Stout's Shorts [Story 15 "Roommates 2" JULY 31]

Stories that have little truth to them should go here.
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Stoutland395
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Stout's Shorts [Story 15 "Roommates 2" JULY 31]

Post by Stoutland395 »

I've been on hiatus for the longest time, it seems. When it comes to my writing, I've really been lagging behind, putting material on the back burner and not committing to writing full story to continue my collection. Lately Ive been trying to get back into the writing spirit with short pieces to practice my descriptive writing. Also, I want to start contributing to this forum again. This thread will be used for my collection of writings that I've been working on, off and on here and there. They may not all be short stories; maybe descriptions of people or scenes that I wrote down in a moment of randomness. Perhaps they may be used in a future story? Only time will tell. For now, I hope you all enjoy!

Any feedback: Notes, suggestions, ideas - I'd be happy to hear from you! Thanks!

My current list of stories on this thread:

1. Enforcement (F/m): A concerned mother punishes her delinquent son
2. GiD Jaiden (M): A short character description
3. I Beat Pedro (M/M): A young man tests his strength against the best
4. Sit Tight Chandler (M/M): Some fanfiction feat. my celeb crush
5. Mind the Signs (M/MM): Never deviate from the main trail
6. More Chandler Riggs fanfiction (M/M): Chandler Riggs has some nice arms
7. Riggs Brothers Christmas (M/MM): A poem I wrote last year. Santa punishes two boys on his naughty list
8. I Snapped (M/M): It's hard to control your feelings when your crush is sitting right next to you
9. Deku in Peril (FM/M): What if Izuku Midoriya lost his fight with Gentle Criminal? (MHA fiction)
10. Vandals (M/Mx6): Someone has to put a stop to the vandals ruining the school
11. GiD Coi (M): Another short character description
12. GiD: Bryson (M/M): Sometimes the attention is fun, other times not so much
13. All's Fair in Food and War (M+/M): One of Soma Yukihira's rivals doesn't want to play fair (Food Wars fiction)
14. GiD: Dakota (M/M): It's really all a matter of perspective, isn't it?
15. Roommates 2 (M/M): A short excerpt of a possible sequel to a previous full story

___________________________________________________________________________

You can find my other Multi-Chapter Stories down here:
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"Enforcement" (F/m)

I never thought I would be punishing my son in such a significant way. My child is my pride – what parent wouldn’t say such a thing? Considering my profession, I thought I raised Matthew to act more responsibly. From an early age, practically from birth, I raised Matthew to respect law enforcement and obey the law. Above all else, I only wanted Matthew to stay out of the kind of trouble that so many kids his age seem to get into. Whenever I had to arrest a young teenager, I couldn’t help but wonder – and worry – how easily it could’ve been my son in this same situation. Now, we’re here – my greatest fear realized.

It was barely past midnight when I heard the knock on my door. Matthew stood in front of me. His hands were bound behind his back, locked in a pair of handcuffs. Officer Chen loomed behind him, keeping a tight grip on his bicep despite the handcuffs. The porch light cast a spotlight in the dark around the two. I can’t help but feel like a failure, not being able to prevent this, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the privileges that came with being an officer. Had it not been Matthew, son of a cop, he would be on his way to a holding cell rather than his mother’s house.

Chen spoke with a forced monotone, trying her best to keep her composure. She was a mother as well, and we often spoke about our kids as we passed by each other in between shifts. We even expressed interest in introducing Matthew and Kim to each other. There were breaks in Chen’s tone as she spoke. Perhaps she held the same fears about her own kid that I did, which would explain why she chose to bring Matthew here.

Matthew hung his head low, hiding the rosy hue developing in his soft cheeks as Chen explained the situation. His brown hair fell down over his forehead, almost touching the rim of his baby-blue eyes. They looked puffy. He bit his bottom lip, trying to stop it from quivering. Seeing this coming from anyone else – I would’ve called out their crocodile tears as nothing more than a pitiful attempt to gain sympathy and leniency after being caught rather than genuine remorse.

But this wasn’t another troubled youth, and how could I not feel sympathy for my own son? Or sadness for myself, failing my responsibility as a parent?

Matthew wore his black hoodie I got him for his sixteenth birthday, still wearing it three years later like a security blanket. He dressed in black track shorts that showed off his very skinny legs, which were tense and shaking. He had on bright white tennis shoes; on the bottom of them was a thin brown ring of dirt. I never liked those shoes; white never stayed clean, and those tennis shoes always seemed too large considering he was always tripping over himself when he wore them, but he insisted on having them, wanting to look cool for his friends, so I relented. Had it not been Matthew, he would’ve been almost indistinguishable from the other young boys his age, or the dozens of would-be thuggish kids I’ve had to unfortunately take into custody over the years.

Chen nudged Matthew forward with a sympathetic wink, and I grabbed his bicep. I also handed her pair of my handcuffs, so that she wouldn’t have to explain why hers were missing. We wished each other good luck and safety before she left to continue her shift and I closed the door.

I sat Matthew down on the couch, still handcuffed. He complained about them being fastened too tight, but I had looked them over myself, and Chen wasn’t the type to be careless with that practice. They sat snug on his slender wrists, double-locked to keep them from accidentally loosening or tightening up. I dismissed his complaint, instead demanding an explanation, but he only deflected and tossed all the blame on his friend Tyler. “It was his idea to sneak out,” he said. I suppose it was also Tyler’s idea to tag the street signs and fill the neighborhood mailboxes with rocks. That didn’t explain why it was him sitting at home wearing handcuffs and not Tyler, who apparently outran Matthew when they both saw the flashing lights.

Maybe it was all Tyler’s idea, and Matthew only acted along in a state of absent-minded foolishness. Maybe Matthew was lying, and it was all his idea while Tyler was the tag-along. Maybe they both decided together to go on a defacing spree. A miasma of doubt fogged my mind. I couldn’t trust my own son to tell the truth. A deep sadness filled my stomach, and my body twitched and shook. Matthew’s voice grew more agitated at my dismissal of his claims and refusal to un-key the handcuffs around his wrists. That indignant tone disgusted me, as if he had any reason to be angry. I refused, and he insisted this wasn’t fair. I raised my voice, saying that his treatment so far had been more than fair considering he was sitting on my couch – not a hard cot in a cell.

Matthew jerked forward, flexing his bound arms in his hoodie, shouting an obscenity as a sneer formed on his face. I bit my lip and clenched my fist. He clearly didn’t understand the privileges being extended to him. I snatched him by the arm, yanking him up from the couch, and motioned him forward to his bedroom.

I flung the door open and led him to his bed, throwing him down on his mattress. He bounced on his stomach and wiggled around to his side. Meanwhile I grabbed his tennis shoes, tearing them off and tossing them onto the floor. He was definitely grounded, and I assured him there was no way he would be getting out bed for the remainder of the night. Although I tried to avoid eye contact, I couldn’t help but notice the sudden look of fear breaking through that veneer of defiant adolescence on his face. It dawned on me in that moment that this was the first time I was genuinely mad at him, and the first time he was facing consequences for his actions.

I pointed and demanded he stay put. Matthew’s looked at me stern and stone-faced, his lips tightened into a quivering scowl and his eyes enlarged by the tears welling up and magnifying his baby-blue irises. But he remained still on the bed. I returned quickly with a roll of black tape from the kitchen drawer. Fighting the handcuffs, Matthew kicked around on the bed, tossing back the covers and pillows as he pushed himself back against the headboard.

I grabbed Matthew’s skinny legs by the ankles, pulling them straight and crossing them over each other. I wrapped the tape around his ankles, careful not to go above the hem of his white socks so the tape wouldn’t tug on the thin dark hairs on his legs. I made another wrapping around the tops and bottom of his feet to keep his legs crossed. When I let go, Matthew jerked his legs back toward his chest. He flapped his knees, but his feet remained bound in the tape. That binding would make certain he wouldn’t be sneaking out again tonight.

He shouted another obscenity, and I ripped a strip of tape from the roll and placed it over his mouth. It didn’t take much effort for him to unstick his bottom lip, shouting in surprise at what I did. I ripped the piece of tape off, angry he would still be showing me such a level of disrespect. I grabbed a sock from his dresser, rolling it up into a ball. Matthew shook his head, knowing what was coming. He suddenly began apologizing profusely, pressing his back against the headboard with nowhere to go. I squeezed his soft cheeks and popped the little balled up wad of cotton into his mouth.

Matthew continued his pleas, muffled by the sock sticking out of his mouth. His lips tightened around the sock, moving his jaw up and down. I ripped off another piece of tape and placed it at an angle over the sock and his mouth, then again with another strip at the opposite angle. A little black “X” held the soc in place like a stitch over his lips. He pushed on the sock with his tongue and puffed his cheeks. He squeezed his eyes tight, straining against his gag and heaving from his attempts to dislodge it. He tucked his legs up, trying to wipe his tape mouth on his knees. He reached around his waist with his cuffed hands. Both efforts resulted in failure.

My voice cracked. I spoke through gritted teeth trying to explain how he broke my trust – that he needed to face consequences for his actions, and how thankful he should be that Officer Chen brought him home rather than jail. At least this night, none of that seemed to get through to him. Matthew flopped around on the bed angrily until his short rode up his legs and his hoodie bunched up around his chest exposing his stomach. His face was red, and angry tears streamed down his cheeks. He coughed and reached for the tape covering his mouth with futility.

I shook my head, placing my hands over my ears, and walked out of the room. I leaned back against his closed bedroom door, listening to the muffled sounds coming from the other sides. He screamed as loud as the sock gag would let him; they sounded like pleas for me to come back, but I couldn’t relent. My spine chilled. All I could do in that moment was to hold my hands over my face, hiding my shame for what I did to my son. I failed him and I failed myself.

I just wanted my sweet boy back.

Sweet Matthew…
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Description GiD: Jaiden

Jaiden was short and skinny. His face was thin, occupied by a wide mouth, rosy lips, and large blue eyes like bright pearls. His nose was narrow and long with a fine point; faint freckles peppered the bridge of his nose and the tops of his flat cheeks. His skin was pale like ivory. Whenever it grew hot, the blood would rush to his face and flush away those freckles as the delicate paleness turned a light shade of pink. His hair was medium length, colored a deep shade of red. It stuck up and billowed at the slightest movement like a lit match. Jaiden ran his slim fingers through it, combing it backward and tucking behind his ears. It wasn’t an uncommon practice to tame it with a checkered bandana, folded and tied up with a knot above his forehead.

Although he enjoyed spending spare time in the gym, the goal was never to build large muscles. In fact, Jaiden often found humor in the other gym-goers’ attitudes toward their gains, calling them meatheads for their obsession with bodybuilding – under his breath of course! No, Jaiden was concerned with maintaining a lean and slender body, having shed the baby fat from his adolescence. Now that he was emerging into adulthood, he strove to find a balance between the boyish masculinity of a young adult and the youthful brilliance that formed during his teen years. Vanity certainly manifests differently in each person.

