de Châtillon walked back over to where the Chileans and the Russian waited to seal the deal.

“My brother and I have made a decision.” Leopold addressed Carlos.

Y mi Señor?” Carlos asked.

“We will take the lot for the agreed price and an additional $100,000 American.”

Diego and Alexei were not pleased. They exchanged glances with each other.

“You insult us.” Alexei spat out.

“Please.” Without looking at his partner, Carlos raised his right hand to signal him to remain silent.

Conde – what my overly sensitive partner means to say is that you and your brother underestimate the quality of the product and the returns you will undoubtedly earn from the services to which the product is put. The product you ordered is cut from the same cloth as the additional commodity.”

“But it is an older model – I am not sure how long it will return much of a profit to us over the long term.” Leopold answered.

Señorper favor – with technology these days there are always ways to preserve what the goods produce – liquid nitrogen, for instance, ensures that production is preserved – and maintains its quality – for many years to come. With the production of that burly hardware your returns have the potential to create a dozen or so new wares over the years – all of the same quality as the domestic product you ordered.”

“Or we could simply increase production from the more recent model we ordered,” Leopold suggested, “But your argument has its points -- $150,000 American.”

Conde – my partners and I are also not unreasonable – we can also reduce our price – by 50,000.”

Nyet – we agreed $500,000 American for the captain, too.” Alexei grumbled behind.

Carlos shot him an irritated glare, before returning to a more neutral expression toward the Châtillon brothers.

“As I said – we are willing to deal, Conde…$450,000.”

“$200,000 American.” Leopold countered, “Two products – an import and a domestic – are more easily handled than three.”

Señor – now we are getting somewhere. You have a good point, but there are rumors circulating that you and your Canadian partner are contemplating acquiring a complete sports collection – at least 15 Argentine products from what I hear – what is handling three wares when compared to handling a stock of at least 15?”

Having no desire either to confirm or to deny rumors that the House de Châtillon together with their partner Michael Palaiologos had plans to kidnap an entire Argentine rugby squad, Leopold ignored the question. He was also growing tired of bartering with these brutish dilettantes. It was growing late, and it was time to seal the deal.

“$300,000 American is our final offer. As an older product, it will require greater attention to detail in breaking it in – in preparation for production. Older prototypes often show greater resistance to our methods than newer models. Our offer is very generous to you and your partners. And quite simply – you have no choice but to accept it. There are no other buyers readily available, and you do not have the means to keep that product in storage until you find a buyer. What do you say?”

Alexei stepped forward. He stood face to face with Leopold. The 6’4” tall Russian stared up at the 6’6” Frenchman.

“I say we take the extra product with us and dump it in the sea.” Alexei dared Leopold.

“And that would be cutting off your nose to spite your face. Our bid leaves each one of you richer by $100,000 American,” Leopold responded – never backing down from Alexei’s challenge.

“And we accept your offer, Conde.” Carlos interjected, while he guided Alexei away from the confrontation.

Très bon,” Leopold replied with a smile, and he then turned to his brother, “If you would call Marc.”

Guy motioned over the side of the Murias, and the brothers’ assistant soon boarded the boat carrying a laptop. Diego had retrieved one as well. Guy directed their assistant to transfer $1.8 million American from the Swiss accounts of the House de Châtillon into the account for which Diego would provide the codes. Diego gave Marc the codes for a bank account in Singapore. The men remained silent, while the funds went through. Within minutes, Diego confirmed that the transaction was complete, and the money was now in the Singapore account.

“Would you please release my original orders from the ‘Circassian Ball,’ And also could you please remove the chain and anchor from our additional purchase?’ Leopold requested of Carlos.

“Certainly, Conde.” He motioned to his henchmen and the three men in black, military-style clothing, who had tied Geordie and Gabie up walked over to the trussed-up duo.

Alexei stepped forward. “I will attend to weighing the anchor with the Captain myself.” He went back to attend to Des, relishing the opportunity to settle a score with his former Captain.

Two of the men in black garb lowered themselves to the deck on either side of Gabie and Geordie bound so cruelly in the ‘Circassian Ball,’ while their comrade stood guard over the captives. Working in unison the two reached behind the secured backs of Gabie and Geordie, and nimbly undid certain knots, untethering the pinioned pair from each other. Gabie and Geordie found relief from the ropes that had wedged themselves through the crevices of their Budgy Smuggler covered muscular hindquarters. That comfort lasted just mere moments. The adroit untying of their bonds had released the hands, limbs and other parts of their bodies from each other, but Gabie and Geordie still remained unsparingly tied up. The savage sentries straightened the legs of each man, and then took the loose ends in hand and tightened them around each other – one drawing Gabie’s legs together and the other -- his partner in pinioning – drawing Geordie’s together. One loose end remained. Before tightening it, the sentries rolled Gabie and Geordie onto their stomachs. Working simultaneously, the men adeptly threaded the loose end once again across the anal clefts of Gabie and Geordie and through the ropes that formed belts around the waists of the poor pair. As they tightened those last loose ends, Gabie and Geordie felt the burn once more that they experienced in the ‘Circassian Ball.” They lay on their stomachs side by side – like trussed-up roasts lassoed at intervals from their ankles to their shoulders. Once their binders were finished packaging them anew, they stood and withdrew. Unable to hold each other’s hands in comfort anymore, Gabie and Geordie turned to face one another. Gabie looked at Geordie, tape wrapped around his head – sealing his lips shut – and he saw how Geordie’s cheeks bulged from the sock he chewed on. Gabie imagined that his tape-sealed lips and bulging cheeks looked similar to Geordie. Gabie also saw fear in Gabie’s eyes. Keeping his own fear at bay, Gabie gave Geordie a wink.

While the sentries released Gabie and Geordie from that burning ball, Alexei unlocked the padlock and unraveled the chains from around Des’ feet. Alexei then crouched low, so he could speak to the man who had brought him onto his boat as the second mate.

“Well – my partners and I have made a tidy little profit off the French rugby player and your son, Captain. And you were a bonus – although I was tempted to forego the bonus to watch the terror in your son’s eyes, as he and the Frenchman were taken away while you remained onboard. I would have made sure that he knew that once we were in deep waters again,” he paused to gauge the effect of his words on Des Walsh.

Des merely stared back at him.

“Once more in those deep waters, we would transfer you to the other boat, and let you watch as we sank your pride and joy! – I would then hold you over the side with the anchor balanced on the gunwale – watching the terror in your eyes grow – until I dropped that anchor into the sea – and watch you disappear in the water after it.”

The cold-blooded description chilled Des to the bone – but he would not give Alexei the satisfaction that it had an effect on him. Des continued to bore right through this sadistic Siberian with his eyes.

Oh – how little you know me, Alexei. My pride and joy is not my boat – it’s my son. I would die in the knowledge that Geordie and his newfound friend were safe from you. My death would be well worth that!

Alexei bent closer, so that only Des could hear what he had to say. He took the index finger of his right hand and traced the outline of Des’ lips underneath the layers of tape that gagged him.

“There’s one more thing I must tell you, Captain. I know you share something with your son…” Alexei put his index finger to his lips and kissed it before placing that finger atop Des’ tape-sealed lips. “Your son is out – what will he think when he discovers you have not been as open about yourself? Will he still look up to you as the hero he always thought you were and still thinks you are?”

Alexei then flipped Des back onto his belly, gave him a hard smack on his tush, rose from his haunches, and walked away.

Des turned his head sideways to stare silently after him for a moment, and then turned his face sideways in the other direction to watch as the others finished trammeling Gabie and Geordie –

How did he know? How did that snake discover it? No – Des – You can’t allow yourself to let his words get to you, Des – He’s playing with you! But what if he is right? Will Geordie despise me, when he finds out – that I’m gay too. Will he think my marriage to his mother was a sham? Oh! No! Geordie – It wasn’t a sham – I loved Clare more than life itself. Our marriage was full in every sense – every sense! It was only after she died that I realized that those other feelings couldn’t remained buried. Oh! Geordie – how proud of you I am – to be so comfortable in your own skin at 21, while I at twice your age am still afraid. You’ve got to tap into that fortitude – my beloved son – to get you through this! And as for me – I will make sure we will get ourselves out of this – and then we will have that conversation!

While Des was lost in thought, three of the Châtillon brothers’ men boarded the Murias to unload the new purchases onto the dock and waiting transport. They were hulking men –each at least 6’6” in height and 250 to 260 lb. of solid muscle in weight – built like the Tight Ends of a professional, American football team. They wore uniforms of black mock turtle-necked shirts, black trousers, and black tactical boots. Their clothes were cut to accentuate their muscular builds. Each wore black gun belts, and they carried sidearms. And they had black berets on their heads. Marc – who was of similar build and similarly outfitted as the others – led them to the stern, where they positioned themselves before the shanghaied and sold sailors and scrum-half at their feet.

With a nod from Marc, the three hulks dropped to their haunches. Each man then grabbed hold of Des, Geordie, and Gabie under their armpits and effortlessly scooped each entrammeled man up and over their broad shoulders. Rising up in unison, the burly bodyguards paused to adjust the weight of their burdens. With their left arms around the shoulders of the kidnapped men and their arms across the powerful glutei maximi of those poor, so -called purchases, the brawny bruisers steadied themselves. After another signal from Marc, they carried Des, Geordie, and Gabie off the boat, and onto the dock. Once again, the sturdy sentries awaited the order from Marc. On his cue, they carried their bagged bundles from the dock onto dry land, where three electric carts with flatbeds in back – like those that carry injured athletes from the pitch – waited to receive their cargo. In concert, the powerfully built men deposited their consignments onto the flatbeds of the carts, and then stood at ease beside each cart, while they waited for Leopold and Guy de Châtillon to disembark the Murias.

Once their men had removed their purchases from the boat, Leopold and Guy de Châtillon wrapped their business up with the Chileans and the Russian.

Conde – even if we did not get the full price – It has been a pleasure to do business with you and your brother.”

“And with you, Carlos.” Leopold returned the compliment.

“What will you do with this boat?” Guy asked.

Señor – Alexei wished to take it, refit and rechristen it, but I persuaded him that it would be best – for us all and for the Brotherhood we serve – to sink it – its crew and passenger lost at sea. The world will mourn the drowning of an accomplished French rugby player, and the locals will mourn the deaths of a father and son lost at sea together. No one will suspect that they are still alive. When we depart tonight, we shall return to where the Murias came to “our rescue.” After my men scuttle the Murias, we shall set course to fulfill another order – another branch of the Brotherhood wishes us to procure five Australian Rules Football players. One of them is engaged to be married, and he and his mates are celebrating his upcoming nuptials with a Bachelors’ only weekend at sea on a rented yacht. Unfortunately, he won’t make it to the altar. As for Alexei, he will lay low for some time in some secret, until the Brotherhood requires him to strike once more.”

