GAMES ON HENSHADE HILL
Arrival
It came as no surprise to anyone who was there already that the Green Dragons had John with them when they arrived. John was small for a fifteen year old and slim with good shoulders and a perfect, athlete’s figure that he liked to show off (along with his package) by parading around in his boxer-briefs on every possible occasion. Let’s face it, they went to an all-boys boarding school and such attire was not uncommon outside lesson time. It’s just that John was a complete old tart who made no secret of the fact that he enjoyed being tied up, and there was no shortage of boys who would be happy to oblige him.
The Green Dragons had to walk their prisoner at least five miles to get to the site of the games, a place where they were unlikely to be disturbed, and it didn’t make sense to blindfold John, as they led him barefoot but unresisting over the rough ground, if it wasn’t to take forever to get there, thus delaying the start of the games. So he had to settle for having his supple arms pulled behind him until his elbows met and having his forearms free, not that they were much use for providing balance. He had tied his own rope gag: a sort of short hangman’s knot that forced his jaws open and rendered him unintelligible if not actually silent once it had been pulled tightly into his mouth and tied off. Tim, the joker of the team, led John along using a rope tied around his waist with a half blood knot, which tightened when it was tugged but which was reluctant to release again without the assistance of his “guide”.
Being at this particular boarding school had certain advantages for the young TUGgers. They could sign out for the weekend claiming that they were hiking and camping (not far from the truth) on the extensive estate surrounding the school and, as long as no one actually got hospitalised or needed to report to Matron (NO boy would voluntarily report himself to Matron!) nobody asked too many questions. But woe betide any boy who was discovered off the estate!
So the three Dragons and their “guest” arrived on the top of the appointed hill and looked around to see who else was there while John, known as “Zoolander” amongst the staff, was being secured temporarily by being made to lie face down while his ankles were bound across one another and pulled, none too gently towards his elbows before the rope was returned to is ankles once more and further tightened before it was secured at his elbows. It was always surprising to the other youngsters when they saw just how tightly John could be drawn into a hog-tie before he protested. Several layers of bandage around John’s unruly thatch of thick, dirty blonde hair consigned him to darkness while decisions were made.
At first sight Yuri, the “guest” of the Red Barons didn’t seem to be as happy in his situation as John was in his. James pointed out that it might have been because (quite by chance?) he had been staked out in an unfortunate place on the day that the ants took wing from underneath him. Yuri wasn’t any taller than John but he was stockier, a gym-monkey with good pecs and, when he wasn’t stretched out, good biceps too. He was naturally quite dark-skinned, a trait which was emphasised by his tan. In his current situation, splayed out on the ground, his very baggy green boxers provided even less privacy than John’s tight, patterned boxer-briefs, especially where access for the insects was concerned. In addition, he’d have done anything to have been allowed to adjust the wedgie he was experiencing from where he’d been “persuaded” into position, and to tuck himself away decently. Unfortunately, the padded stick that had been forced into his mouth and fastened with gaffer tape prevented his pleas from being understood.
“I thought Yuri said, 'Never again.' after the last games,” said Alex rather interrogatively.
“Oh, James persuaded him that it would be a shame if Blatch got to find out whose work he had copied for the extended history assignment he handed in last week. He might even check all his other work so far this year,” explained Tommy.
All present agreed that blackmail was such an ugly word; and all but one were smiling.
The third “guest” was a well-muscled, extensively freckled read-headed fourteen-year-old who was not much taller than the other two but they would still be good matches for him. He was with the Black Boys, an Ironic team name as they were all white while the only black player was Nick and he was in the Green Dragons.
“Who’s the copper-top?” asked Tim.
“Oh, that’s Tom Ritchie, we call him by his surname to save confusion,” explained Charlie. He wants into the Black Boys, (Let’s face it: who wouldn’t?) and he’s already been gofer for some games a couple of weeks ago. If he wins this weekend, he gets to join the best team: ours.”
“In your dreams, Charlie.”
“And may I introduce our gofer for the event? This is Will. He wants to join in the games and he’s accepted the conditions.”
As James spoke, the Green Dragons’ eyes shifted from the curly read-head, who had been tied ready for cock-fighting and also gagged with a padded stick, and towards a none too tall, tanned, well built fourteen-year-old with straight, brown shoulder-length hair and a fringe. He was simply sitting against a tree with his wrists bound behind him and it looked as though about five rounds of gaffer tape were holding something into his mouth.
“Morning, Will, good luck,” said Alex who was seldom seen without his souvenir cowboy hat from when he visited America last year.
“Aaah, aay,” muffled the gofer, nodding his return greeting. Will had been allowed to wear his black jammers but nothing else. It was his job to be, without question, the slave of the others until the camp had been dismantled and they were near enough to “civilisation” to be in danger of encountering nosey passers by. He’d already had to carry most of the equipment to the site and he’d hammered stakes that he’d brought into the ground at the direction of the others. Four of them had almost immediately been used to spread-eagle Yuri and one that was left over had been thrust between the knees and elbows of the swim-suited Ritchie. Someone should have told him that green briefs didn’t suit a person with his colouring even if they were square-leg ones.
The company was assembled.
The programme
James took the chair; he tended to be the organiser.
“Right then, three games; each team has choosen one and must have brought anything necessary. Green Dragons.”
Nick, not very tall but a fantastic cross-country runner although built more like a sprinter, was the most level headed – but all things are relative – so the black guy spoke for the team. “Our team today are Tim, Alex and me, Nick. Our contestant is John, if he wins, he gets invited to join our Homebase for his Lower VI before the staff allocate him to another one. Our game involves tickling the players for a long time.”
“No surprises there then. Thanks, Nick. Explain the rules more carefully later, please. Black Boys.”
Lewis spoke for the Black boys. He was a rather non-descript, quiet, very well-spoken rower who had a surprisingly powerful rock voice. “Our team today is Charlie and Ben, the dumb blondes and Lewis, that’s me, the brains of the outfit.” That was sure to be good for some retaliation later. “We propose cock-fights. We’ve prepared Ritchie already. If he wins, he gets to join the Black Boys.”
“Thanks, Lewis. Red Barons, George.” As chairman, James thought that someone else should introduce his team.
“We’re the Red Barons: James, Tommy, and I’m George. Yuri’s going to play for us. If he doesn’t win, someone might get to find out how he’s suddenly doing so well in History.”
Yuri immediately started objecting indecipherably, he’d assumed that, as long a he’d agreed to turn up, he was off the hook.
“Ah, it’s a hard life.” explained George before explaining that his team proposed a bound cross-country competition.
Over the long-established history of the school TUGs club, there had developed various arcane formalities such as this inaugural meeting. Rules had also grown and been formalised over time so that everyone understood and accepted them. Anyone who didn’t, simply needn’t take part, there was no compulsion.
“Which game first?” asked the chairman before proposing that it should be the cock-fights. This was ruled by the meeting to be unfair as poor Ritchie had been scrunched up in that position for over an hour already and should be allowed some recovery time first. After a short discussion, it was decided that Nick should explain how the ticking contest was to work. Following his explanation, the others agreed that it would be a great opening game.
TBC