That hard work and maintenance paid off, much to Jaiden’s pleasure. His arms were lean and toned, and although he didn’t strive for building large muscles, he did find it gratifying to see the striations in his forearms whenever he flexed his hand or tightened his fists. A thin vein bulged out, extending from the back of his hand toward his elbow – a positive sign of the amount of definition he’d developed. A thin white t-shirt draped over his flattened chest and defined stomach; Jaiden made a habit of rolling up his short shirt sleeves an inch toward his wide shoulders to further display his toned biceps. His legs were equally toned and skinny, dressed in a pair of tight black jeans stylized with rips and tears from the knees upward. One hole exposed his jean pocket, and another exposed a portion of his red boxer shorts. Jaiden balanced his thin frame inside a pair of thick white Reeboks outlined in red and black trim…



**********


… Jaiden sat upright on the couch, leaning back into the cushions and letting out a loud grunt. His rosy lips pursed around a large black ball that was forced inside his mouth. It was his punishment after he yanked out the bandana –- once knotted above his forehead to tame his wily red hair, then knotted in his mouth to gag him, then hung damp around his slender neck after being traded for its current replacement. Two leather straps had been pulled back from the black ball and fastened securely by a buckle behind his head, which kept the ball firmly between his teeth.

His legs were bent and tucked close to his sides, so that his heels touched his hips. The thick denim jeans lacked hardly any slack. Those black jeans hugged his legs tight and sitting like that only made it more uncomfortable as his jeans tightened against his legs more so than had he been standing straight. Jaiden’s freckled skin bulged through the frayed holes that ran up the thighs of his jeans, especially at the knees where the frayed edges began to tear beyond their intended style. White rope, like clothesline, wrapped around each leg; it wound over his thigh and under his ankle with a knot tied in between to draw the rope tighter. The fabric of his jeans pinched the bend on the back of his knees; the ropes dug in painfully, and it didn't take long for a numbing sensation to develop in his feet. He wiggled his toes inside his thick Reeboks and tried his best to kick his feet around to keep the circulation flowing.

With the bandana pulled down by his neck, stray locks of deep red hair swayed about and tickled his forehead and ears. Jaiden reached up with both hands and wiped away the hair from his forehead with the tips of his fingers, which was made more difficult now than before. His wrists were bound tightly in front of him with more white rope; the leftover cord from the knot between his wrists was pulled up tight and used to tie his thumbs together as well. After yanking the bandana from his mouth earlier, sticky black tape had been applied around his fingers. The tape kept his hands together, palm-to-palm, with his fingers straight, unbending and unflexing.

One more try, Jaiden thought. He turned his attention to his bound hands – just one more try. He bit down on his ballgag, curling back his lips and flashing his teeth. He scrunched his nose and furrowed his brow. He tightened his stomach and pulled his shoulders back. He flexed the muscles in his legs, causing the rope to restrict and dig in painfully; he waved his knees and kicked his feet about. He fanned out his elbows and strained his arms until the vein in his forearm bulge and the striation of his muscle fibers made his skin flex. Jaiden’s body grew tense and shook. In the end, however, all that effort was wasted.

The ropes remained tight on his wrists and legs. In fact, he might’ve even tightened the knots by mistake, having pulled on the ropes too hard.

Jaiden let out an audible gasp, like a deep growl from his throat. The sound made it through the gaps between his teeth and the plastic ball, sounding high-pitch and hollow. He flung his head back against the couch and stared intently at the ceiling – at a complete loss for any other ideas. He rested his forearms on his thighs and slumped his shoulders. The tension and strain raised his body temperature. His pale ivory-like skin became warm to the touch, and the freckles running across his nose and up his arms faded beneath a pink hue. Jaiden breathed heavily, heaving and sucking in gasps of air through his nostrils. He breathed deep, expanding his chest until his ribs pushed against his biceps.

Jaiden’s pupils grew wide and black, eclipsing the brilliance of his bright blue irises. Despite the adrenaline still coursing through his body, it was too taxing for another failed attempt at escape. His rosy lips quivered around the ballgag as a sore discomfort began to spread across his jaw. He curled his tongue underneath the plastic ball trying to swallow the saliva pooling up inside his mouth. He wiped his bottom lip with his wrists. The way his hands were bound felt ironic; Jaiden squeezed his eyes tight and mumbled into his gag. Maybe his prayer would be answered, and someone would find him soon and finally let him out.

Only time would tell.
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Post by cj2125 »

I seem to have miss this topic but glad I found it!. Great stories so far! As usual, your attention to detail is brilliant both for the bondage and the emotions going through the characters. Good job!
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Thank you @cj2125 for the comment. It's been fun getting back into the swing of things, even if they are just small pieces. I hope to get back into writing my main stuff soon.

I Beat Pedro (M/M)

It was discomforting to see him so compromised, with a sour look on his once-beaming face. My stomach tightened from the anxiety as the reality of what I had done began to sink in. Until now this moment was only a fantasy that played on loop in my private thoughts. I never imagined I could undertake such a task until a sudden impulse pushed me to act. Now, here he was lying at my feet and completely helpless. I would be lying if I said I had no regrets, especially having spent so much time getting to know him. The disdain I once felt for him had mellowed with time, and that look of pain and betrayal in his expression left like a stab to my heart.

Pedro was a stocky young man with wide shoulders, a sleek mahogany complexion, and wavy black hair that hung down to his shoulders which he often kept tied in a messy bun. His body was built hard and narrow like the trunk of a tree. His height made him appear thinner than he actually was, and it wasn't until he flexed the muscles in his body that one could truly admire the effort Pedro put into exercising his body. A pair of dark blue jeans and a long sleeve black shirt disguised the definition in his legs, arms, and chest. The only hint of his physique was after he pulled his long sleeves up past his elbow; thick veins ran from the back of his hands, branching upward and forced against his skin by the muscles in his forearms.

His face displayed an almost permanent smile, displaying a row of bright white teeth. Small dimples formed on the sides of his cheeks, and his black eyes narrowed when that infectious grin puffed up his high cheek bones. His ears would perk up like a rabbit’s. When Pedro smiled, he smiled with his whole body. Even his shoulders squared up and a visible artery protruded from his slender neck. But now, that smiled was gone, covered up by layers of duct tape I wound around his head to keep him quiet. It pained me to hide it away, but once I made the choice to act, I knew I would have to see things through to the end.

Pedro was strong, and self-preservation became my immediate concern. I had to work quick while putting every ounce of effort into taming him. I felt regret for my accomplishment, but that regret was far eclipsed by the immense pride for having won. I actually won! I beat Pedro! A fortunate combination of planned action, concern for my safety had I lost, and a large amount of luck led to my victory. My heart raced, and I gasped for air, and my body shook from the adrenaline.

Pedro laid on his stomach on the cold tile. His hands were crossed and tied behind his back. He fanned his elbows and flexed his biceps, but the rope held them together tightly. Once that was finished, things became a little easier although by no means was it a cake-walk. His legs were just as strong even if they weren’t as nimble as his arms. Pedro shifted around, and a swift kick left a stinging pain in my side, and I wouldn’t be surprised if a large bruise developed on my ribs by the morning.

Those legs were the next thing to be secured. I snatched his ankles and twisted them together; my hands could barely grip them, so I had to sit on his knees to keep them together while I played with the rope. I worked frantically to wind the rope around his crossed ankles. A knot tied in between them drew the rope tighter; I made sure to leave two strands dangling from the knot for later. As I rolled him back onto his stomach, I managed to barely miss another kick and avoid the hard rubber heel of his tennis shoes from scraping my eye. After that, his shoes went flying into the corner of the room, leaving him in a pair of black ankle socks.

Despite being bound hand and foot, Pedro flung himself around on the floor desperate to escape. While I knelt on his back to keep him still, it felt more like was balancing myself on a heap of rolling logs tumbling their way downhill, and even though he was tied up, I might still be buried in an avalanche by Pedro’s thrashing. I forced his legs backward until his heels touched his waist and used the loose cord from his ankles to tie them to his hands. The rope was tight enough, but his struggling made me fearful that he might still get free. I panicked and pulled the rope a little too tight. I yanked on the rope with my weight and secured the knot – several knots to be sure. The rope was pulled so tight that Pedro bent himself backward; both his pelvis and chest hovered above the floor. The bottom of his shirt bunched up over his stomach, the only part of his body touching the cold tile floor.

This whole time, much to my surprise now thinking about it, Pedro hadn’t yelled or called for help. He swore at me, and he grunted and growled through gritted teeth. With all my effort being used to bind his arms and legs, he had every opportunity to try for someone’s attention. Had he done so and succeeded, he wouldn’t have been stuck in the position he was in now. Perhaps it was an act of performative masculinity – a feeling of confidence in his own strength and a toxic sense of pride – that prevented him from seeking help, and that he could escape someone as unintimidating as me without any help. I call it luck on my part, which I appreciated for what it was worth.

Unfortunately for him, that toxic bravado wore off only after he was completely hogtied. As the helplessness began to settle in, and now coming to his senses, Pedro opened his mouth wide to scream. Before he could get out a sound, I clamped down hard over his mouth: Getting the tape from my jacket pocket with one hand was hard. Ripping the end off the roll with my teeth was harder. Keeping his mouth closed while applying the tape over his lips was the hardest. Once I got the first layer on, I must’ve kept at it half a dozen times or more, being careful about his long black hair, which was unravelling from the bun on top of his head. A strip placed under his chin, and another placed over the bridge of his nose kept him from stretching out his jaw to undo the gag.

I doubled over with my hands on my knees, not able to even fully stand up. Pedro put up a strong fight. My stomach hurt, and my arms were sore; my hands were cold, and my body shook. The side where he kicked me stung whenever I drew a deep breath. I threw myself against the wall and slid down, completely drained. Pedro rolled around on his stomach. I watched as he flexed his arms and tugged on the ropes tying his hands to his ankles, trying to break the hogtie. It was almost scary to see the muscles in his forearms flex about. I could only imagine how his other muscles looked beneath his shirt and jeans. Luckily, the ropes held; in fact, he might’ve accidentally tightened the knots securing him. He looked at me. His pupils looked like large black olives. He tried to speak, flaring his nostrils and moving his mouth as much as he could while making low grunts behind the layers of tape. I decoded from the grunts a series of choice curses toward me, followed by a demand that he be untied immediately.

I could only smirk, trying to hide my full amusement. I was too exhausted to actually show how happy I was in that moment. I won! Pedro was hogtied, helpless, and humiliated. Yet, he stared at me with daggers in his eyes, even jerking himself forward like he was going to attack me. I’ll admit, I reflexively flinched, thinking at a base instinct that despite him being bound securely, he could find a way to hurt me. My heart skipped, then I felt overcome by pure amusement, laughing at myself. Several minutes passed until my strength began to come back, and my breathing returned to normal. I crawled over to Pedro, who was still staring at me with a defiant anger, and I gave him a gentle slap on the cheek. He shook his head and jerked forward again, but I didn’t flinch that time.