“And if we had not purchased the additional merchandise?” Guy inquired, suspecting he already knew the answer from past experience dealing with these callow corsairs.

“Does the Captain not always go down with the ship, Señor?”

Guy shuddered at what might have been, but his brother betrayed no surprise at such savagery.

Au Revoir then, Carlos. And Bon Voyage!” Leopold bade Carlos, as he shook hands with him. He and Guy then returned to the dock. Their men untied the lines of the two boats, and Leopold and Guy watched as the boats reversed engines, steered clear of the docks, and turned to sail out of the darkened, private harbor. The brothers then walked towards land, where their men stood watch over their newly purchased good loaded onto the flatbeds of the carts.

“I do not wish to do business with them again, Leopold.” Guy said, as he gripped his brother’s arm to stop him before they reached the carts. “Their methods are too crude.”

Leopold turned to face his brother. “Guy – they serve the same Brotherhood as we do. Their methods are very crude – I agree. Mais, mon frère et collègue –” Leopold resumed walking towards the awaiting assemblage. Guy followed.

“Yes?” Guy waited for his brother to continue.

But Leopold walked on, until he reached his destination. Guy caught up, and he watched as Leopold now inspected the bound and gagged men lying on their bellies at the back of the electric carts. With an expert eye, he assessed the firmness and strength of the bonds that held each man – first Gabie, then Geordie, and finally Des. Satisfied with what he saw, he turned to face his brother as he stood beside the cart that held their additional purchase. He placed his hand possessively on Des’ robust rump. Leopold felt the heat of Des’ body and felt him try to wriggle free from under his grasp.

“Guy -- our business dealings with the Chileans always end up well for us. For one simple reason – We never have to pay the full price for the goods they offer.” Leopold declared with an air of satisfaction.

“And why is that, Leopold?”

“Because, Guy, Carlos is a bad businessman. He has yet to realize that we are often prepared to pay the price he sets.”

“You were, Leopold – willing to pay the full price? You would have paid $500,000 American for…” Guy pointed to Des, “him?

“Yes, Guy – I would have. He’s worth it. Your argument convinced me. He will be our control for the project. We will also use him to control these other two. And he can still furnish us with ample amounts of the production we require for the project. Besides…”

“Yes. Go on…”

“This man has much spirit in him. I look forward to watching you break him.”

“And I will, Leopold – I will.”

“Of that I have no doubt, mon petit frère.” Leopold said, as he patted his brother on the cheek. “It is late. Marc…”

Oui, Monsieur?” the aide de camp stepped forward to await Leopold’s order.

“Take them to the barns,” Leopold directed. He pointed to Gabie and Geordie, “Place them together in one stall in the main barn.” He let go of Des’ butt. “As for him, place him in a stall in the milking barn. Untie them and ungag them. Strip them of their smugglers, but make sure to hold on to these swimsuits and whatever was used as stuffing in their mouths. Attend to their needs – nourishment, hydration, and personal needs. Then, shower them. When all is ready – Cocoon them for the night in sleep sacks. Once they are swaddled in the sacks, inject them with sedatives. They will need to rest – their training begins tomorrow.”

“As you command, Monsieur le Comte.” Marc turned and nodded to his three towering deputies. The men took to the driver’s seat of each cart. Marc took the seat next to the driver of Gabie’s cart. They led the way with the other two carts following.

Leopold and Guy watched, as the carts drove across the lawn and towards the barns on the far, more remote side of the estate. When the carts disappeared from view, Leopold clasped his arm around his brother’s shoulders.

“Come Guy, let us be off – The feast begins!” Leopold de Châtillon, Comte de Dunois, shouted heartily, and together the brothers walked the short distance over the hill in the direction of the main house with the stars – shining brightly that clear, moonlit night – illuminating their path.
Last edited by KidnappedCowboy 3 years ago, edited 1 time in total.
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DeeperThanRed
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Post by DeeperThanRed »

This chapter really did a great job at showcasing how the three bound men are nothing but merchandise at the hands of their captors. The negotiations between the kidnappers and buyers were surprisingly thrilling and I very much enjoyed how Gabie, Geordie and Des had so many good interaction scenes despite being gagged all the time. The parts where Guy and Leopold "inspected" their purchase were also super hot. As grim as the situation of our heroes, at least they are all together for now.

In short, terrific update as always. Looking forward to learning sbout the rest of the victims.
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Post by george_bound »

Well that was quite the rangling there over the boys, hehe, and frankly I have no issue whatsoever with the Chileans methods ;)

... And all I can say is we better get detailed reports on the kidnapping of the partying rugby jocks AND the full Argentinian footie team now that you've teased us with it... is it possible to wrap an entire footie team into a gigantic predicament-ridden ball? ⚽ :twisted:
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Post by marsweett »

I love Peter and Eddie and can't wait see their bonding and development (in bondage :mrgreen: that is)
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Post by rotkaepple »

This is a fantastic and very complex story! It has so many threads woven together. I'm sooo lookimg forward to the next chapters. Each of the secence are described in rich detail. Some are to long in my opinion, as I'm waiting to see the next parts of my favorite characters. However, this is part of that beauty, that there is so much infor everone, but still not too boring. Loved the senory deprivation on Danny most.
Please post as soon as possible the next chaper 😇
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Post by KidnappedCowboy »

Thank you to [mention]rotkaepple[/mention], [mention]marsweett[/mention], [mention]george_bound[/mention], and [mention] DeeperThanRed[/mention] for your comments.

I've split the latest installment in two parts. Here's the first. And, thanks to the suggestion of [mention]stmile[/mention], Simon DuWright will soon be back front and center in the story!

Chapter XII: Part One

Thai Trussing and Seoul Security

Autumn 2019

Gruffyd “Griff” Davies could not believe his luck. After a successful three-month tour of Australia and New Zealand with the Red Dragons, the Welsh rugby player had a few weeks off, before he needed to return to Cardiff for regular season training. Griff decided to spend some of that time on a trip to Thailand at a resort spa in Ko Lanta. The holiday would be a great opportunity to unwind and to give himself some much needed recovery time from chasing that oval-shaped ball on pitches from Christchurch to Perth. Although he was only 26, Griff knew the importance of rest to prevent physical injury and mental burnout, and he anticipated not doing much physical activity other than swimming in crystal-clear waters. Except – Griff hoped – physical activity included spending time with and getting to know Osian “The Warrior” Williams.

“Ah Osian!” – Griff thought to himself – he and Osian had become mates on the Red Dragons since the 5’10” tall, 187lb fullback joined the squad that season. The two egg chasers had developed a close friendship, being paired as roomies at away matches and on tour. Griff was gay, although closeted. He did not know for certain if Osian was, but Griff had noticed lingering glances from him. They talked late into the night when they were on the road, and their conversation often turned to intimate subjects. And there were some charged moments between the two Backs, when their horsing around got heated. One time on the road the pair began to wrestle for control of the television remote. When Osian pinned him to claim victory, Griff felt the hardness of the curly brown-haired man pressing down on him. Osian drew close to Griff, so close that he felt the man’s hot breath and noticed how blue his eyes were. Just as Griff was about to lift his face up to meet Osian’s lips, Osian jumped off him. Osian never said anything, but Griff from then on suspected that Osian might be gay, and they shared a mutual attraction. When Griff began to plan a trip to Thailand once their tour was over, he asked Osian if he wanted to join him. Osian readily said yes. Perhaps away from the rigors of play, the squad, and prying eyes, the men could now open up to each other and explore their pent-up feelings.

Nearing the end of their current tour on a Recovery Day, the two men were getting massages from the new physio. As Griff waited, the physio – Cedric – worked on Osian. Osian noticed the small tattoo on the inside of Cedric’s left wrist, and he asked about its meaning. “The ropes remind me of how bound I am to my vocation,” Cedric explained. Griff began to recount their itinerary. Cedric told the men that he knew the hotel spa where they were going. He had worked there, and he told the pair – if they liked – that he would arrange for a friend who still worked at the resort to make sure the duo had a good time. “You’ll love it there. Your days will be filled with all sorts of relaxing activity. At night, they have great entertainers from all over the world. There’s a troupe of acrobats that performs at the resort this time of year. They specialize in escape acts. It will be memorable to you both,” Cedric assured them. Griff and Osian were very thankful to the physio, and they thanked him for his offer to call his friend and have him put a little extra out for the two men. After he had finished his massages that day, Cedric contacted his friend at the resort to make arrangements to meet and show Griff and Osian a good time. “Take them to Le Cirque de l'Arrachement des Adieux. Make sure they’re the volunteers from the audience for the signature last act of the evening,” Cedric told his friend. “The acrobats will take care of the rest.”

Griff and Osian parted company with their teammates in Western Australia and took a 7-hour flight to Krabi and then boarded a boat to take them to the luxurious spa resort on the Phi Phi Islands. The resort sat on white, sandy beaches and crystal blue waters. It was late afternoon when they arrived. After checking in, a bellhop showed Griff and Osian to their room overlooking the beach and calm sea. As they entered, Griff immediately noticed that the room had only one king-sized bed. Thinking that Osian might object, Griff told the bellhop there might be some mistake, and they needed a room with two beds.

Osian interrupted him, “That’s okay, Griff. Look at the view out the window, and we have a private, secluded patio that leads right to the water. And the size of the bed…it’s more than enough for two.” Turning to the bellhop, Osian gave the man a generous top, and he told him the room was perfect. After the bellhop left, Osian went to the bathroom, while Griff walked out to the patio/balcony to take in the warm, early evening breeze and magnificent views.

As Giff leaned over the railing, Osian came out a short time later and joined him. Still looking at the waves gently lapping at the shore, Griff felt Osian standing very close to him.

“Are you sure you don’t mind sharing that bed, Osian?” Griff hardly dared to look at him.

Nage, man.” Osian answered in Welsh. “It’s big enough for the two of us. Besides…” Osian hesitated. Griff still looked out to the sea.

“I’ve wanted to share a bed with you, Griff, now…for a long time.”

Griff’s heart skipped a beat. and he felt butterflies flutter in his gut. He still dared not look at Osian. “You have, Osian?” Griff whispered.

“Look at me, Griff.”

Still leaning on the rail, Griff turned his head to face him. Osian was leaning on the balcony rail too, and he looked longingly at Griff. Their shoulders brushed up against one another. Griff saw how beautiful Osian was. His eyes were as crystal blue as the water surrounding the Phi Phi Islands. Griff wanted to drown in those eyes.