I smiled again and went in again for another slap, much to his embarrassment. His light ebony skin reddened with humility and embarrassment. His neck bulged as he made a loud grunt. Unfortunately for him, his voice wouldn’t make it past the walls of this room. I rose to my feet, stumbling to the threshold and resting my shoulder on the door frame. I looked back Pedro; I wanted to make sure he saw me turn the lock on the doorknob. He shook his head wildly, his grunts becoming significantly higher pitched. His eyes squinted, and his chin tensed up as he grunted out a series of pitiful pleas. The last Pedro saw of me was my hand waving at him as I closed the door.
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Sit Tight, Chandler! (M/M)

:D Time for a little Chandler Riggs fanfiction! :D

Chandler had been sitting in his chair for hours. Evening approached; his morning and after were completely squandered. In a twisted, ironic sense, he was glad that he invested in such a comfortable gaming chair to replace that old $20 rinky-dink one from Walmart. It was black with blue trim, covered in soft padding that conformed snugly to his body; the back was tall and concave, and a soft pillow base provided lumbar support. It swiveled on an axle, but the thick rug kept the wheels at the base from moving.

Although Chandler had spent a considerable amount of time in that chair before, but as of this moment, all he wanted to do was spring up and out of it. He wanted to stand up on his feet again, stretch his legs and straighten his arms. Unfortunately, he would have to wait for sweet release until someone came home to find him bound and gagged, then let him out of his bondage. Until that time, he would be stuck, tied to that chair with no way of calling for help.

Chandler was tall and thin with squared shoulders and a slender neck. Although his legs were stocky, his arms were thin and stringy. It was easy for the intruder to snatch his bony wrists and tie them together without much effort. They were bound in front of him. Chandler puffed his pouty lips and batted his eyes, solemn in his predicament. The cord from his tied wrists was used as a lead to guide him back to his bedroom, where he was bound to his chair to keep in one place and out of the way. His arms were lifted above his head, and his hands dropped down behind the back of the chair. His elbows pointed high upward, and his biceps pressed against his ears.

The rope tied to his wrists had been pulled tight and tied around the axle underneath the chair. Then his ankles were bound; a knot tied in the middle drew the ropes tighter, and the spare ends were tied around the axle as well. The tips of his toes brushed against the carpet, and his heels hovered an inch off the floor. Rope bound around his narrow waist kept him from sliding down his seat. Waiving around his elbows and knees was the only movement that his bonds allowed, and the only movement that brought him some sense of ease as the anxiety built up in his body. The pillow at the base of the chair pressing against his lower back kept him further immobilized.

Chandler let out a grunt muffled by the tape sealing his mouth shut. A thick black strip of tape stuck snugly from cheek to cheek, smoothed over until an impression of his pouty lips formed underneath. As time went on, the adhesive began to solidify over his mouth. Worse than that, the longer the adhesive stuck to his mouth, the more conditioned he had become to being gagged. It was like the tape was fusing to his skin. Chandler puffed out his cheeks and pressed his tongue against his lips, but the seal made by the tape kept his mouth shut.

It was unusually cold in the room, as if someone turned up the air conditioning. A thin white t-shirt, khaki shorts, and black ankle socks were comfortable in the warmer air, but they offered little warmth against the chilly air surrounding him. He felt the effect of the cold on his extremities first as his body heat retreated inward. His hands felt like ice, and his arm shivered to the point that his biceps bounced against his ears uncontrollably. The cold air brushed against the thin hairs on his legs, and he knocked his together as he shook his legs and bounced his feet on the floor. Chandler squeezed his eyes tight and tensed his stomach, making his whole body shake. Goosebumps formed along his legs and forearms.

A faint noise among the eerie silence and unnerving solitude caught his attention. He jerked his head to the side and stared at his closed bedroom door. What was that noise? The front door? Was someone finally home? Chandler listened intently. Faint noises, like shuffling and chattering, triggered a jolt of adrenaline through Chandler. He wriggled in his chair as much as the ropes would allow. He waived his elbows above his head and shook his knees around, bouncing his feet against the carpet. He tugged on the ropes binding his wrists. The muscles in his neck twitched and bulged as he screamed through his gag as best he could. “Help! I’m in here! Help me! I’m tied up!” he tried to say through the tape; he hoped that even if no one could make out what he was saying, the noises would be enough to alert that someone to his presence. The sounds seemed to get louder – closer.

The doorknob to his room began to jiggle, and Chandler’s heart pounded in his chest. At last, his torment would be over. Perhaps his parents? Maybe his brother? Whoever it was, it didn’t matter, as long as they untied the ropes and peeled the tape off his mouth. He just wanted his freedom. A knot formed in his stomach and a lump formed in his throat.

It didn’t take but a few seconds for that excitement and anticipation to turn into anxiety and fear. Standing in the doorway was the man who had tied in Chandler to that chair. Another man had accompanied the first this time. “I see you didn’t go anywhere, just as I asked. You’re such a good boy!” the man said. “This the kid?” asked the other man. It hadn’t donned on Chandler until now. These people weren’t interested in Chandler’s stuff. His lips quivered underneath the tape, for he knew that after these long hours of imprisonment – Chandler’s torment had only begun.




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Post by 1960gerson »

Hopefully we get a continuation of the Chandler story. I have a small suggestion. Chandler is kidnapped by the intruders and held for ransom.
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Post by Stoutland395 »

Mind the Signs (M/MM)

Charlie looked around nervously, walking close behind his friend. He shuffled along the trail hunched over Ben almost like a parrot on his shoulder. "If we turn back now, the rangers may not even notice we were here," Charlie said. "What if we get lost? What if one of the rangers catches us out here?" There was a tremble in his voice that raised his pitch. The trail was becoming less defined as the two boys made their way deeper into mountain forest. At one point the deep defined trail, once paved with brown dirt and lined with rocks, began to disappear beneath a mess of bright green underbrush. A large wooden sign hammered into the fork in the road had clearly pointed toward a finished trail the rangers meant for hikers to use. Ben, however, curious to see the other trail, hopped the chain sectioning off that area of the forest. Charlie, both wanting to stay with his friend and hoping to persuade him to turn back, followed after and followed closely. Charlie's brown boots stumbled over sticks hidden beneath the shrubs as they shuffled along the floor. Low hanging branches and invisible webs caught in his moppy blonde hair. Charlie threw up his hands to cover his face, peeking his blue eyes from between his slim fingers as he tried keeping up with Ben.

Ben took wide steps to avoid the rocks and branches along the floor. When he happened to step on a branch, he stomped it down with his large hiking boot, snapping it underneath his foot. He picked up a fallen branch, almost perfectly suited to be a walking stick. He used it to smack down large shrubs, push aside low-hanging branches, and stab at the ground for any hidden potholes. He paused for a moment to swat the bugs landing on his bare legs before they could make their way up his knees and beneath his green cargo shorts. A wide grin plastered over his face like it was drawn on. "You need to stop worrying so much," Ben insisted, not even bothering to look behind him. Charlie's voice echoed close to Ben's ear, so close he could almost feel his breath. That only made his stride through the trail wider, trying to put some distance between himself and a nervous Charlie.

"We'll need to turn back soon," Charlie said. "We're going to lose light, and we can get lost."

"We'll turn back, just a little bit further. This is so much better than some boring trail." Ben paused, looking around. "We've been going in a straight line this whole time, and we can follow the broken branches back to the main trail. Quit acting so jittery."

"I wouldn't be if you just minded the sign. You always do this, and I always come along. It's really annoying! One of these days--"

Ben threw up his hand, cutting Charlie off. Charlie saw what Ben saw. Up ahead was a man, sitting at the base of a tree. He was tall, judging from the lengths of his legs laying straight on the ground. He was dressed in tattered cargo pants, a dirty yellow tshirt, and brown shoes caked in dried mud. His skin was dark and muddy, almost black from days or perhaps even months without a proper shower. As Ben and Charlie anxiously and slowly crept closer to the man, the wind carried a strong stench to their noses. It made them stop, but Ben started up again. Charlie, his heart pounding in his chest, followed even closer to Ben. Closer, they saw the man was not sitting at the base of the tree; rather he was tied to it! Brown, scratchy looking rope wound around his thin waist and chest, connecting it to the trunk of the tree. His long arms stretched out behind him, wrapping around the trunk, tied together with more rope. His ankles and knees were bound as well. A red bandanna was knotted and tied in his mouth. Noticing the two boys approaching, the man's green eyes grew wide, almost alien-like. He flashed his gritty teeth and stretched his lips back in a grimace. He shook his head, kicked his feet, and flapped his shoulders. He made muffled noises that were unintelligible through his gag. Long brown clumps of hair fell over his face. The man flicked his head about, unable to swipe the hair away from his eyes and nose.

Ben began to move quickly to help before Charlie reached out, grabbing Ben's elbow. Ben looked back, confused. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Charlie pointed to a sign above the man's head. Ignoring the smell of the unwashed man, they got closer. A small white sign nailed to the tree above the man's head read [[Do not untie. Will be back later.]]

"So what?" Ben said. He moved again, only for Charlie to hold his friend back again.

"So what?" Charlie said. "We don't know this guy! Maybe he's there for a reason. W-we should just go. We shouldn't even be here."

"Are you kidding me!? We can't just leave this guy here!" Ben snapped. "Who knows how long he's been here."

"What about him? What about us? What if whoever tied him up comes back? What if they find us before we get him out? They could be back any minute! We shouldn't even be here! Let's just go - it's going to be dark soon, and if the rangers catch us out here -- The sign, Ben--"

"--Screw the sign!" Ben ripped himself free from Charlie's grip and bent down, untying the knots connecting the man to the tree. "Don't worry, man, we'll get you out of here in no time! C'mon Charlie!"

Charlie bit his fingernail, looking around. The sky was beginning to darken, and the shadows among the trees began to enlarge and take over the forest. His heart pounded. He scratched the back of his head and raked his fingers through his hair, letting out a long high-pitch sigh. After some self-deliberation consisting of him stomping around in place as a series of 'What-if' thoughts danced in his head, followed by another order by Ben to help. Charlie reluctantly began to move, kneeling by the man and helping Ben with the ropes. Charlie looked at the man; his eyes were still wide, staring directly at Charlie. The small, stuttered grunts he let out began to get louder. The grin he made beneath his gag began to widen, almost manically. Charlie's breathing labored. With some encouragement from Ben, Charlie continued working until the ropes began to loosen around the man.


************

Night rendered the forest almost pitch black. Small rays of moonlight peaked through the treetops, enough to illuminate the boys' surroundings so that the forest was a mass of different shades of darkness. Charlie's voice was hoarse from hours of yelling and calling for help. Ben's calls for help were rendered muffled by the red bandana knotted between his teeth; his jaw began to hurt from the hours he spent trying to dislodge it from his mouth with his tongue. Both boys' backs pressed against the trunk of the tree. Charlie's back stung from the bark scraping against his back; Ben felt the some discomfort as well, but Charlie's pain was more significant, having been stripped of his tshirt, shorts, socks, and boots. Charlie's hands stretched back on either side of the wide tree. His right wrist was bound to Ben's left, and vise versa with his left wrist and Ben's right. Their ankles were both bound, too.

"He-hel-help..." Charlie squeaked out, before his sore throat made him stop. He bit down on his quivering bottom lip, turning it pink and rosy. Ben muffed something beneath his gag, trying to get Charlie to calm down. "This is all your fault," Charlie wheezed. "I told you we should've gone back. I told you to leave it all alone." Ben offered nothing in response, knowing his friend was correct. "Oh, Ben, what are we going to do? Ben... Why didn't you just mind the signs?"

The crickets chirped loudly, drowning out all other sounds in the forest.
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Post by wataru14 »

I love it! You don't see dark endings like this a lot, and it's a refreshing change. Great use of mood and tension! What dark fate awaits the two lost boys? Whatever it is, I'm sure they'll both be very careful about minding signs in the future.
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Post by cj2125 »

I really liked that story! Quite appropriate for the season! Love the uncertainty about it! Also, Ben is the poster child for "first victim" in a slasher movie! 😂
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More Chandler Riggs fanfiction!

You young guys don't realize how cute you look when you do this kind of stuff. It doesn't seem like a thing that anyone would think twice about doing, but almost every time I see a guy doing this, I find it very attractive.

You think all your doing is stretching out your arms and chest, like its only brief moment of rest before getting back to work, but it's so much more that that!

What I wouldn't give to be a figure behind Chandler here, waiting for the moment he breaks from his games, throwing up his arms and stretching them out. He closes his eyes and lets out a loud, cathartic yawn. Between that and those snug headphones, now way he would hear me sneaking up behind him.

I wrap my arms around those upturned biceps and lock my fingers together behind his head. He panics, then after overcoming the initial shock, begins to shift around in his chair. He twists and turns in his seat. He flexes his arms, this time trying to break free of my hold. The headphones come loose from his head as he struggles. He shimmies his shoulders and wiggles his elbows, and when by the time he accepts there's no escaping on his own, I make my next move.

I keep him in my hold, reaching across and gripping below his elbow. This keeps his arms pinned up and locked behind his head while freeing up my own hand. Chandler opens his mouth to call for help, but I silence him with my free hand. I form a seal around his lips with the palm of my hand and squeeze his cheeks with my fingers. He manages to look up, seeing the delight in my eyes.

I press down on him with my weight to keep him seated in the chair. He continues to wiggle his pinned-up arms, hoping to break free. His calls for help are muffled by my hand. He's completely helpless, stuck in this position. I can go for hours, and I have no intention of letting up! This would be too much fun for me. I only get further excitement from this knowing that just beyond his closed bedroom door, his brother and parents are in their own rooms. They are ignorant to what is happening this whole time, and I intend to keep it that way!

Eventually he'll have to be tied up. Perhaps I'll tie him to this chair, he seems so content sitting it for hours anyway! Or I might hogtie the young lad and leave him to squirm on the floor at my feet. I could tie his hands behind his back, his arms to his chest, then bind his thighs to his ankles and make him sit on his knees. Or maybe I tie him on his feet, keeping my hands on his shoulders to help him balance while we stare defiantly at each other. If I tie his hands in front of him and lead him to the closet, he'd be well-hidden and muffled between the clothes as I wait for his brother Greyson who would soon join Chandler. The possibilities are endless as he sits helpless in my grip. For now I am content holding him down, keeping a firm hand over his mouth. It'll be a while before he gets tired I imagine, which is when I'll finally decide. Until then, struggle for me Chandler!


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Post by Stoutland395 »

"A Chandler Riggs Christmas" (short poem) M/mm

*Disclaimer: Both actors are above 18 years of age*

I posted this last year to help bring about the Christmas spirit, and I figured I would repost it here in this thread to consolidate some of my one-off short stories. I do have another short story I am currently editing in prep to post this week before Christmas finally arrives. In the meantime, enjoy this oldie-but-goldie.

Chandler Riggs: Christmas with the Boys!

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
Stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
But none could’ve guessed that St. Nick would really be there…

The Riggs children nestled all snug in their beds,
With Santa looming sinisterly over their heads;
With a sprinkling of some magic dust off Santa’s red hat,
Mom and Dad were enchanted with a long winter’s nap.

Santa tiptoed through the halls, no noise and no clatter.
He visited the younger boys’ room to settle some matter.
Poor Chandler. Poor Grayson. Their attitudes were trash,
And not-so-jolly Ol’ Santa had some punishment in stash.

He knocked out Grayson first. Chandler did not know,
And carried the young boy downstairs to the first floor below.
From out of Santa’s bag some rope did appear,
And he bound Grayson up, hogtied, with a smile and cheer.

Grayson woke up as the tape pressed against his lips;
He was gagged and silenced by the one and only St. Nick.
His movements became rapid, quick, and acute.
But his binds were strong. There was no getting loose.

Chandler awoke to a dull ring in his ear.
He scanned the empty room, but Grayson wasn’t near.
Another noise. “Who's there?” he said with a holler.
“Hey Grayson? You there? Hey mother! Hey father!”

Chandler crept through the hall, still wearing his pajamas.
He made his way to the living room, to see Santa causing drama.
Chandler tried to call for help. He tried to yell or scream,
But Santa is faster than his girth made it seem.

A gloved hand clamped down on his mouth, covering up his lips.
He spoke in Chandler’s ear with an icy-cold hiss.
“You’ve made the bad list this year. This brings me some joy
“To dole out some punishment for two very naughty boys!”

Chandler struggled, he fought, and he clawed.
He kicked, he curled, he wrestled, he pawed.
But Santa was too strong for the up-and-coming young actor.
Grayson watched helplessly in his hogtied demeanor.

Santa threw him down on the floor, on his stomach he did lay.
Chandler was naughty, and Santa would make him pay!
He tied up his arms, and he tied up his legs.
He hogtied him further despite pleas and begs.

One final touch was a sock in the mouth.
It puffed out his cheeks and stifled his sounds.
A couple pieces of tape secured the gag in place.
Chandler looked to Grayson, with a distinct fear in his face.

The boys were now bound and successfully gagged.
Santa smiled and laughed, then reached in his bag.
He laughed and cheered, having accomplished his goal.
He left the boys hogtied with two baggies of coal.

The Riggs boys struggled for hours, deep through the night.
They couldn't break free because the ropes were too tight.
Their gags kept them silent; not a sound they could make.
Their only hope was for their parents to wake.

Morning had come, and soon the afternoon.
The parents still slept, but they would surely wake soon!
They stumbled on down, still tired and wound.
They were surprise to see the “gift” of their precious boys bound!

Mother peeled at the tape, father picked at the ropes,
But their efforts were fruitless, and they began to lose hope.
‘Twas father Nick's magic that kept them tied tight.
Gagged into silence, both boys stayed until night.

When Christmas had ended, at the same time he appeared
Santa’s magic bindings began to disappear.
Grayson stretched his mouth, and Chandler rubbed his wrists.
The boys learned their lesson to stay off that Naughty List!

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
Should you make Santa's list, prepare for ropes to be tight!

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Last edited by Stoutland395 7 months ago, edited 3 times in total.
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Post by Stoutland395 »

I'm going through all my stories so far looking for ideas about what to do next, and I'm consolidating a lot of my one-offs here on this page, which will be my main thread for short stories. I wrote this one a while back, and thought it deserved another look through. I also included a pic I found on Tumblr that largely inspired me to write this story. As a personal accomplishment, this was actually the first short story that I wrote outside the context of a contest for this site. Enjoy!

"I Snapped" (m/m)

It was all a mistake... a huge misunderstanding.

I just... snapped.

And, poor Ben…

None of this was his fault.

I wouldn’t exactly call Ben and myself best friends. Even “friend” seems to be too strong of a word. Acquaintance is probably more accurate. Ben is an acquaintance. We each have our own circles of actual friends that we hang out with, and there’s little interaction between the two. Still, we’ve been aware of each other’s existence since we sat on the same rainbow-colored floormat in kindergarten. Now in high school, a mutual awareness – based solely on the simple fact that we know each other’s names – allows us sit together in the same math class. Our indifference comes without much awkwardness, at least for him from what I can gather.

I, on the other hand, felt... confused, recently.

Enough time has passed, in the last few years, for me to realize that I’m different from a lot of the other guys around me. Ben and the others marvel at the girls and their developing bodies and blossoming beauty, something I’ve taken notice of but never cared for. Those who were the target of our constant teasing in middle school were now the objects of our – or rather their – affections. I, however, took more notice of how attractive the guys around me were becoming.

Like Ben.

His shoulders became square and rounded, and his shoulder blades peaked through the back of his snug shirts. His waist slimmed down and tightened up with his flattening stomach. One day, he wore a flannel button-up with long sleeves rolled up just past his elbow. When he rested his head on his fist, bored and bleary-eyed from the teacher’s instructions, I managed to sneak a peek -- several actually. I realized, in that moment, while Ben seemed to admire a girl’s legs based on how he would sometimes stare at Breanna’s track pants and her exposed calves, I grew to admire a guy’s arms. And Ben’s were thin and toned. I loved to watch the muscles in his forearm flex as he wrote down notes in class. I glance whenever I can, trying to stay inconspicuous, but I began fantasizing about reaching out getting a feel of his forearm. I never actually touched anyone before; I was never the touchy type, nor did I like being touched. My mind filled with questions. How would his arms feel compared to my own? Were they strong? How would the muscles in his arms feel moving about in my grip?

Poor Ben…

None of this was his fault.

He was just a victim of my own repression.

We’ve worked on projects in class before, all without incident. Since we barely knew each other, there wasn’t much for us to talk about outside the boundaries of the assignment. It was a convenient partnership, one that always churned out decent grades. At the end of the year, the teacher assigned the class a group project, building a 3D model of a polyhedron. As if it came naturally, Ben and I teamed up to build a dodecahedron with an explosion/fireball theme. That day, Ben wore a short sleeve t-shirt; sitting with his back to the window, and with the light coming through from the afternoon sun was the perfect amount to cast a soft sheen on Ben’s skin from the back of his arm down to his elbow. My hands went cold, and I had to stuff them in my hoodie pocket. My biggest worry was that he noticed how awkward I felt, but he either didn't notice or made a very convincing attempt to pretend to not notice. My heart pounded in my eardrums, and I mumbled with my words, worried a break in my voice would clue him into how I was feeling. Over the sound of my heartbeat, I had to ask him multiple times to repeat something he said.