“I think you know I have, Griff. Griff…” Osian hesitated…”I have to tell you something.”

“Yes…”

“Griff…” Osian’s voice was just above a murmur. “Rwy'n dy garu di,” he said in Welsh.

“I love you too, Osian.” Griff said back.

Standing erect, Osian pulled Griff into him, and kissed him deeply, as the sun began to set over the water.

Griff and Osian found out just how big that bed was, because they spent their first night wrapped around each other’s arms and exploring each other’s bodies on only one side of it.

They spent two weeks on the island enjoying the hillside scenery, spa amenities, tennis, quiet beach, and eating good food. They went snorkeling and scuba diving – seeing the coral reefs at Ko Phi Phi Leh. And they swam in the clear waters of Maya Bay. Mostly though, they enjoyed each other’s company and getting to know one another. One morning as they lay in each other’s arms in bed, Osian wanted to know when the 6’2” tall, 223lb. dirty blond-haired and brown-eyed Davies knew.

“Knew what?” Griff asked.

“That you were falling in love.”

“Well, it started when I saw how you laughed at yourself. You have a hearty laugh, you Oaf! Then, I saw how you treat people. You get all quiet if you see bad things happen. Like when we visited the Children’s Hospital last Christmas – the doctors told us about that one poor, little boy, who didn’t have much of a chance. You got a faraway look in your eyes, but then when we visited the boy, you just lit up the room and took him away from his troubles…at least for a little while. A few weeks later – in the sheds after training one day – I overheard the Boss – our Director of Rugby – talking to one of the assistant coaches. The family of the boy had contacted him to let him know how much they appreciated your visits to their son ever since Christmas. My God, Osian…you went every day until the end. And you never told anyone. And you helped the family with their bills.”

Osian had a tear in his eyes. “The wee lad didn’t have a chance. I didn’t do much…just sat there and told him about rugby. My God, Griff – why does God allow a poor kid like him get a disease like that?

“I don’t know, mate. But you made it easier for the boy at the end. You showed you cared. You have great love to give.”

They sat quietly for a moment before Griff went on. “And what sealed the deal for me was the little dance you do in the sheds after we win a match. You’re in your pants, pumping your guns up in the air, swaying your hips. It takes all me strength not to lunge right at you!”

They both laughed.

“Well, I started to fall in love with you, Griff, when I saw you line up the ball and prepare to kick a goal. You have such a cute bum, ya’ cheeky bugger.” Osian chuckled, and he gave his lover a pinch on his arse-cheek. Griff blushed.


“Seriously though, you’re so smart, Griff. And you stick up for others. When we – the squad – were all down on Jonesy for not pulling his weight during that match against Barmouth, you stuck up for him. More importantly, you helped Jonesy in training to regain his focus afterwards. It shows you stick by a mate. You put others before yourself. I want to be more like you.”

“And I want to be more like you,” Griff responded and leaned in to kiss Osian.

The morning after their first night at the resort, Griff and Osian contacted the friend of their physio Cedric. They met him later that morning. He was a Russian fellow, Maxim Beria by name. Maxim arranged all their snorkeling, scuba diving, and hiking trips around the resort and on Phi Phi Island – He really rolled out the red carpet for the Welsh rugby players. Griff and Osian both enjoyed Maxim’s company. Maxim was in his mid-to-late thirties, about 6’4” tall and around 230lbs of solid muscle. He had classic Slavic good-looks: high cheekbones, deep-set blue eyes, and blond hair that he kept close-cropped to his head. Maxim told them that he had been in the Spetsnaz – Russia’s Special Forces – serving as a frogman in the Russian Navy. A couple of years after leaving the service, Maxim was able to land a job with the company that owned the resort. Before coming to Thailand, Maxim had worked for the company in PyeongChang, as a liaison with the states of the former USSR that had competed at the Winter Olympics. Russia had not, because the IOC barred Russian athletes from competing as a result of the doping scandal.


“Whatever happened to the Ukrainian figure skater who won three gold medals there?” Griff asked Maxim. “He could have struck gold with all sorts of deals and endorsements. What was his name?”

“Ilya Ponomarenko,” Maxim answered.

Ie (“Yes” in Welsh)…he’s the lad,” Griff nodded, “He simply disappeared after the Games. Guess he wanted to return to a quiet life after going out on a high note…Still he could have gone on competing. Wonder if he still takes to the ice…”

“The last I heard, Ponomarenko is on ice in Argentina.” Maxim responded. With that, Maxim Beria thought back to the end of the Games in South Korea.

South Korea: The End of February 2018
The Order had its eyes on the Ukrainian figure skater. Such a charming young man…gallant, courteous, confident. And the man had such magnificent physical traits – 5’11” tall, 180lbs – those hazel eyes and curly dark hair. And his strength and discipline – that athletic, fit, and lean body. “Such beautiful muscles he had,” Maxim thought, “Such junk in his trunk too…” as he recalled the hard curve of the ice skater’s muscular hindquarters.

Maxim remembered how easy it was to lure Ilya Ponomarenko to a photo shoot in Seoul after the Closing Ceremonies in PyeongChang. Maxim had told the eager 23-year-old that he represented a corporation that wanted to sign an endorsement deal with the gold medal-winning athlete. Most of the Ukrainian athletes had planned to depart for home at the conclusion of the Games. Ilya had no one waiting for him back home or who would look out for his interests – just his coach, Oleg Bukharin, who was Russian and not Ukrainian by birth. So, the day after the Closing Ceremonies, Ilya left the Athletes’ Village in PyeongChang in the company of his coach for Seoul where Maxim had arranged a photoshoot. There he would provide the necessary documents to ink a modeling deal for the very handsome, champion figure skater. When they arrived in the capital of South Korea, Ilya and his coach immediately went to an address Maxim Beria had provided to them. It was a large warehouse, and they were greeted by Maxim, who showed them to an area that had been set up for a photoshoot. A photographer was present and a few assistants – all men. Maxim explained to Ilya that the photographer wanted to take some shots of him with his medals and wearing the costumes he wore in his performances. Ilya responded that he did not have the costumes. The team’s support crew had already packed them back to Ukraine.

Don’t worry, Ilya,” Maxim retorted, “my company has provided costumes for you.”

After an assistant took Ilya away to change, Maxim was left alone with Coach Bukharin.

“Is everything set?” Bukharin asked.

да,” Maxim replied, “Он скоро будет привязан к нашему контракту." (“Yes…He will soon be tied to our contract”).


Ilya soon rejoined them. He wore a costume that was eerily similar to the one he wore at his first, gold medal-winning performance. The photographer and his assistants led Ilya away to the area where they had set up cameras and a background drop. Soon, Ilya was posing with the gold medals around his neck, in various stances that mimicked skating moves. The session went on all morning, before they broke for lunch to be served on a table nearby.

Maxim and Ilya’s coach were seated at the table, which had various documents set out on it. Maxim told Ilya that the corporation – Byzantine Imports – wanted to sign him to an exclusive, binding contract. All he needed to do was sign some papers, and Ilya would be bound securely for life. The young man looked to Coach Bukharin for guidance.

“It’s okay, my boy. Sign it. It will keep you well constrained for the future.”

Ilya signed the various documents Maxim presented to him. As he was signing, one of the other assistants had left the room and returned a short time later with a tray of sandwiches and a pot of tea. Ilya was surprised how the morning’s photo shoot had left him famished, and he ate quite a few of those sandwiches up.

“You’ll enjoy this tea, Ilya. It’s a very special blend,” Maxim said, as he offered a cup to the skater.

It was strange, Ilya thought as he sipped from the cup, both Maxim and his Coach refrained from drinking any tea. And they watched him so intently. Funny – rather than energizing him, the tea made him drowsy. Ilya soon found it difficult to hold the cup and saucer up.

“Yes, it’s a very special blend.” Coach Bukharin agreed. He saw the cup and saucer begin to slip from Ilya’s grasp, and he quickly rose to grab hold of the china, before it slipped completely from Ilya’s hold on it. “That’s it, my boy. You’re tired. Rest, and we’ll prepare you for this afternoon’s photoshoot, “ Coach Bukharin assured his charge. Soon, Ilya was slumped back in his seat completely unconscious. The assistants to the photographer lifted him from the chair and carried him away to prepare him for that afternoon’s shoot.

“I told you we would have him well-secured in no time,” Maxim Beria said to Bukharin.

“I should never have doubted you, comrade.” Coach Bukharin replied.

An hour or so later, Ilya Ponomarenko awoke to the flashing lights and clicks of the camera as the photographer shot him from every conceivable angle – from above, from below, from his sides – both in close-up and in long shots. Ilya was very disoriented. He was wearing a different costume – more revealing than the IOC and International Skating allowed. The light-colored trousers were more like tights, accenting the toned muscles of his thighs and his gym package strained obscenely against the lycra fabric. Ilya was seated in a chair – no – more correctly – he was bound to a heavy, wooden chair! It dawned on Ilya that each of his legs had been pulled apart and back. Each ankle was tied to the rear legs of the wooden chair. Rope had been curled around each leg below the knee and tied to the front legs right under the chair’s seat. Each of his upper thighs were tied to slats at the back of the chair. The whole effect of the manner in which his legs were bound was to present a clear and unfettered view of Ilya’s lycra-clad crotch.

Straps bound Ilya’s waist to the back of the chair. His wrists were lashed tightly behind his back and attached by more rope to the chair’s back. Ilya was wearing a very-tight compression shirt in a harlequin pattern. Straps around his chest and around his biceps fastened him securely to the sides and back of the chair. Ilya’s well-developed pectoral muscles jutted out as a result of the way he had been pinioned. And across his virile chest, his three, gold medals glistened as they hung down from his neck.

Ilya did not understand what had happened. “MMMPPPHHH??? MMMPPPHHH!!!” He asked. But he quickly realized his words were muffled and sounded like animalistic grunts, because a large, wadded cloth was lodged in his mouth and held there by several layers of silver duct-tape sealing his lips shut and wound several times his head. He looked about him, as the photographer continued to shoot away with his camera. Ilya saw the man’s assistants hovering around him. And then Ilya saw Coach Bukharin and Maxim Beria approach him. The photographer stopped shooting.

“CCCHHHH! WWWHHHTTTT??? WHHHYYYY??? MMMMPPPHHH!”