Ben was the one who suggested we finish our project at his house.

I hadn’t been to his house before. I hadn’t been to anyone’s house very often.

Some of my friends came to my house, but they never came to work on a math project, and I always had a good distraction from any intrusive thoughts. Bridges and I would play video games when he came over, and that kept my wandering eyes from staring at his legs, especially when he wore khaki shorts and black socks, or when he’d push up the sleeves of his hoodie to expose his arms. Bridges had nice arms, not as nice as Ben though. Bridges had better legs. However, in Ben's case, the monotony of schoolwork failed to provide a good focus for me. I was nervous when I got to Ben’s house, and that couldn’t have helped my situation, either. My leg developed a twitch, and I kept tugging on my short curly hair which made my bangs puff up more than usual.

We had everything to finish our model. Cotton balls to decorate the borders to look like smoke; red, orange, and yellow duct tape that we cut into strips to look like fire; popsicle sticks to build the frame; and a bundle of soft cotton yarn to make a lace so we can hang our model from the classroom ceiling.

I played around with the tape, layering the colors in line to make fiery patterns, and unraveling the yarn to make the lace.

I couldn’t tell how long I was zoned out for before Ben nudged me, breaking me from my trance. We sat cross-legged on the floor in Ben’s bedroom upstairs. Ben wore a pair of light blue jeans, which I actually prefer since I didn’t care for his legs as much as I did Bridges'. Ben looked best in his jeans. Ben also wore a tight grey t-shirt, and the sleeves stopped a little after his shoulders, showing off more of his biceps than normal. They weren’t incredibly muscular, but they were toned enough to dimple and flex as he handled our model. I couldn’t help but glance back and forth, shifting my gaze at every opportunity. On his left wrist he wore a watch. He’d never worn a watch before, not any time I’ve seen him! The frame and hands were gold plated, held on by a black leather band so it fit snug on his wrist. When Ben nudged me and broke my stare, he mentioned the watch. “My parents gave me this as a present.” I felt my face get hot, realizing he must’ve noticed me staring. Why else would he start telling about his watch? Oh, no! Was I being that obvious!? He held up his arm, bending his elbow, and I could feel my breathing start to stagger. I went deaf to what he was saying. He gave me an excuse to stare, and I had to take the opportunity. Between his watch and his shirt sleeve, his skinny pale arm was framed so nicely. I wish I could've taken apicture to make the scene last forever.

I had to feel it.

It was a gentle caress -- but I didn’t mean to do it! It just happened, like I wasn't in control of my body. I just thought about doing it. Well, I guess, I thought I just thought about doing it, but I... did it. Like, really did it. Like actually, in real life, totally did it! Ben jerked back, and his face turned slightly pink. Those black pupils dilated, overtaking his blue irises, and his eyebrows bunched up in confusion. I imagine the look on my face must’ve been similar. My heart pounded furiously in my throat and ears. My hand extended out, frozen in the air and still shaking. The feel of his skin lingered on my fingertips.

“W-What was that about?” Ben asked. His voice sounded harsh as he enunciated each syllable. “Dude, are you--?”

My mouth opened, but nothing wanted to come out. A hard lump formed in my throat, and my eyesight got blurry. My whole body felt cold as if my soul left my body. I wish it actually did. I could've died in that moment, and it would've been a far more preferable outcome than what actually followed. I turned over, curling my legs to my chest and placing my hands over my head. I tightened my stomach, curling my body inward as much as I could, hoping I could vanish into nothing. But at the same time... his skin was so soft, and the muscle beneath the skin was firm like a rock. It was everything I’d hoped for, everything I thought it would be, somehow more so, and I know I’d remember that feeling forever. Even now, wrecking myself with my regret, I can still feel that touch on my hand.

“I didn’t know you were—”

“—I’m sorry,” I whispered. I forced it out, and it was all I could say. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

“You know I’m not gay, right?”

I felt a hand pat my shoulder.

“Hey!” Ben shouted. He forcefully turned me around. “Dude, you good?”

“I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry…” It was difficult forcing words out. The anxiety inside me felt like a bomb. We’d barely spoken but a few sentences to each other outside of school and homework, and the first thing I did was… I touched him, and now he knows, and I can’t stop thinking about it, and I can’t control my malfunctioning body.

“Please, don’t say anything. Please, please, please. I didn’t mean to…”

Ben’s eyes were still wide, but the rest of his face went blank. What position did I put him in? His lips curled into an uncertain smile, and it gave me some ease. Please just say it’s alright, I thought. That’s all I needed. It’s cool, it’s fine, it’s alright – just say that. Please just say it's alright! Say... something.

“I-uh… I can finish this myself. You can go if you want. I-I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Please, don’t say anything about this,” I begged.

“You got most of the patterns finished. I can get them placed and finish the lace. I’ll bring it in tomorrow. You can go if you want.” Ben readjusted himself, sitting on his heels and craning over the project, keeping his gaze solidified to the model. I begged again, but he didn’t respond. He played with the yarn, unraveling a long strand from the bundle and snipping it although I had already cut several pieces. His arms flexed again as he fiddled with the string. “It’s practically finished, anyway. You don’t have to stay. I can finish this thing up.”

My heart hurt. My arms went cold, like they weren’t mine anymore.

He just needed to say it was all okay.

I... snapped.

I could move again.

I crawled and stretched out my hands. Ben dropped everything, surprised and shocked as I clamped one hand over his mouth and another on the back of his head. He let out grunt when I squeezed my hands together, pressing my hand hard over his mouth. His cheeks puffed, trying to say something, but my palm formed a seal around his lips trapping the air in. He huffed through his nose, grunting more. “You can’t say anything,” I repeated.

Ben huffed and huffed. He grabbed my hands, trying to peel them away. Pure adrenaline was surging through me, driving me. It was the only reason I could think of as to why I was able to overpower him in anyway for such a length of time. “Please, you can’t say anything!” I said, desperately. As he tried to get up, still sitting on knees, I leaned over his back and moved my other hand to his mouth while bearing down on his shoulders to stop him from standing. He caught a glimpse of me from the corner of his eye. I don’t know what I looked like, but I imagine I looked like a crazed madman. My teeth hurt from clenching my jaw so hard. The water in my eyes made it difficult to see. But the blurry read outline of the tape on the floor caught my attention. Desperate, I reached out in front, sending the two of us forward with me laying on top of Ben. As fast as my trembling fingers could pick at the edge, I peeled a strip of tape from the roll. Ben managed to get a few yelps out before I could pull up on his jaw and place the tape over his mouth. It wasn’t strong; I knew it couldn’t hold for long.

I sat myself upright on his back, straddling Ben’s sides as he flailed his arms across the floor. My heart practically flew out of my chest as I snatched each wrist and bent them behind his back. Feeling one of them for the first time wasn’t just a fleeting feeling. His skin was soft in my fingers, and I stared at his watch. Our struggle caused his sleeves to bunch up, exposing more of his upper arms, and his triceps flexed beneath his skin as he fought to break free of my grasp. I grabbed the loose string from the ball of yarn and wrapped it around his wrists, which I kept crossed. After nearly a dozen wraps, maybe – why did I snip a long piece? – I cinched the knot tight. The yarn was so thin that the knot seemed to disappear as I yanked on it.

“Oh, my god!” I exclaimed. The adrenaline began to work itself out, and my head became less cloudy as a result. I couldn’t believe what I did. Ben groaned, and I slid off his back but continued to keep a grip on his shoulders. Our project lay crumpled and broken beneath Ben as he got back onto his knees, but luckily nothing poked through his shirt or stomach. “I can’t believe I just did all that! Ben, I’m so sorry! Please, just don’t say anything. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t know what to do. I leaned and hugged him, squeezing him to show him how sorry I was. I wasn't myself. I snapped. I snapped. Please, just let him understand that!

Ben’s chin dug into my shoulder as he contorted his face, working the tape from his mouth. “Ghut mff… Get off me!” he demanded.

Having worked it free, I quickly ripped the tape off. “Please, Ben—”

“—Help! Mom! Da—mph! Nmph!”

I clamped down on his mouth again, whispering “No! P-Please, I’m sorry!” He swung his head back and forth, but I followed his movements, keeping my hand pressed to his mouth. He wouldn’t listen to me. What could I do if he wouldn’t listen? It was just a mistake -- a big misunderstanding. He had to know that. If I could only explain, he would forgive me, right? But could I explain if he wouldn't listen? He just wanted to scream over me. I had to keep him quiet, just long enough for him to calm down so I could talk to him.

Poor Ben.

None of this was his fault.

Now I’m at a loss… and all I can do keep my hand pressed over Ben’s mouth. His parents are still downstairs, unaware of what's happening to their son on the floor above them. It's inevitable one of them will try to check on us, and what then? I have to keep him quiet as long as I can. Long enough for him to come to his senses and see reason. But, even now – I don’t remember how long I’ve been doing this – worried as I am for Ben’s predicament, my gaze draws back to his arms. The way he reaches around his waist, I can’t help but admire how they look. The way they're tied up, and they way he's straining them was like staring at art. And I can’t stop myself from stealing another feel every now and then.

I hope Ben can forgive me.

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Post by Stoutland395 »

I commissioned a piece of art from Bowen12a on DeviantArt. It was the first pic I commissioned from someone, and they did not disappoint! I'm so happy with how it turned out, and I couldn't help but write a short to go along with it. Enjoy!


Deku in Peril

Izuku Midoriya had exhausted all his energy. His quirk, One for All, was completely drained. His fight with Gentle Criminal took more out of him than he expected. La Brava's trump card had succeeded, giving her love, Gentle, just the strength he needed to subdue the young hero-in-training. Having succumbed to exhaustion, Gentle Criminal and La Brava made sure the idealistic Midoriya would not cause anymore delay in their plan to invade UA High School. They worked quickly, binding Deku's limbs. There was a noticeable somber expression on Gentle Criminal's face as he worked to secure the knots. He kept his head down, casting a shadow over his eyes. Perhaps there was still a chance to make him rethink his decision. "Please..." Deku whispered. "All the students worked very hard to prepare this festival. Security is on high alert, and if you sneak in, all their hard work will have been for noth---agh!" Deku's words were cut off by La Brava strapping a large ball in his mouth. Izuku coughed and choked behind the gag. "No more lip out of you!" she squeaked. "You've already set us back from our schedule, you brat--!"

"--Enough, dear!" Gentle said. "The boy was only doing what he thought was right. There's no need to disparage him for that." Deku looked up. That somber expression still lingered on Gentle's face. It was almost.. sad. He continued, "I'm sorry young Midoriya. You put up a valiant effort, and in another life, perhaps you would've succeeded. It just so happened that I won this battle. Perhaps it was only luck, good or bad. You put everything you had into this fight, and for that you have earned my respect." Gentle stood up slowly, brushing off his sleeves and adjusting his hair. "You must understand, Midoriya, that even though I admire your determination, I have ambitions of my own. Nothing will stop me, not even you. I will invade UA High School because that is my mission, and I will see my goals fulfilled. Please, do not let this stop you from pursuing your ambition. I'm sure you will make a fine hero one day. Allow this moment to be a lesson, since you are still just a student: You can do everything in your power, exhaust your limits, and even push past them... You can do everything right, and you can still lose."

Deku sat on his knees, unable to unbend his legs or arms. Strangely, he found comfort in Gentle's words. He threw his knee up and flexed his arms. He flashed his teeth and grunted something into his gag. Although he was sapped of all his strength, there was a raw sense of determination. He flexed his body, sensing a fragment of electricity jolting throughout his body. But just as quickly as he felt it, the moment vanished. The battle was too much. His quirk was completely inert, and without the strength of his quirk, there was no breaking out of the ropes holding him down. Gentle Criminal grabbed La Brava in his arms, creating several soften platforms of air in front of him that arched over the woods. Deku could only watch helplessly as the two bounced off, making their way closer and closer to US High School.

"Ngh! Plshh! Dnght!" Deku shouted. Someone had to stop him! Would one of the teachers patrolling the grounds catch him before he succeeded? The sounds of the tree branches and leaves brushing against each other as the winds blew through the woods echoed in Izuku's ears. All the commotion and action was over. Now it was silent. He was stuck kneeling on the grassy floor, bound, gagged, and completely helpless to do anything to stop the aspiring villain.

It was a tough reality to accept, but... Gentle Criminal was right.

Deku lost.

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Post by Chris12 »

DEKU!!!! :oops: :o

You my friend are speaking my language.
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Post by Stoutland395 »

Thanks for the comment @Chris12 :D I'm very happy with how this picture turned out, and I'm wanting to commission more pics in the future. Deku is one of my favorite anime guys. He has such an idealistic naivety that made him an easy choice to have tied up. Bowen12a did a great job on this one, and I'll be making more requests from him in the future. I have a few more guys in mind, but I'm still hesitant on who should be next.
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Post by Carnath »

Stoutland395 wrote: 7 months ago Thanks for the comment @Chris12 :D I'm very happy with how this picture turned out, and I'm wanting to commission more pics in the future. Deku is one of my favorite anime guys. He has such an idealistic naivety that made him an easy choice to have tied up. Bowen12a did a great job on this one, and I'll be making more requests from him in the future. I have a few more guys in mind, but I'm still hesitant on who should be next.
Amen to that :D

I completely agree, Deku is a great victim. I'm just catching up season 3 but definitely consider starting a bnha bondage saga... :twisted:
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:D I hope everyone is having a good New Year's Eve. I hope you all enjoy reading my last story of this year as we head into 2022! :D

Vandals (M/Mx6)


“So, if I turn myself in, would I still get the $100?” I jokingly asked my friend. Of course, it was only a joke - I didn’t do anything! My friend clapped back, pointing out that if I did, the reward wouldn’t be enough to cover the cost of the damage to the school, which must’ve been in the thousands by now, at least. Considering these issues have been a constant since the beginning of the school year, and it was now only a few weeks before Winter Break, that was likely a low-ball estimate. Honestly, thinking about it seriously, a $100 reward felt like such a low-ball offer to rat out a fellow classmate. Any reward is good I guess, but if I knew who it was, I would sell them out in a heartbeat, reward offered or not.

The school year started crazy, as usual, but the tension never seemed to subside after that. The principal praised the new renovations to the school over the summer on that first day back. New ceiling panels, an updated HVAC system, and a fresh coat of paint made the school look brand new. I understood the administration’s frustration. The school looked nice… at least for the first week or so. Students stood on the sinks and ripped back the ceiling panels to hide their vape pens, bending the pipes away from the wall. Soap dispensers were stolen, and toilets were broken. Graffiti inscribed with permanent marker on the stall walls ranged from swastikas to male genitalia to direct threats of violence. That was the last straw for the principal and the students. Half the school must’ve checked out that day while armed resource officers roamed the halls. Even by normal standards of high school drama this was all a bit too much.

We all felt the effects as the principal and assistant principals did what they could to mitigate the damage being done. Backpacks had to be left in the classrooms before anyone left for lunch. Only one set of bathrooms was unlocked, and either an administrator or teacher stood by to check pockets before anyone could enter.

One teacher in particular, Coach Rook, seemed to take the vandalism personally. And aggressively so. In addition to being one of the gym teachers, along with Coach Knight, Coach Rook was the disciplinary admin, and that job required being a hard-ass in the face of the most obstinate and disruptive students. It wasn’t unusual for him to barge into class and haul away one or more students at a time who wound up on the receiving end of his very vocal reprimands. His face was red hot like the end of a fuse, and he marched through the halls ready to explode without the slightest hesitation. A permanent scowl was etched on his face as if it were carved into stone. A lot of the students hid their smiles and giggled with their hands over their mouths whenever Coach Rook passed by, finding amusement in seeing that vein pulsing on his temple. I hated it, personally. The school felt like a prison… well, more like one anyway. I’ve never felt so personally violated, being treated like a criminal, having to turn out my pockets, and spinning around just to use the bathroom. Whenever Coach Rook’s gaze happened upon me, it burned a hole in my chest, and I suddenly felt overcome with guilt, as if I should apologize for something I didn’t even do.

With a financial incentive from the administration, students began tattling on each other, and the usual suspects were the first ones to be placed on the sacrificial altar. The ones who regularly found themselves in ISS (In-School Suspension) as if it were their Homeroom class quickly found themselves in OSS (Out-School Suspension). Naturally, the claims against them were believed without much scrutiny; truth be told, many of the teachers and even the administration must’ve been relieved to finally have an excuse to have them removed. Students who noticed when they didn’t show up for class figured it was only a matter of time considering their behavior, a little surprised that their expulsion hadn’t happened sooner.

Within the span of just a few days of word spreading and tattle-tales tattling -- Olli, Coy, Bryson, and Justin were all gone. Not surprisingly, as they practically lived in the ISS room four years running now. Coach Rook’s vehement scolding must’ve sounded like elevator music to them by this point. No doubt any of them had a chance to plead their innocence before being dealt their punishment. Even if they were innocent, they served as examples to the student body that the school’s tolerance for these acts was waning – and that more drastic measures were possible.
_
* * * * * * * * * *


Gym class was almost hauntingly quiet this day. The locker rooms were locked, and us boys were told to sit on the front bleachers. I dressed in tight jeans and a loose, long-sleeve shirt. Coach Rook marched in while the other coach, Coach Knight, took attendance. While Rook was a thick, wide, and intimidating man, Coach Knight was tall, thin, and soft-spoken. He stood by while Rook took on the familiar role of the bad cop. Rook stood in hardened silence, staring down each individual student sitting in the bleachers. When his eyes locked with mine, a cold chill ran up my spine and the back of my head. Rook lifted his thick arm, pointing toward us, and for a moment I think my heart genuinely stopped beating when I thought he was pointing at me.

“Wheeler!” he shouted. The boy sitting next to me, Austin, hesitated before standing up. His skinny legs wobbled at the knees, and his cheeks flushed. The other boys watched the same way I did, and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one half-jokingly thinking “Welp, he’s dead.” Austin went off with Coach Rook out of the main gym and into Oblivion. Austin didn’t seem like a troublemaker although he did hang out with some bad apples like Olli. He was more of a shit-talker than a vandal. I felt bad for him, but better him than me, I thought selfishly.

After Austin and Coach Rook disappeared, presumably to his office, Coach Knight interjected. The gym was so quiet that even Knight’s mild-mannered sheepish voice sent us all jumping in our seat as his voice cut through. He explained the new situation. Apparently, the administration did not consider the gym locker rooms, and someone took advantage of the oversight and smashed one of the toilets in the boys’ room. Coach Knight read us the riot act, very similar to what Rook had said many times before, albeit more measured and reserved, and with considerably less rabid foam dripping from his mouth. I suppose Austin was settled with the blame, or at least he knew something about it or who did it. With close to a third of class time being taken up, Coach Knight reached into his pocket, tossing me the keys and tasking me with retrieving a couple basketballs from the Auxiliary gym.

The aux-gym was a smaller gym located near the main one, separated by a long empty hallway and staircase leading to an emergency exit. It was mostly used by the special education classes as a self-contained room for them to play in. Other than that, it stayed empty, but it was also used to store a lot of the main gym’s equipment. Maybe Knight figured Rook would chew us out more, or his own lecture on personal responsibility would take up all of class time. Or maybe, he just figured we could use the time to let off some stress. Either way, I made my way toward the aux-gym with keys in hand.
_
* * * * * * * * * *


It didn’t occur to me until I was midway down the hall how uncomfortable it was to be outside of the classroom now. I must’ve been the only one around, or I thought as much until I hit the turn leading into the aux-gym. I paused, then threw myself backward against the wall, as Coach Rook made his way out of that same hallway. He was alone now. His face was red and hot. He lurched forward as he stomped down the hall, and the scowl across his face looked considerably meaner than usual. I shouldn’t have anything to be worried about, I thought. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I had perfectly legitimate reason to be out, and Coach Knight’s keys were my pass to move freely about. Still, the thought of being within Rook’s radar set me in a defensive mood. Each step Coach made looked like an ogre stomping craters into the floor, and with each solid step, the keys dangling from his waistband jingled. I stayed still, out of sight until Coach Rook vanished and I could no long hear his keys jingle; for all knew, he was probably already hunting down another foolish would-be troublemaker.

When he was gone, I continued my task and entered the aux-gym.

The room was smaller compared to the main gym, but it was still quite a big room. On the far end of the room opposite the entrance was an exit leading to one of the student parking lots. Directly next to the entrance was a large set of doors, which I presumed to be the storage room Coach was talking about. However, a similar set of doors were located on the wall between the entrance and exit. Another storage room maybe, I thought. Which one was the right one? I held out the keys Coach Knight handed me. Although I had a grip on the one key that he held out at first, I must’ve gotten them mixed up. I guess without realizing, being so intimidated by Rook’s sudden appearance, I fumbled with the keys out of nervousness. They all looked the same, and there was half a dozen to sort through. I started with the doors right next to me since it was closest. After trying three of the keys, I found the right one, and door flung open. The room smelled like rubber and plastic. I quickly grabbed two basketballs, holding one beneath both my arms. Would two be enough? Maybe a third, but could I carry three? That shouldn’t be an issue. I let one of the balls drop and grabbed another, tossing it out before closing the storage doors. The other ball bounced and rolled all the way to the other side of the room. I rolled my eyes and set the other balls by the wall. I chased the ball to the other set of doors. Just as I reached down to grab it, an unusual noise caught my attention.