“Ilya,” Coach Bukharin admonished, “You signed a binding contract. You will be secured for life. Did you think we meant it was purely exclusive and provide you with enough security for a cushy life? No – You are such a naïve, young man! You are now the exclusive property of Byzantine Imports who will keep you secured – as in tied up – for the rest of your life!”

“MMMMWWWHHHTTTPPPHH? NNNNNNOOOOOOO!!!” Ilya began to thrash about, and he trembled with fright – his coach looked down at him and laughed.

“Such a credulous young man you are, Ilya!” Ilya’s coach patted him on his cheeks. “Did you think that I really cared about you? You provided me with a livelihood – that is all! And I am Russian – Do you think that Russia would sit by while Ukraine garnered Gold Medals at the Olympics? Ha! Maxim approached me and said it would be well worth my while if I made sure that you came here today. Thanks to you, Ilya – I have a tidy, little nest egg now. Maxim assures me that you will be no threat to Russia’s monopoly on the medals at the next Olympics.”

Ilya had no response and hung his head in despair. Moments later he renewed his efforts to break free of his bonds. But struggle as he might, he could not break free. And the photographer started clicking away again, smiling as Ilya strained, wriggled, and fought against the ropes that held him fast to the chair. The shutterbug crouched down low to get shots of Ilya’s crotch that had rope tied around it to draw attention to his amply-sized Rod and Bojangles. Sweat began to drip down Ilya’s head as he struggled to loosen the ropes, and sweat had begun to dampen the lycra material of the tights covering his plentiful package.
“He’s a natural,” the photographer marveled! “The camera loves him…And he knows how to work it to his advantage. Like this – a flash of anger, then of uncertainty, and another flash of fear – It’s the little moments like these that make great photos.”

Maxim stood behind the photographer, as he continued to snap more photos.

“Ilya,” he called out to the tied-up and gagged gold medal-winning Olympian, “We explained to you that once you signed with Byzantine Imports that it was a binding contract and you would be secured for life. You’re bound to us in a very special way. You’ll be modeling for us now – You will have a wonderful portfolio by the end of the day. All these photos will make a very special catalogue – both in print and on-line. The company wants to show you off – as our Cover Model to demonstrate to other companies in our conglomerate called the Brotherhood of the Black Rope that Byzantine Imports only trades in the ne plus ultra of male athleticism and virility.”

“HHHUUULLLPPPHHH MMMMEEE!” Ilya screamed in vain behind his gag.

“Yes – he’s a natural!” The photographer said again, as he kept clicking away.

Two years later Maxim smiled, as he recalled Ilya Ponomarenko. He wondered if Ilya enjoyed his new life in Argentina, but Maxim did not dwell long on that thought for long. He knew Ilya was well secured on the ice and off it. Maxim now had to concentrate on getting these Welsh rugby players sealed up. And doing that would be such fun. Maxim planned a very special send-off for Griff and Osian on the last night of their holiday together. Maxim would take the Welshmen to Le Cirque de l'Arrachement des Adieux for a night of grand entertainment – featuring gymnasts, contortionists, acrobats, and other performers uncannily buff and robust. Their acts would dazzle the rugby pair, and, of course, their awe would make Griff and Osian more readily amenable to volunteering for the showpiece and culmination of the night – a disappearing act!
stimle
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Post by stimle »

Another great part! Keep them coming!
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DeeperThanRed
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Post by DeeperThanRed »

Ilya's kidnapping was so well-done that it gave me chills.

But as usual, my favorite part was the budding romance between Griff and Osain. Can't wait to read how Maxim will capture them! Great job!
25-year-old bondage enthusiast who likes cute guys, underwear, and bondage, preferably together.

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Post by privateandrews »

i do love this story. another great chapter that has left me panting for more...
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Post by KidnappedCowboy »

Thank you [mention]stimle[/mention], [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention], and [mention]privateandrews[/mention] for your comments and compliments.

[mention]privateandrews[/mention], pant no more...


Thai Trussings
Part II



Thailand, 2020

Griff and Osian spent their last day of holiday lazing around the resort’s beach – swimming in the crystal blue waters of the sea, basking in the rays of the sun, and enjoying the company of each other away from prying eyes. Each man did not want their time on Phi Phi Island to end, but they knew they needed to get back home and get ready to begin training for rugby. Still – they were going to make the most of the remaining time alone together very special. They each wore the Wales budgy smuggler with the familiar red griffin logo adorned across their bountifully muscular hindquarters. And they were lying side by side lounging on chaises longue facing the water.

Osian reached over and took hold of Griff’s left hand. Osian looked over at his teammate, friend, and now lover, who had his eyes closed.

“What will we do, when we get back, Griff? I don’t want to pretend that we’re only mates.”

Without opening his eyes, Griff replied, “Nor do I, Osian. But we have to take it slowly. Let the squad and Coach know about us being gay – then about us as a couple. Somehow – it will all work out.” He opened his eyes and looked at his lover. “ Don’t worry – we have each other. There is no stopping us now.’ Griff sat up in the chaise and threw his legs over one side to face Osian.

“Last one in is a rotten egg –” Griff suddenly yelled, jumped up, and ran towards the water.

In less than a moment, Osian had jumped from his chaise and ran after him.

“You cheeky bugger!” Osian shouted and laughed, but he soon caught up to him in the sea. The pair kept running, until the water was up to their waists and began to slow them down. Osian grabbed Griff and pulled him under the water.

When they came up again, both men were breathing hard from the chase and their plunge. Griff pulled Osian into him and kissed him. Osian’s lips were salty but so soft. Griff tempted those lips open with his tongue, and Osian succumbed. After a moment or two of exploring, Osian felt himself getting hard, and from the feel of it – Griff was having the same reaction.

“Let’s go back to the room, before we have an early departure because they tossed us from the resort for indecency.” Osian suggested.

“Well, considering I have another type of toss in mind but with a delayed departure, resulting from that toss – I agree.” Griff laughed.

“You are a cheeky bugger,” Osian laughed too, and he gave a playful smack to Griff’s buns.

“It’s me cheeks you’re after, man!” Griff teased, swatting Osian’s hand away from his Welsh man-cakes.

“That...and a whole lot more, fy machgen! Come on, let’s head back.” Osian responded.

The two men headed back in from the water and jogged back to their chaises. They dried off, wrapped the towels around their waists, picked up their belongings and headed back to their room.

Afternoon Delights
We had hardly closed the door to the room, when Griff pulled me into his arms and planted those soft lips of his on mine. There is so much about him that is hard, scruffy, and strong, but Griff’s lips are so silky. They reminded me that he was still vulnerable, and all I wanted to do was hold him tight and protect him – from what I don’t know – the world, I guess. I kissed him back and nuzzled that scruffy neck of his – kissing and biting him – tasting the salt of the sea mixed with his sweat – before returning to his smooth lips. Our lips soon parted, and our tongues explored each other’s mouths. I could taste the ginger from the lunch of prawns we shared earlier.

And I felt Griff’s hardness against my own. I did not have to look down to know that our cocks strained against the nylon of our smugglers. Our towels dropped, and in the groping, hugging, and caressing of each other, we both managed to pull our swimsuits off. My cock sprang upward meeting and fighting Griff’s, as our bellies ground against each other in our embrace. I broke off the embrace and guided Griff towards the huge bed in the room. I gently pushed him down on the bed. He looked so beautiful on top of the white cotton sheets. Griff may be taller and bigger than I am at 6’2” and 223lb. to my 5’10” and 187lb., but I wanted to take him over, make him forget any troubles, and let him feel safe him in my arms. I crawled on top of him and stared into those clear blue eyes.

“I want to make love to you, Griff” I whispered.

“And I want you, too.” He whispered back.

Since that first night at the resort, we had explored each other’s bodies and did all sorts of things to each other – everything except me entering Griff. And this afternoon, all I wanted was for him to let me inside him and know how much I loved him. We kissed again on the lips, and then I started to caress his body with more kisses from his lips on down – brushing my lips against his firm chest through that wonderful mat of brown hair – biting those wonderful nipples of his to an erect state – then marking that treasure trail dividing his abs with more pecks – until the head of his thick cock, jutting out of its hood, cuffed my chin for attention.

What a beautiful piece of equipment Griff had. Griff may not have had the full length of a thoroughbred racehorse, but what he lacked in length, he made up in thickness and sheer beauty in my eyes. It was rigid against his body, nestled atop his fleecy, brown-haired man-bush. I kissed its tip and my tongue left a wet path down his shaft, tasting Griff’s musk and taking in his scent mixed with the salt of the sea still on him. His balls were drawn close to his body, and they were lightly covered with the short hairs of his manscape. Griff let out a gasp, as I swirled my tongue around each of his nuts, biting the skin encasing those jewels ever-so-gently.

“If you keep that up, I’ll blow my load soon,” Griff huffed. “I want you to take me, Osian.” He pleaded to me between his gulps of breath.

“Okay, Cymar (Mate)…but we need to take it slow. It’ll hurt at first,” I said to him, and reached over to grab a condom and the tube of lube. Thank God, the resort had a well-supplied “Corner Shop!”

“As if you know…you cheeky bugger!” Griff laughed.

“ Well – I’ve wanted to bugger you, Cymar, so I’ve done my research.” I joined in his laugh.

“God – you’re beautiful, Osian.” Griff exclaimed.

“Not half as much as you are.” I answered back. “Push yourself back toward the head board,” I went on. “Get comfortable with the pillows.”

Griff did so. He took the pillows and placed them under his head and upper body. I took two and placed them under his magnificently muscular hindquarters.

I took each of his legs in my hands, separated them a bit, and got between him on my knees. Griff then threw his legs over my shoulders. His erect cock was flat against his belly. And I got a good look at the lightly-haired space under his balls, leading to his anus. I teased that area with my fingers, eliciting a moaned chortle from Griff. I then squirted some of the lube on my fingers.

“Tell me, if I’m going too fast, Griff. I want you to enjoy this as much as I will, Cymar.”

“Oh! I am already, Osian.” He gave me a wink, and I leaned in over him. He reached up – and we shared a quick kiss.

I pushed my lubed index finger between Griff’s very tight buns and massaged the pinkish red area around his hole. I felt him quiver at my touch, and he let out a soft moan. Slowly I inserted my finger into that tight hole.

“Rosebud,” Griff sighed.

I looked up at him. “Quoting ‘Citizen Kane, Cymar?” I asked in bemusement.

“Well, you found mine, Laddie.” He countered with a chuckle.

My finger pushed deeper into him.

“Woo – hoo!” Griff let out.

“Finding your sweet spot, am I?”

“Get on with it, man!”

I withdrew my finger, but I quickly teased at his rosebud again – but with two fingers, trying to ready Griff for me.

“I’m ready, man – ready as I’ll ever be.”

I opened the packet containing the rubber and Griff lifted his head from the bed to watch me sheath myself.

“If it hurts too much, Griff – Just tell me to stop and I will immediately.”

“Okay – you’re a gentle man, Osian.”

“Because I love you, Griff.”

“Ditto – Laddie – And I want to give you all of who I am.”

I drew his legs over my shoulders once more and scooted towards Griff’s muscular and tight buns. I grabbed those cheeks and parted them to allow my cock entry. I guided my rod to his winker and nudged at the entry.

Griff moaned louder. I could see pre-cum on the tip of his own abundant rod. I pushed in.

Griff let out a low cry.

“Relax, Cymar. Push out.’

He did and my cock slid easily into him.

“Ugh – aaahhh!!”

I pulled my tool out, so that only my mushroom head was in him.

I looked up at Griff. He gritted his teeth and sweat was rolling down his face.

“Go on – I’m okay.”

I slid into him again halfway, pulled out, and then thrust in deeper. Again – and again – and I soon found my rhythm. Griff was tight. I could feel his muscles clench around my prick. He felt so good – so did I – and we felt so complete.

“Oh, God! Osian – Again!”

I had now gone deeper into him – my pubic bone smacked against his butt. The soft smacking of my pubic bone against Griff’s buns competed with the sound of our groans of ecstasy. We were both sweating and gasping for air. Griff’s hands dug into the sheets. I was close to cumming.

“Jeeezus – I can’t hold on much longer, Griff”

My balls tightened, and I felt the eruption festering to a boil.

I came – shooting my load into the rubber – and I collapsed onto Griff. I soon realized from the stickiness between our bellies that Griff had cum too. I sat up to pull myself out of Griff, careful not to break the condom. We both giggled, when my cock made a small popping sound as I slid completely free of him. My jizz filled the rubber’s end.

“Stay right there, luv.” I told Griff.

I went to the bathroom, where I slipped off the used condom and tossed in the bin. I grabbed a few face flannels, wet two, and then carried the lot back to Griff, who still lay on the bed.

“Wet or dry?” I asked Griff, lifting them up for his view.

“You’re a considerate lover, Laddie. I’ll take a wet one.”

“Let me.” I cleaned Griff’s belly and kissed those abs, tasting the remnants of his man juice.

Griff took one of the wet cloths and cleaned my cock.

“Careful, Cymar – you’ll get me hard again.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” He teased me, raising one eyebrow. He slid over on the bed. “Come on – I want to cuddle next to you and forget that we’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Well, we still have tonight, Griff. Don’t forget – Maxim has something special planned for us. We can order dinner here in our room, before we meet him at 8:30. It’s just 5 pm now.”

“I want you to myself for the next couple of hours then.” He opened his arms, and I dove into his embrace. For the next hour or so, we lay there in the bed – in each other’s arms – forgetting the world around us – comforted in the knowledge that we had each other – and were very much in love.

We ordered room service. When the waiter brought it, he set the dinner up for us on the balcony with the spectacular view beyond. We threw some bathrobes over ourselves and enjoyed our last dinner at the resort. Griff had ordered a fine bottle of Pinot Noir from New Zealand.

He raised his glass. “To Us, Laddie.”

“Us Against The World, Cymar,” I toasted back.

All too soon, it was time to get ready to meet Maxim. To save time, we decided to shower together. We might have saved more time had we decided to shower separately. The bathroom and the shower of our room at the resort was big enough to accommodate two men as large as we were, but soaping each other up got Griff and me hard again. Although he had blown his horn earlier, I wanted to make sure Griff relaxed after our meal. Plus, I have such a sweet tooth that I wanted more dessert – of the creamy variety! Once the water washed the soap off our bodies, I knelt on the floor of the shower and took his stiffy in my hands. I pulled back his skin to reveal his outsized cockhead, licked his slit, and inched it in my mouth. His cock felt warm, its girth filled my mouth. and his wet manscape tickled my nostrils – while Griff held my head in his hands. I didn’t think I could take him all in, but I did. It didn’t take long for Griff to bust his nuts, and I felt his spluge hit the back of my throat. I savored every drop of his salty, sticky jizz. Griff was still half hard, as he shimmied his cock from my mouth.

“Time to return the favor, Laddie,” Griff guffawed and knelt down in the shower in front of me. He grabbed my arse cheeks and pulled me closer. My cock is long and narrow – and since I was born in America, I’m circumcised. And it was very sensitive to Griff’s tongue that evening. As I had playfully chewed on his nuts earlier, Griff nibbled on mine. It sent waves of pleasure through me. Then he went down on my shaft, taking me all into his mouth slowly to avoid gagging. I was so ready to shoot another load. All of a sudden, though, Griff knocked at my back door. With his left hand holding my right butt cheek, Griff used his right index finger to explore my crevice and tickle my own pink rosebud. He pushed in my hole and twirled his finger around. Digging deeper, he crooked his finger and caressed my prostate. Right then I burped my worm – and Griff swallowed all my man batter. My now limp cock fell from his mouth, and Griff withdrew his finger from my arse. I helped him to his feet, and as the water continued to cascade over us, we kissed deeply. I could taste some of my own spunk still in Griff’s mouth. I have to admit it tasted great – probably because Griff had milked it from me!

When we broke our kiss, Griff smiled at me. “Now, we’ve both had second helpings of sweets after dinner.”

“We’d better get out of here, before we forget about Maxim.” I suggested.

We finished in the bathroom and got dressed. We both wore Jockey Sport Stretch Tech Performance briefs – mine in black and Griff’s in blue. I threw on a pair of jeans. Griff wore flat front chinos. He donned a short-sleeved, red sport-shirt that I swear was at least one size too small, because his guns filled those short sleeves and his nipples looked as if they were about to pierce the material. I chose to pair my jeans with a light purple, long-sleeved Henley. Once I put on my topsiders and Griff his Skechers, we were ready to go. Our luggage had been mostly packed. We had laid out the clothes we would wear on the plane trip home tomorrow. All we really needed to do in the morning was to pack away the clothes we wore tonight and throw our Dopp kits in our luggage. We grabbed our wallets, iPhones, and key to the room and left to meet up with Maxim in the reception area of the resort. As we shut the door to the room, neither Griff nor I suspected that we would never return to the room that night.

A Night of Illusions and Deceptions
Maxim was waiting for us at the Reception Desk. He was on his mobile, as Griff and I arrived from our room. Seeing us, he ended the call and put the mobile away in the pocket of his jeans. I had to admit Maxim was an attractive man. He reminded me of a contemporary, more muscular version of the actor who played the title role in Sergei Eisenstein’s Alexander Nevsky. And as usual, he greeted us with open arms.

“Are you ready to be dazzled this night, Boys?”

“Where are you taking us tonight, Maxim?” Griff asked eagerly.

“To a very special type of circus – Le Cirque de l'Arrachement des Adieux – it’s a variety of acrobatic, gymnastic, tumbling, and disappearing acts from a troupe of French performers.” Maxim replied as he guided us toward a waiting car. Griff and I got in the backseat, and Maxim climbed in the front with the driver. He turned to tell us more about the show.

“It’s a very popular show around the world, and it’s been here on the island for the past month. Tonight’s show is their last performance – They fly to Argentina in the morning for a tour of south America, starting with performances in Buenos Aires. I was very lucky to snag tickets for us. It’s at a nightclub and we have a table up front, so we won’t miss a trick. The company specializes in astounding the audience with acrobatic feats and escape acts that are worthy of Harry Houdini himself.”

“I’m familiar with the trend in acrobatic and gymnastic acts in circus companies today and getting away from acts with animals,” I said to Maxim, “but I didn’t know that escape tricks were popular.”

“Oh…the high point of the show is the last performance which Maestro Ravisseur oversees. He is a master illusionist, who specializes in escapes from near-impossible scenarios. The pièce de resistance of his act involves audience participation – he asks for volunteers – perhaps he may ask you boys to take part in his act!”

“Volunteers? Sounds interesting – what does it involve?” Griff asked.

“Oh – I don’t wish to spoil the fun, but he gets tied up in some knots and attempts to escape.” Maxim explained, “The volunteer checks his bonds. And there are times when the volunteer ends up in bonds. I understand at a performance a few months ago in Las Vegas a famous American football player – a quarterback for a big, franchise team – ended up tied up within an inch of his life, gagged, and balancing on a tightrope high above the audience.”

“Did he escape?” I asked.

“As the audience looked up and held its collective breath for several harrowing minutes, he seemed to totter, grunted inaudibly to the Maestro, and looked pleadingly to the audience below for help. Maestro Ravisseur assured the audience all would be fine. The football player then lost his balance and plummeted from the tight rope high above. The Maestro threw a net to catch the quarterback – and in the next moment there was a puff of smoke – both Maestro Ravisseur and the quarterback disappeared into thin air! A spotlight soon shined its beam onto a table where the football player had been sitting with his party. The quarterback was seated once more – untied and ungagged – as if nothing had occurred. Maestro Ravisseur stood behind him and took a bow to the audience’s uproarious acclaim.

“That sounds exciting,” Griff gushed. He turned to me. “We’re in for an exciting evening, Osian.”

“Sounds like a lot of smoke and mirrors to me.” I scoffed.

Maxim just gave us a smile – one that did not betray his thoughts.

We arrived at the nightclub. Leading from the curb to the front doors of the casino was a red carpet bordered by potted palm trees and ferns. Two, very muscular, young Thai men dressed in tight tuxedo trousers, cummerbunds, fitted, white evening dress shirts, and bowties stood at the darkened glass doors. As the driver got out to open the back door of the car to let Griff and me out, flashing lights greeted us. Two photographers were snapping pictures, as we stood on the red carpet, waiting for Maxim to come around the car to join us.

“Publicity shots for the company.” He explained.

As we walked up to the door, the Thai attendants opened it, and a Thai woman greeted us. She was also dressed in a tuxedo jacket and white shirt underneath – open-necked – and she had on a pair of rich burgundy satin, flared pants and high heels.

“Good Evening, gentlemen.” She welcomed us.

“Good Evening, I’m Mr. Beria,” Maxim introduced himself, before turning and introducing Griff and me. “And this is Mr. Davies. And Mr. Williams.” Maxim handed her our tickets.

“Follow me please, gentlemen.”

We walked through a well-lit lobby into the main part of the nightclub, where tables with white cloths were situated around a center stage. The walls were mirrored, accentuating the light from chandeliers overhead and little shaded lamps on each table. Our hostess brought us to the front to a small table before the stage.