More than one noise, actually. More like several noises, all clustered together like engines rattling in disjointed harmony at a stoplight. I pressed my ear against the doors, listening. Whatever it was it was coming from that room. Looking back now, I should’ve ignored my curiosity and left with the basketballs. I fumbled with the keys, jiggling each one into the doorknob before finding the right one. The door opened, and the cluster of muffled noises I heard flew clear throughout the aux-gym. It was dark looking in the storage room, with the light coming in from the Aux-gym light overhead. I dropped my jaw in disbelief.

Olli…

Coy…

All of them!

But how?

Why?

They all laid on the unfinished cement floor, scattered among the bags and equipment. Olli and Coy were tied like hogs, with their hands tied to their ankles with black rope. Olli lay on his stomach while Coy flipped on his side facing away from me; his fingers reached as best they could to Olli’s ropes, trying to find a knot to untie. Olli was trying to give instructions to Coy, but whatever he was trying to say was muffled and incoherent from layers of black tape covering his mouth. Coy had the same done to his mouth. Bryson, small and thin, sat up on his knees. Rope bound his arms to his chest and wrists behind his back. Dressed in red track shorts, his skinny legs were tied individually to keep him from standing up although that didn’t stop him from trying. Bryson twisted his shoulders about, grimacing through the black tape that formed an ‘X’ over his mouth. Justin was hogtied more strictly than the others, and considering how the others looked, that’s saying a lot. His wrists and elbows were tied behind his back, and those were tied to his chest and waist. His feet pointed up, tied to his waist and wrists, and more rope circled around his knees. I looked around, stunned, until all the boys stopped their individual struggling and turned their attention to the light coming into the room. They all saw me, finally, and began shouting through their tapegags.

“What the fuck!?” I asked in disbelief. I took one step before noticing another in the room, thrashing about. He was a thin, long redhead dressed in shorts and a short-sleeve t-shirt, laying on his side. His wrists were tied, and his arms were brought up over his head and behind his neck. His legs were bound at his ankles and knees and brought up at an acute angle until the heels of his tennis shoes touched his rear. A long strand of rope ran the length of his back, connecting his wrists to his ankles. Black tape wound round his mouth tight enough to make his cheeks and chin bulge out. The strain he put into trying to break free from the ropes caused his freckled face to turn bright red like his hair. “…Austin!?” I asked. He couldn’t have been there for long. He’d gone off with…

Just as the realization hit me, Austin saw me and gestured with his head, flicking his chin and looking past me at something else.

I turned, and immediately a large hand reached out and snatched the lower half of my face. A pair of fiery amber eyes stared back at me, and that burning sensation in my chest returned. It was a look that invoked instant guilt, and my eyes began welling up with tears. I reached up, trying to pull the thick arm away, but my skinny fingers couldn’t even wrap around the trunk-like wrist; the hand latched around my cheeks and mouth and held firm as if I had been caught in the grip of a hardened statue. A low groan conveyed annoyance at my unexpected presence. Coach Rook scowled, inconvenienced by my desperate struggling. He lifted his arm like a crane, with me still clutched in his hand, and lifted me up onto the toes of my tennis shoes. “What are you doing” Coach Rook growled. I tried to explain, but with his hand covering my mouth, my panicked explanations came out muffled and incomprehensible. Rook growled again. I reached up with my shaky hands, holding up the keys Coach Knight gave me to unlock the aux-gym doors. They jingled loudly. I made more muffled noises, pointing at the keys. I felt the air hit my eyes, they were opened so wide, which only made them tear up more.

Rook snatched the keys from my hand, examining them. That scowl turned into a grimace when he looked back to me. Somehow a happy expression across Rook’s face was even more unnerving than his typically sour expression. “You took these?” he asked. Took them? What!? No! He gave them to me! I’m allowed to be out! Just let me talk! I mumbled into Coach Rook’s palm, trying to explain. If only he would let go, we could sort this whole thing out! In my panic I had forgotten about the others still hogtied and gagged behind me in the storage room. Their voices sounded muffled as I heard my heartbeat pounding in my ears, but they shouted through the tape gagging them at Coach to let me go. He must’ve noticed, since he looked to them for a brief moment before returning his attention to me. “Troublemakers, all of you. Vandals, all of you! I’ve had it with you all tearing up my school. The less of you around, the better off this school will be. Eventually, it will stop. In the meantime, OSS is too good for all of you. OSS is just a vacation. No, you don’t get a vacation for breaking the rules. Actions have consequences, son.”
_
* * * * * * * * * *


…It was dark, almost pitch black in the storage room with the doors shut and locked. I laid on my back in the corner. My legs were bent, and rope bound my ankles to my thighs, so my knees stuck up in the air. My skinny arms were bent too, and rope bound my wrists to my shoulders; I knew there wasn’t a way out, and out of sheer frustration, I flapped my arms like chicken wings, banging my elbows against the ground. It accomplished nothing except hurting my elbows, but between the blinding darkness and the inability to unbend my limbs, I felt a strong sense of claustrophobia. Coach Rook didn’t exempt me from the black tape either. He took considerable care in placing several pieces of tape over my mouth, with several strips placed from cheek to cheek, then a couple more placed crossways. Never once did he give me an opportunity to plead my innocence! I had sat on my knees, already with my limbs tied up, trying to give him the best cat-eyed expression I could muster and all the while trying to tell him that I did nothing wrong. But my attempts at pleas only seemed to make him more adamant about his actions. Once I stopped, having given up, he stopped with the tape, and he placed me on my back. Something kicked me in the side; probably Austin still thrashing around next to me. I let out a grunt, directed at him, but it the other boys’ similar noises drowned out my own demands.

It could’ve been an hour or so before the door began to clink and open, letting in a dim light allowing us to see again. Coach Rook crossed his large arms and leaned against the threshold of the door. “Ready to fess up?” he croaked. The shadow cast by the aux-gym lights darkened his face and body. He lorded his power over us, helpless as we were and desperate to get out. We all shook our heads and wiggled around. With me in the corner, the shadows covered up my squirming compared to the others, so it was difficult to gain Coach’s attention. I was so eager to confess to anything if it meant he would untie me and let me unbend my arms and legs. He seemed to keep his focus on the others. He noticed Bryson upright on his knees, still squirming his shoulders about. Coach reached over with his foot and pushed the boy off balance, sending Bryson onto his side with a thud. He then moved to Olli, dragging him by his hips away from Coy and checking the area where Coy was attempting to untie Olli.

“I see you boys need some more time to think things over. Alright by me. You’re only punishing yourselves.” With that, Coach Rook pulled on the door shut, causing a noticeable echo inside the gym. The distinct sound of the lock tumbled. Once again, we were all left in the pitch blackness, waiting for Coach Rook to return. Would he return alone, like he did this time? Or, would he return along with some other unfortunate kid, who would be added to his growing collection of captive would-be delinquents. With every new detainee came a new splinter group of potential targets for him to harass. With me being lumped in, now, and with no other option but to think, my attention turned to my friends. Were they wondering about me? Surely, they wouldn’t think I was troublesome enough that they would consider it reasonable I was among the newly “expelled.” Was Rook hunting one of them down now? If he came back in an hour, would he have Jesse or Elias clutched in his grip? I hoped with everything that someone might be more fortunate than me and stumble upon us; only this time, they would have the time to untie us or get word out to someone like Coach Knight.

I never thought this school could feel more like a prison. It’s so dark in here…

_
End... ?
Last edited by Stoutland395 7 months ago, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by cj2125 »

This has to be one of your best stories in a while! Even though I had a feeling of what was going to happen, I still enjoyed the resolution! The poor protagonist seems to have been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time! Thanks for this story!
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Post by Xtc »

Thanks for a fun new Year's present.
They all say boxer shorts are cool,
but little Speedos always rule.
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Thanks @Xtc and @cj2125 for the comments, and I'm glad you enjoyed the story. This one was super fun for me to write. The premise was partially inspired by a part of my high school experience. I hope to be able to get back into writing more long-form narratives this year.
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GiD: Coi (M)

Coi was a young man, unimpressively shy of six feet. In addition to his unremarkable height, his proportions - or his perceptions of his proportions at least - left him feeling awkward and inadequate. Long, gangly arms and legs connected to a short and narrow torso like the ball joints of a doll. A large pink t-shirt looked two sizes too big and hung well below his hips like a short dress; rather than disguising his gaunt appearance, as he intended, it only made him look scrawnier. Dark sweatpants hugged his skinny legs, resembling thin black wires that connected his billowing shirt to a pair of large white tennis shoes.

A large head with large eyes bobbled and balanced on a stick-neck that protruded from a pair of narrow bony shoulders. Coi’s hair looked like a tumbleweed on top of his head. It was brown and light like straw, curling into wavy locks that he constantly combed backward down his neck and behind his ears. Coi tensed the corners of his mouth and curled his top lip over his bottom, worried that if he smiled he would show too much of his large front teeth. Whenever he looked in the mirror, the first thing he noticed were two flat cleavers and four fangs where normal teeth should be, like his teeth might try to chew their way out of his mouth.

Coi often found himself examining his imperfections in the mirror, running his bony index finger along the bottom of his sunken eyelids. The dark circles under his eyes made his face look skeletal and emaciated. His eyes looked like glossy blue marbles; if his eyes weren’t so sunken, they might have been the only feature he liked. Coi pinched his nose, wishing it didn’t take up so much space on his face. The fantasy that someone else might find him attractive was lost to him. If he couldn’t find something to appreciate about himself, what chance was there that someone else would find interest in him?

***


Coi lay on his stomach on the floor. He relaxed his arms, lowering his shoulders and elbows toward the floor; his forearms arched across the small of his back, and his wrists crossed one on top of the other. Black ropes kept his hands bound behind his back. Coi flexed his hands open and closed to delay the numbness forming in his cold fingers. The sleeves of his t-shirt bunched up over his shoulders, and the bottom of his shirt had been pulled up over his head. Both actions left his skinny arms and scrawny chest and stomach exposed to the air, much to Coi’s embarrassment.

More rope tied his ankles together. His heels had been brought up and drawn tight against his butt and waist, tied to his hands to form a hogtie. In this position, Coi strained to unbend his legs until the ropes stung against his limbs. The bands of his sweatpants had been pulled from his ankles to his knees, exposing his calves and shins. Coi waved his feet up and down above his waist, in the same manner he flexed his hands to keep away the numbness. He’d never had himself exposed so much, and to have his clothes only pulled up rather than taken off entirely was somehow even more embarrassing. It left him with a thought that he could even try to pull his sleeves back down, or pull his shirt back down, or pull his pant legs back down. A white sneaker lay beside him, and the other was used in an unconventional manner. Only one white ankle sock remained on his foot. Coi tried not to think about the one removed.