“I hope you enjoy the show, gentlemen.” She said once we were seated. A waiter dressed like the doormen came up to take our orders. Griff and I ordered beers, while Maxim ordered a vodka martini.

“Well, here are the mirrors.” Griff said to me with a laugh.

“Now all we have to do is wait for the smoke!” I joked back.

“Boys – this will be an unforgettable evening for you – trust me.” Maxim assured us, as the waiter returned with our order. When the waiter left, Maxim offered a toast.

“To the ties that bind men together.”

Griff and I raised our glasses and clinked their rims to the rim of Maxim’s glass. The house lights dimmed, and a voice spoke over the sound system of the club.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, It is my pleasure as your host to welcome you to Le Cirque de l'Arrachement des Adieux! Enjoy the Show!”

The lights went out, and then to the flash of lightning, the roar of thunder, twinkling lights and sprays of glitter, ropes dropped down around the tables and gymnasts and acrobats descended from above. They were all strong, young men dressed in tight, black leggings and black compression shirts. They wore black masks over their eyes that appeared pasted on their faces. The troupe of athletic men tumbled, jumped, and somersaulted around the tables, then in unison they jumped onto the stage.

Tumbling acts, gymnastic acts of daring-do, and trapeze artists filled the night. The troupe of very fit men performed on the stage and mingled with the audience executing magic and card tricks. We had another round of drinks, and Griff especially was enjoying the evening. l looked at the wonderment on his face as he watched the acts, and I thought how lucky I was to have found him. Griff saw me looking at him, and he blushed and smiled back. I looked forward to returning to Wales with him, and with sharing our love for each other with our mates and, indeed, the whole world. My attention was soon drawn back to the stage, as a voice over the sound system of the club announced the main act of the evening’s entertainment.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, it is the distinct honor of this nightclub to introduce the Star Attraction of Le Cirque de l'Arrachement des Adieux – Maestro Ravisseur!”

A large puff of smoke burst forth in the middle of the stage.

I leaned across the table to Griff and exclaimed, “There’s the smoke, Cymar.” He laughed.

Emerging from the smoke was a tall man – I’d say at least 6’4” tall – with a muscular build (perhaps 225lbs.). He was very good-looking with light brown hair. He wore black, tuxedo trousers and an open necked evening-style dress shirt – both tailored to accentuate his athletic physique. Two men accompanied him as his assistants. He came to the edge of the stage directly above our table. He looked directly down at Griff and me, and for a moment I thought he was trying to read my thoughts – he had the deepest blue eyes I had ever noticed on a man, and I sat mesmerized by his gaze. His deep, baritone of a voice roused me from my torpor.

“Welcome, Mesdames and Messieurs! It is my fervent hope you have enjoyed the evening thus far. And I trust that my act will attain the same level of excellence and entertainment you have come to delight in from Le Cirque de l'Arrachement des Adieux!”

There was a long round of applause from the audience.

“Merci beaucoup! With the help of my assistants – Thibaut and Cyril – I hope to amaze you with deeds worthy of the exploits of the great Harry Houdini and other escapologists.”

Thibaut and Cyril stepped forward to take a bow. They were as tall and muscular as Ravisseur, and they were dressed in skin-tight costumes like the rest of the troupe of performers. After their introduction they tumbled off the stage and returned with two man-sized cases, which they brought to center stage. Another assistant wheeled a large trunk to Ravisseur. He then explained what he intended to do to Thibaut and Cyril. Taking coils of rope and chains from the trunk, Ravisseur held them up to view for the audience.

“My assistants will tie me up with these ropes and chains to see if I am able to escape from the bonds. To add to the suspense – the men will lock me in one of the cases here.” Thibaut and Cyril took the cases and swung them around, so the audience could see there were secure. Ravisseur’s assistants then proceeded to truss him up. Once he was secured, Ravisseur called for an audience member to come on stage to check to see that the men had done their work and he could not easily escape from his bindings. A man in his early thirties stepped forward as a volunteer. He was a tall, brawny man with curly black hair. Ravisseur asked the man to introduce himself.

“My name is Sean Kelly. I’m here in Thailand on my honeymoon with my wife Deidre. We’re from Chicago.”

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Kelly – please join me –“ Ravisseur paused and looked at his trussed-up self. “Oh! Well, maybe I cannot, but Mesdames and Messieurs – a round of applause to the newlyweds.” The audience laughed at his joke and clapped their good wishes to the couple.

“And what do you do, Mr. Kelly?

“I’m a police detective.”

“Ah! An officer of the law. Well, Detective Kelly – would you please inspect my bindings and make sure that Thibaut and Cyril have me well secured.”

The Chicago police detective checked the knots and locks to the chains binding Ravisseur.

“You’re locked up and tied up tight.”

“Merci, Detective. Would you please stand next to the case stage left behind us?” Ravisseur indicated which case he meant with a nod of his head. Detective Sean Kelly did so, standing to the right of the audience’s view. Thibaut and Cyril walked over to Maestro Ravisseur, picked him up, and carried him to the case on stage right. They then placed him inside the case, shut the door to it, and locked him in. The assistants then locked the empty case as well. The men grabbed hold of each case and spun them slowly around three times, before returning them to their original positions. From inside one of the cases, the audience heard the Maestro count.

“Un…Deux…Trois…”

A cloud of smoke burst on the stage. As the smoke cleared, only Detective Kelly remained. From the sound system overhead, Ravisseur spoke.

“Mrs. Kelly – you will find a key in your purse. Will you please give it to the man standing by your table, so that he can hand it to your husband on the stage?”

A spotlight shone on the table where Detective Kelly’s wife was seated. Deidre Kelly was a very attractive, red-haired woman – stylishly dressed in a white blouse and a floral print skirt. Deidre took her red clutch in hand, opened it, and found a key inside it. She looked very surprised. She handed the key to a member of the troupe of performers, who stood beside her. He quickly handed it to her husband on the stage.

Once again Ravisseur spoke over the sound system. “Detective Kelly – please use that key to unlock the cases. Two members of our troupe will then open the cases.”

Sean Kelly took the key and unlocked the two locks. He stood aside, as two more performers took the stage.

“Gentleman – please open the doors.” Ravisseur instructed.

They did so. Inside were Thibaut and Cyril all tied up and chained in the same manner as Ravisseur had been.

The audience gasped and burst into applause.

I looked over at Griff. He was beaming and applauding vigorously.

As the applause died down, once again Ravisseur spoke.

“Detective Kelly – will you please shut the doors to the cases and lock them once again. When you have done so, please put the key in the right pocket of your trousers and stand next to the case stage right.”

The Chicago police detective followed Ravisseur’s instructions. He shut the doors, relocked them with the key, and then put the key inside the right pocket of his rather tight-fitting trousers.

Ravisseur once more counted, “UnDeuxTrois…”

Another cloud of smoke billowed on the stage.

As the smoke cleared this time, Maestro Ravisseur appeared once more on the stage. Next to him was Thibaut. They were both free from any bonds. Detective Kelly was nowhere in sight.

The audience cheered once more. Ravisseur took a bow. The audience grew silent.

“Thank you, Ladies and Gentleman…”

“MMMPPPHHH MMMPPPHHH! MMPPPHH!”

Muffled sounds came from one of the boxes. Ravisseur looked in its direction.

“Oh! I forgot,” Ravisseur said apologetically. Turning once more to the audience, he continued. “Mrs. Kelly – will you look in your purse again?”

As the spotlight shone again on her table, Deidre opened her clutch, where she found a key once more. She let a cry of surprise.

“Could you please hand the key to Cyril?”

Cyril – whom we had last seen bound in one of the boxes on stage – stood next to Deidre Kelly, ready to take the key from her. She handed it to him. Cyril then walked back onto the stage. Ravisseur took the key from him.

“MMMPPPHHH MMPPHH!” We could hear the muffled pleases from behind the locked door of one of the cases. Ravisseur unlocked the door to the case and opened it.

Detective Sean Kelly stood inside – trussed up in rope and fettered in chains as the Maestro and his assistants had been. In his mouth was a red ball-gag. He squirmed about in a vain attempt to free himself.

Bon Soir, Detective.” Ravisseur greeted him to the delight of the audience.

“MMMPPPHHH MMPPHHHH!” Sean Kelly grunted in reply.

“Just one moment, if you will.” Ravisseur turned from him to address his wife.

“Mrs. Kelly, would you like your husband back?” We all laughed.

“Oh, please! It is our honeymoon. Although you’ve given me an idea about how to make sure Sean does his share of the housework.” Deidre Kelly answered, The audience roared in laughter.

“Well, I’ll leave you with a souvenir of the evening to help you keep him in line.” The Maestro promised. He then closed the door and locked it, leaving Detective Kelly protesting fruitlessly behind the ball-gag. Ravisseur himself spun the case around three times. When the door faced the audience, he unlocked and opened the door. There was no one inside.

Turning around and sweeping his right arm across the expanse of the club, Maestro Ravisseur once more took a bow.

Mesdames et Messieurs – please give a round of applause to Detective Kelly for being such a good sport.”

The spotlight flashed on the table where Deidre Kelly was now rejoined by her husband, who sat there unbound and ungagged. The audience erupted in cheers.

“Thank you, Detective – for all your help. And Mrs. Kelly – for yours. Please accept that small token of my gratitude you will on your table.”

Deidre Kelly picked up the red ball-gag that had just gagged her husband.

“Use it – whenever you need to keep him in line!” Ravisseur suggested.

“Oh! I will.” Deidre said with satisfaction, as Sean Kelly blushed.

As the applause died down, Maestro Ravisseur came to the edge of the stage above me and Griff.

“For the final performance of the evening, I will need two volunteers from the audience. This performance requires strength, agility, and endurance – qualities found in world class athletes. Do we have such two men here tonight?” I noticed him look down at me and Griff, before he began to scan the audience, as spotlights dashed from table to table.

Maxim leaned across to us. “Boys – go for it! You are perfect fit for the act. What a great way to end your holiday. You’ll never forget it.”

Griff and I looked at each other. Griff had an eager look to him.

“What do you say, Osian? Shall we give it a go? We can’t let an American copper show us up…”

“I don’t know…”

Maxim egged us on. “Come on, Osian – Griff wants to…”

I looked from Maxim to Griff.

“As you said – Laddie – it’s all smoke and mirrors.” Griff reminded me of what I had said earlier.

“Smoke and mirrors….mmm…Okay, Cymar. I’m in.” I agreed.

фантастический!” (“Fantastic!”) Maxim said something in Russian – I expect a word to express his glee.

“Maestro!” Maxim called to Ravisseur. “Here are your two volunteers.” He extended his arms and opened his hands to present Griff and me as enlistees in the illusionist’s act.

A spotlight fell upon our table.

“Merci, Gentlemen! It looks as if you fit the bill.” Ravisseur grinned widely down at us. Raising his head, he said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, please – a round of applause to encourage these fine, strapping, and handsome young men.”

The audience clapped to encourage us. Griff and I pushed our chairs out from the table, rose, and climbed onto the stage. We stood on either side of Maestro Ravisseur. Thibaut and Cyril stood on either side of – and slightly behind – us.

“Gentlemen – would you please introduce yourselves.” Ravisseur turned to me first.

“I’m Osian Williams.”

Ravisseur turned his head to Griff.

“And I’m Gruffyd Davies – Griff to all.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Griff and Osian,” he turned from him to me. “Where are your from and what do you do?”

“We’re from Wales. We play rugby.” I answered.

“Aha,” he cried. “My second guess – judging from your size – would have been ballet dancers.”

The audience laughed. While I like to think I have a great sense of humor, I resent the way some people dismiss rugby as a brutish sport and do not see how it can be as graceful and aesthetically pleasing as the Fine Arts.

“Well – actually,” I interjected, “rugby often requires the same skill set and agility as ballet. Our moves on the pitch demand perfect timing and a readiness to change focus or shift abruptly with ease – just as a dancer needs to learn the intricacies of movement set to a musical composition. And our dedication to our vocations are similar.” I began to explain.

“Thank you, Osian – for that lesson on the intersection of the manly sport of rugby and the performing arts.” Ravisseur said rather arrogantly and smiled covetously at me.

Griff sensed my unease, and he drew Ravisseur’s attention away from me.

“We’re on holiday here, after a tour with our squad – the Red Dragons – of Australia. Your performance has been a highlight of our stay here.” Griff explained to cut the tension.

“Thank you. And I hope what follows will surpass it!”

“Now – Ladies and Gentlemen, I want you to see that we have two professional athletes here – men in top condition, who have kindly offered themselves as participants in the final act of this evening’s performance. Gentlemen,” Ravisseur turned to me and Griff, “My assistants – Thibaut and Cyril – are going to tie you up – very tightly. And then you need to escape. It is not as hard as it may seem. Thibaut and Cyril will use a variety of knots to tie you up. One of those knots – the bowline – will release all the other knots. Once you’ve discovered the bowline –liberty is at hand! Are you set for the test, gentlemen?”

Griff and I looked at each other. He seemed up for the challenge.

“We’re in.” Griff agreed.

“Why not?” I agreed too.

“Good.” Ravisseur seemed pleased. “Thibaut and Cyril – you may proceed.”

Thibaut approached me, while Cyril went up to Griff. They each carried bundles and coils of rope.

“Ah! But wait!” Ravisseur suddenly halted them.

“The Great Houdini performed such escapes with ease.” Ravisseur explained to the audience. “But his critics claimed that he hid a key or pick on his person.” He turned to us. “Do you have such a key, pick, or a pocket knife on you, gentleman?”

“No.” Griff said

“Of course not.” I asserted.

“Well – Houdini would often strip completely or at least to his underwear to prove his critics wrong – What do say – Griff – Osian – are you willing to take your clothes off to your underwear, so that we might be assured that you’re not carrying something on you to help you escape?”

“How could we?” I asked incredulously. Griff looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. I didn’t want to be a spoil sport, but this was getting ridiculous.

Ravisseur looked out to the audience. “Mesdames et Messieurs – What say you? Perhaps you can give some encouragement to these young men.”

The audience clapped. And there were a few wolf whistles.

“What the heck – Osian – we have nothing to hide.” Griff prodded me.

I saw the mischievousness in Griff’s eyes, and I could not resist him.

“Okay.” I agreed.

Griff and I quickly stripped down to our Jockey briefs. There were several more wolf whistles from the audience.

“And you even match.” Ravisseur noted the color of my black briefs matching Griff’ blue ones. I was beginning to really dislike the man. And growing a tad apprehensive about the whole thing. I just reminded myself – it was all smoke and mirrors.

An attendant swept up our discarded clothes. And Thibaut commenced with tying my wrists behind my back, as Cyril did the same to Griff. I concentrated on the knots that he was using. The bowline was the third knot as he lashed my wrists further. When he was done, Thibaut stood back from me. His partner Cyril finished tying Griff’s wrists together, and then stood back too.

“Are you ready to escape from your bonds, gentlemen?”

“Yes.” We both said in unison.

”Proceed.”

I started to wriggle my fingers around the rope and knots that lashed my wrists together. I was squirming on the stage, and I could see Griff was as well. But I quickly found the bowline knot and pulled. The ropes fell from my wrists. I raised my arms in triumph, and the audience clapped. Meanwhile, Griff still struggled.

“Come on, Cymar. It’s in the middle of the others.” I encouraged him.

“Now, Now – That may be cheating.” Ravisseur admonished me.

Griff gave a final tug, and the ropes soon fell from his wrists. The audience gave its approval. And he gave them a short bow.

“My congratulations to you both…But let’s make it a bit more challenging. Thibaut and Cyril will tie you up again – but add more knots and more rope around your ankles, under your knees, around your thighs, and pinion your arms to your sides.”

“Give us all you’ve got, Osian and I will get out of it!” Griff boasted. I always loved his bravado on the pitch, but I wish he would have kept it quiet tonight!

The men tied us tighter than before. I believe I knew which was the bowline, but I wasn’t sure. We were soon trussed up like Christmas turkeys. The ropes were very tight. We waited for Ravisseur to tell us to begin working on the knots.

“Gentlemen, you may…Just one moment.” Ravisseur again talked to the audience.

“The last time Osian got free first and then gave words of support to his mate. We can’t allow that – can we?”

The audience responded with a resounding “No!”

“We had best gag them!”

An attendant came out with a small table. On it were two bundled-up cloths and a roll of black gaffer tape.

Ravisseur approached me with one of the bundles and the tape. He cocked his head to the side to gain my assent.

“Remember, Osian – smoke and mirrors.” Griff shouted to me.

I smiled at him. Facing Ravisseur, I began to say, “Well, in for a penny – in for a poun...mmmpphh” Before I had finished, Ravisseur stuck the bundle in my mouth and pushed it in. It tasted sweet and musky. He then tore a strip of the tape and plastered it over my mouth, then took the tape and wrapped it over that strip and around my head a few times. I was effectively gagged. As he gagged me, I noticed a small black tattoo on his inside right wrist. It depicted crossed arms with closed fists bound together at the wrists in rope. It was familiar to me, but I couldn’t figure out where I had seen it before. But it made me very uneasy – giving me chills – something was not right!

Ravisseur looked closely at me. He had his back to the audience, and they could not see his face. He stroked my left cheek. gave me a sly smile, winked, and whispered, “Smoke and mirrors – you will soon find out how true that is!”

His words reverberated so strangely through me. I tried to focus on what he meant by them, but I couldn’t. My mind grew cloudy. I felt like this was a dream. My eyes followed Ravisseur as he walked over to Griff – something wasn’t right – the tattoo – where had I seen it? Ravisseur’s artifice – we had to stop this and get away -- I had to tell Griff.

“GGGHHRRRUUUPPPHHH!” (“Griff!”) I warbled incoherently.

Griff opened his mouth to receive the bundled cloth.

“NNNUUUU” (“No”) I tried to warn him. Like he had done to me, Ravisseur took a strip of the black gaffer tape and sealed Griff’s lips shut, and then applied more of it around his head.

Griff looked at me. His eyes that had shone such excitement before now grew dull. I could see a puzzled and distracted look come over him. No – something wasn’t right…I had to stop this, but I was growing lightheaded. I was losing strength – it took such effort to yell through the gag.

“SSSHHHTTHHUUUPPP!” (“Stop!”) I tried to say, but my grunts were heavy, and they were drowned out by something Ravisseur said to the audience that drew their laughter.

He turned back to us. It was hard to understand him. Something about the cases and locking us in. Thibaut grabbed me under my arms. Another attendant came forward and lifted my legs. I tried to squirm free of their grip, but my body was growing numb. They then carried me to one of the cases. I was more scared for Griff. I couldn’t help him – Cyril lifted him with the help of another attendant. They took him to the other case. We were placed inside those boxes.

“SSHHTTUUPPHHH!! JJHHHNNUUUWWWHH!” (“Stop! Now!”). I tried to scream, but in my muddled state I couldn’t form the words. And muffled as I was, I couldn’t get those words out. But Ravisseur – as he stood between the two cases. – seemed to understand. Was he laughing at us? I couldn’t understand what was going on, but I knew Griff and I were in trouble. My mind grew so foggy. The laughter and clapping from the audience were like distant thunder – sounding like a dull roar. And then it became as dark as night. And it was so tight in that box. It suddenly began to spin. I couldn’t think straight –

And then my mind went blank –

A Magician’s Secret Revealed
The fog slowly began to lift. I could smell Griff’s cologne – Marc Jacobs – mixed with sweat. And I felt his embrace. I must have been dreaming, and I was awakening in his arms after a night of passionate lovemaking – but something didn’t seem right. Then reality began to set in. My eyes fluttered open, and I tried to shield them from the harsh light overhead. I couldn’t move my hands though. The first thing I saw was Griff – still unconscious. We stood bound to each other face to face in a fettered embrace and still tape-gagged. As I regained more of my senses, I took in our surroundings. We were – I tried to focus – from the looks of it – we were backstage of the night club – no – under the stage – there was a staircase leading up. We stayed upright, because we were still in one of the cases – but the upper part had been removed, so that it came up only to our waists. All around us, the various performers and crew busied themselves removing their makeup and costumes, talking and joking with each other, some going up the stairs, and others coming down with equipment and what not – all the while ignoring us. Griff began to come to his senses, and he looked at me like he was waking from a drunken reverie. As he became more conscious, he grew more concerned. Griff started to wiggle about – but he soon realized how helpless that was. He looked at me with growing concern in his eyes. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to assure Griff as best I could – that it was okay. Somebody would soon free us – Maxim would surely come looking for us.

“SSSHHHUUMMMUUNNN VVVHHHUUULLLL CCCHHHOOMMMHHH!’ (“Someone will come”) I tried to say through the stuffed cloth my mouth and under the tape holding it in and gagging me. As best I could, I ignored those nagging feelings that something was very, very wrong.

“UUUHHH HHHUUUPPPHHH SSHHUUU!” Griff said.

I hoped so, too. I tried to squeeze Griff tight in an embrace, but the ropes binding us to each other were so tight already that our bodies were almost plastered together. My wrists were bound around Griff’s back, and his bound around mine. Rope from our tied-up wrists went around our twigs and tackles, under us and across our honey-trails, then up and over our rumps, and ended tethered to the ropes bound around the other’s wrists. The bindings and knots were so taut, however, that we could hardly move. It produced a rather see-saw effect. If I pulled on my wrists, Griff’s were pulled inward, and if he pulled on his wrists, mine were pulled towards me. The little movement our bound hands could manage only added to our discomfort. When we pulled on our bound wrists, the rope under us pressed painfully against our t’aints with only the thin fabric of our Jockey briefs to protect us. We soon learned to take comfort only in the warmth of our fettered bodies forcibly forced together. So, we waited and hoped – trying not to move much – until someone came over to untie us.

Some moments later, I saw Ravisseur descend the stairs from the nightclub above. Maxim followed him, carrying out clothes and shoes. I grunted to Griff, so that he could know rescue was at hand.

“MMMUUUUXXXHHHUUMM!” I tried to call Maxim over.

“CCHHHUUUNNN UUU PPPHHHRRRUUU UUSSHHH?” Griff pleaded for him to free us.

Ravisseur and Maxim stopped at the bottom of the stairs deep in conversation. I saw Maxim look over at us, smile, and resume talking to the other man. Ravisseur left and Maxim walked over to us. He laid our clothes and shoes down, and he climbed up onto the platform and walked around us.

“MMMUUUUXHXHXHUUUMMM, CCHHUUUHHDDD UUU?” I asked and nodded at Griff and me – waiting for him.

“They tied you boys up very tightly. It look like you’re not getting out of those knots any time soon.”

“PPPHHHUUNN’SHH UUVVHHRR…PPPHHHLLLUUUSSHH!” (“Fun’s over…please!”) I said.

“Not sure what you said, Osian, but the fun is about to begin.”

Griff and I looked at each other – wondering what he meant by that. Griff had had enough.

“UUHHNNNTTHHYYY UUSSSHHH –NNNUUWWWHH!” He demanded Maxim untie us immediately.

“I told you, Griff, that this would be an unforgettable night.”

I was growing increasingly uneasy too. Was Maxim having some fun with us? Is that why he hadn’t started to untie us? Griff’s frustration was growing. I tried as best I could to give him an assuring squeeze. I pressed my elbows into him.

“Ah! Isn’t that sweet. Osian is trying to soothe your worries. You had better do the same for him!”

“MMHHHUUXHXH UMM – EEENNNUUUFFF!” I had had enough. I shot Maxim an angry look.

“Osian – you may have realized before that all may not have been what it appeared to be after you stepped onto the stage. I could see you start to distrust the Maestro. And Maestro Ravisseur thought as much too, especially when you two were about to be placed in the boxes. He heard you try to stop it – but there was little you could do. You must have recognized by then that you had been drugged – and you were – the both of you.”

I couldn’t believe what I heard Maxim saying and neither could Griff.

“LLLLHHHUUUTTTHHH UUSSHH GGHHHUUUU JJJNNNNUUUWWWHHH!” (“Let Us Go NOW!”) I demanded.

“WWWHHHHUUUTTTHHH GGGHHHUUUIIINNNTTTHHH UUUHHHNNN?” Griff wanted to know what was going on.

“Well – let me explain what’s going on. To put it quite simply, you’ve been kidnapped.”

“What the hell was going on? Kidnapped? I couldn’t believe it!”

I looked from Maxim to Griff in disbelief. Griff was as shocked as I was, and we both started to grunt in protest.

“JJHHLLUUTTTHHH UUUSSSHHH GGHHUU JJHHNNUUWW!!” I roared.

“UUHHNNTTHHYYY UUSSHH, MMHHUUSSHHIIMM!” Griff growled behind his gag.

Maxim ignored us and continued. “We have had our eyes on you for some time – when our operative discovered you planned to come here to Thailand, we knew it offered the best opportunity to acquire you.”

Of course, it was the new physio who put this man in our path – but why? Why on earth would they want to kidnap us?

“Maestro Ravisseur and his troupe will whisk you away. As I told you earlier this evening while on our way here, the troupe leaves tomorrow morning for Argentina. The two of you will be amongst those accompanying them there. In Argentina you will be delivered to the people who wanted you kidnapped.”

“GGHHWWUUTTHH? UUU SSHHUUNNTTHH JJHHUUTT UUUHHJJHHEEYY WWHHUUTTHH DDJJUUSSHHH!” I told him that he wouldn’t get away with this.

“Ah! Osian – I will get away with it. I have before. You remember the Ukrainian figure skater whom Griff asked about the other day? Well – we acquired him after the last Olympics. He did not simply give up fame and potential fortune for a quiet life. No – he serves a very special purpose for an ancient fraternity. You may encounter him where you are going in Argentina.”

Argentina?? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Griff and I looked at each other. I could see fear in his eyes. Stay calm, Osian – for Griff’s sake.

Ravisseur returned to join Maxim. He carried a briefcase and a laptop. He handed the briefcase to Maxim. Setting it down on the platform at our feet, Maxim opened it and withdrew another laptop from it.

“Have you explained how we accomplished their disappearance to them yet?” Ravisseur asked, as he climbed onto the platform and stood next to Griff and me.

“I thought I’d leave that to you, Maestro.”

Nodding in gratitude to Maxim, Ravisseur looked Griff and me up and down as if we were both desirable and disposable. “Ah! It was such an easy task.” He took me by the chin and stroked the side of my face with his index finger. I dared not turn away out of concern that any resistance would be taken out on Griff. “Yes, Osian – it was all smoke and mirrors.” He drew his finger across the middle of my gagged lips. I stared without emotion at him. Again I noticed the tattoo of the bound wrists on the inside of his right wrist.

“You see all you have to do is gain the audience’s attention. And when you have their concentration on one part of the stage or act, it’s easy to accomplish a great deal in an area where no one is looking. Of course, we needed you pliable – hence the drugged cloth that I used to gag you both. And as you may surmise, the cases have false bottoms and sides in order to quickly drop you down or pull you out from behind.” As Ravisseur explained this, he walked around us, I could see him sneering at us and – what was it? His gaze lasted on us at times as he circled Griff and me – he was leering at us. “The audience loved every time you disappeared from one case and then reappeared in another – all due to the quick reflexes and skills of my troupe of performers – much like you lectured me about your own skills on the playing field. And then when you made a final appearance bound as you are now – only to disappear in a cloud of smoke. C’est magnifique! But I led the audience to believe – thanks to all those photos taken of you arriving and afterwards seated at your table tonight – in thinking you had returned to your table and then left the club, Yes indeed – smoke and mirrors.”

“You’ll find those knots are so easy to escape. There is no bowline from which to slip to freedom. Ha! Ha!”

“If you wouldn’t mind, Maestro – may we conclude our business?” Maxim asked, interrupting Ravisseur’s reverie. He had his laptop opened.

“Yes – of course, Maxim.” He crouched down to retrieve his own laptop.

Griff and I watched them boot up their laptops and then type away – it appeared that they were completing a transaction. They soon explained it.
“Ah…all is settled. As always – it’s a pleasure doing business with you, Maestro.”

“And with you, Maxim.” They shook hands.

Maxim turned towards us. “Adieu, Boys. I leave $2 million American richer, because of you.” He closed his laptop, put it back in his briefcase, and departed.

Griff and I looked at each other. There was such despondence in his eyes. I gave him a squeeze to let him know he wasn’t alone.

That small gesture did not go unnoticed by Ravisseur.

“How very touching –"

“UUU BBHHHUUUSSHHTTRRDD PPHHHUUKKK UUU!” Griff shouted through the gag.

SMACK! Ravisseur backhanded Griff across his face. We both shook from the blow, but we steadied ourselves and looked at Ravisseur with growing anger – and horror.

“Shut the f*ck up! You have no other choice.” He spat the words at us. “The next time you say anything out of line to me,” he spoke with such hatred it scared me for Griff – for us both. He continued, “I will hurt him.” Ravisseur took hold of my hair and yanked my head back. “Do you understand?”

Griff looked at him – his nostrils flaring with fury – then he looked at me, and his eyes flickered with concern. He nodded his head – slowly – up and down.

“And as for you,” Ravisseur looked at me, still holding my head back, “The same goes for you – step out of line, and I will hurt him. Understood?”

With his hand still grasping my hair, I nodded my assent as best as I could.

“Good.” Ravisseur’s rage jolted me to the nightmare Griff and I found ourselves in.

Thibaut and Cyril joined Ravisseur with two other men. They had changed from their costumes and were now dressed in black jeans and black, short-sleeved polo shirts. They stood all around me and Griff.

Ravisseur looked at us with craven indifference and coolly said, “Griff Davis and Osian Williams – Say good-bye to the lives you’ve known up to now. You have been acquired by the Order of the Black Rope.” He looked squarely at me. “I noticed you appeared to recognize my tattoo. Well, it is the symbol of the fraternity I belong to and to which you are now subjected. When you do not make your flight back to the UK tomorrow, the world will learn soon thereafter that you went missing somewhere between your hotel and the airport here in Thailand. Your club, friends, relatives, and the authorities will all search for you, but no one will find you. We cover our tracks very carefully. You will already be in Argentina, where we will have delivered you into the hands of my superior in the Order who requested your abduction.”

“UUU RRR DDDHHRRUULLTTHHYY EEHHVVUULL!” I told him he was truly evil.

“UUU CCHHHUUNNNTT GGHHIITTT HHAAWWAAYY WWUUTTHH UUUHHTTT!” And Griff told him that he couldn’t get away with it.

“Yes, I am evil, Osian…And we will get away with it, Griff. We have before, and we will again.” Ravisseur came very close to us. “My assistants will now ready you for our departure tomorrow morning. I will see you in Argentina.” Ravisseur stepped down from the platform and walked away.

Thibaut had a small valise with him. He opened it and extracted two needles, two vials, and antiseptic wipes. He handed one of the vials, a needle, and some wipes to Cyril. They used the wipes to swab Griff’s left bicep and my right one. They then filled the needles with the contents of the vials.

Griff and I both realized they were about to knock us out. We pleaded with them not to.

“MMMHHHPPPP!!! MMMPPPPHHHH!!”

MMMMPPPPHHHHH MMMPPPHHH!!”

We both shook our heads no, but we could do nothing. Thibaut and Cyril injected the needles into our arms.

It grew dark once more.

To Be Continued
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