For a while, Coi balanced his head upright, bobbing it from side to side while balanced on his chin. His other shoe obscured much of his forward vision. The ankle sock removed from his foot served as a gag; for the longest time, a firm hand held the sock in place. At one point, Coi coughed, worried that it might choke him. Eventually, the hand let up, and several strips of duct tape sealed the sock in his mouth with the shape of an “X.” The rim of his sneaker fit almost perfectly around his nose and mouth. Whatever sounds the sock didn’t muffle, the sneaker taped to his face did. He could barely hear himself as his muffled calls echoed inside the thick shoe, and Coi eventually quit when his throat began to hurt.

After an unknown amount of time, when drowsiness took over, Coi’s head went limp and fell to the side. He woke up and with no other options available, resumed his struggle to break free from the ropes. Coi rocked from side to side, rolling onto his shoulder and hip. From his peripheral vision, he saw his bare chest and stomach. The room was cool, and the floor was especially icy. His chest and stomach were light pink in contrast to his normally vanilla skin. Although so much time had passed, Coi still left the latent hands on his exposed skin - the same hands that aggressively tied him up; the same hands that forcefully pulled up his clothes and exposed his arms, legs, and chest; and the same hands that gently glided across his bare skin.

For all his imperfections, as Coi perceived, someone held a deep appreciation for Coi, even if it was to such an extreme extent. Coi jerked his head up toward the door, watching the door knob jiggle with anticipation. As far as he was aware, only two people knew Coi was in this room: One was hogtied, bound, and gagged in that room. The other was the one who tied him up.


End
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Post by cj2125 »

That was a nice short story! Not many details but the focus was on Coi's feelings and those worked quite well. Nice job!
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Post by Stoutland395 »

Thanks, @cj2125 for the comment on "GiD: Coi." It's always nice to see.

GiD: Bryson

Bryson spun around on the ball of his foot, and his tennis shoe squeaked against the gym's linoleum floor. He received Ollie’s pass and caught the basketball in his nimble hands. Tom stood on the side, and his annoyed expression from being passed over made Bryson smirk. Bryson lined himself up with the net and took his shot. The ball bounced off the rim, and Bryson was already speeding to where it would land. He pierced the space between the ball and Tom like an arrow and snatched up the ball. “I was wide open,” Tom said, slapping his hands against his hips. Ollie laughed while Tom sneered, but their expressions were meaningless. Their eyes were fixed on Bryson, and the attention made him grin wide enough for his cheeks to puff up under his eyes.

Tom and Ollie widened themselves, spreading out their arms and legs. They stood readying themselves against whatever Bryson might do next. Bryson squeezed the ball in his hands. A numbness formed in his fingers. His heart beat wildly, and he felt the perspiration around his neck and underarms. Beads of sweat formed around the thin sideburns near his ears and ran down the edge of his jaw. Without thinking, Bryson raised the basketball high over his head and brought it down with full force. The hollow rubber ball pinged sharply against the floor and ricocheted upward into the rafters.

Clang!

The ball struck one of the large fluorescent light fixtures. It swung around and jiggled on a medium-sized chain. Were it not for a protective cage around the large bulb, the ball would’ve certainly shattered it, and everyone below it would’ve been showered with shards of broken glass. Bryson wasn’t concerned with that plausibility, however. Instead, he howled with his fist to his mouth. The others looked toward him as he celebrated his surprising feat. He bounced on the tips of his tennis shoes and beamed at the sight of his teammates’ gaze fixated on him.

Bryson’s arms were lean and stringy, and while they were large or muscular, that didn’t stop him from rolling up his short sleeve over his shoulder and flexing a small bump of a bicep. Ollie playfully squeezed his teammate’s arm, showing surprise by Bryson’s shocking display of strength. Almost everyone else stood from their spots on the court, staring at Bryson, except Tom. Bryson took note of this and stared straight toward him. Tom held the ball in between his arm and rib. His gaze fixed up above the bleachers. The gym was two stories in height. A set of bleachers ran along both lengths of the gym, and the bleachers led up to a narrow track lane that circled the upper perimeter. A red metal railing separated the bleachers from the track. Vertical bars looked like jail bars that raised just above the hip to keep someone from accidentally tumbling off the track. Tom noticed the man standing at the top of the bleachers before anyone else.

“Wheeler!”

A loud, baritone voice boomed across the court and bounced off the walls with a lingering echo. It was instantly recognizable. Immediately, everyone, Bryson included, turned their heads up toward the source of the familiar voice. A tall stocky man stood on the track lane, leaning on the metal railing. Coach Reid’s face resembled a pile of squelched brush. A frayed goatee and smoky spiked hair made his head look like a burnt wick, and two amber eyes looked like small embers ready to re-spark a flame. He stared down at his players. An unblinking, wide-eyed expression had a neutering effect on everyone unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end. At such a far distance, everyone felt subjected to his look. While Bryson was clearly the focus of Coach Reid’s attention, everyone else caught a feeling of guilt and shame that a gaze like his encouraged.

Bryson’s heart sank. He flew up the bleachers before Coach Reid had a chance to call his name again. His long legs made quick work skipping over every other step. The momentum carried him waist-first into the railing; he braced his hands against the top bar and leaned over the railing before coming to a full stop. While Bryson was a tall young man, largely due to those long legs, Coach Reid cast a considerably looming shadow over his players. Now that he was up close, Bryson could feel the heat emanating from his coach’s glare, like a bug withering under a heat lamp. He gripped the railing, rocking himself back and forth. His throat was dry, and the balmy sweat he built up from practice now bothered him. Behind him, still frozen on the gym floor, the other players watched, staring at the back of Bryson’s head.

He felt naked, and the attention didn’t sit well with him as it did moments before.

Coach Reid barked, demanding an explanation. Bryson slumped his shoulders and lowered his head. He rolled his eyes back and clicked his tongue in absence of an answer. Faulty logic came just as naturally to him as his impulsivity. If he answered honestly, Bryson thought - that acted without thinking - explaining that would be worse than saying nothing at all. Rather than wait, Bryson skipped to an apology; for what, he wouldn’t be able to explain. He looked backward to his teammates watching. He just wanted this to be over with, now. For once, he wanted their eyes focused elsewhere.

He prepared for the worst. Curiously, Coach Reid offered no lecture or booming tirade that was typical whenever one of his players acted out of sorts. He refrained from any loud lecture on responsibility. Instead, his eyes moved past Bryson and toward the gym floor at the other players. “Laps, wall-to-wall, all of you!” he barked. A collective groan echoed around the gym, and a panicked chill ran down Bryson’s spine. He gripped the bars until his knuckles turned white. He smacked his lips and blurted out “C’mon, coach, that’s bullshit!” Realizing his outburst only after he said it, Bryson tightened mouth and bit his bottom lip. It was too late, and Coach Reid returned his attention back to the impulsive young man.

The boys ran their laps as Coach Reid stood on the gym floor, watching them and scrutinizing every movement. He barked for them to move faster, ignoring their heavy breathing and red faces. Bryson remained at the top of the bleachers, watching his teammates endure the punishment meant for him. Everyone sprinted across the floor on numb feet and burning legs; they ran in a line, shoulder to shoulder. In a line, Bryson saw each of their faces red and hot, staring up at him with a burning contempt. Once they reached one side, they all turned their backs and made their way to the other side of the gym where Coach stood. Every time they turned back, Bryson felt their shun, and when they turned again, a wall of angry eyes looked at him.

Bryson was helpless to avoid their derision.

His hands extended through the railing past the metal bars, and the toes of his tennis shoes wedged in the gap between the floor and the bottom of the railing. Bryson balled his fingers into fists and tensed the stringy muscles in his forearms; likewise, he kicked his heels up and down. His knobby knees pressed uncomfortably close together, and the top of the railing pressed into his stomach, making it difficult to take a deep breath and discouraging a more defiant struggle. Complaining did him no favors, especially after the unfortunate slip of the tongue earlier; in fact, the complaints afterward only added additional consequences. Despite the warnings, Bryson had persisted even after the punishment had been decided - The others had been watching him, after all.

A long, white jump rope secured Bryson to the railing. It began around his wrists, tying them to the vertical bars and fastened with a knot. The long ends from the knot extended down and circled his knees; another knot tethered his knees to the railing, forcing Bryson to bend them slightly and adding strain to his thighs. The last bit of the jump rope wrapped around his ankles and the bottom of the railing. Two plastic handles rang against the metal as Bryson shifted himself about trying to get out, or at least get more comfortable. With that last knot tied so low, there wasn’t a way for him to get out without some help.

A white bandana, knotted in the middle and wedged behind Bryson’s teeth, forced a wide grin across his face. The folded fabric pulled the corners of his mouth backward. His cheeks and chin puffed out, and his lips pressed tight together. While Coach Reid obviously wasn’t the type to tolerate disrespect, he was also born of a generation in which young people simply didn’t use such choice language casually, especially toward older people. Coach sought to remedy Bryson's ill choice of words after continued disobedience. After it had been tied, Bryson tried his best to dislodge it with his tongue, but the large knot fit too perfectly between his teeth, giving his tongue no room to push it out. Bryson bit down on the ends of the knot and pressed his lips together. Despite the jump rope digging into his skin, the improvised gag felt the most embarrassing to be seen sporting.

Coach Reid finally called practice to a close. The players trudged up the bleachers, heading toward the locker rooms. They passed Bryson on the track lane. Up close, beads of sweat speckled their faces and glued their damp hair to their foreheads. Their cheeks were rosy pink and warm, and their shirts clung to their chests. Bryson raised his eyebrows at them as they passed by. He twisted his hands in the rope. He fluttered his lips and flashed his teeth, mumbling through the knot in his mouth. Everyone walked by, some deliberately avoiding eye contact with him and others staring directly at him with contempt. But no one stopped to help him.

Tom sneered and slapped Bryson between the shoulder blades. Ollie paused for a moment, but the others around him pressured him to keep moving along. Coach Reid was the last up the steps behind the rest of the group. Bryson turned away from his unblinking gaze; he tried his best, but Coach’s eye burned a hole in his peripheral vision. “Learned something?” Coach asked. Bryson twisted his hands around and clenched his fists, then nodded meekly. Coach Reid gripped Bryson’s shoulder and neck with a firm paw. “Let them get cleaned up,” he said. Bryson shot his head up and shouted through his gag as Coach Reid walked away, disappearing into the locker room.

The gym was unnervingly silent and still. Minutes passed and piled up. Slowly, one by one, the lights in the rafters dimmed. Bryson looked to the locker room, but no one had come back out. The final light over Bryson was the last to dim. His insignificant movements did nothing to trigger the light sensor’s attention. Were the others really that mad? Without anyone there to attend to him or pay him any mind, it seemed Bryson would have plenty of time to reflect on his behavior.


As a side note, it's always odd reading my stories on this site or DA. It's the length I always find odd. I write these by hand, and this story was about 5^1/2 pages handwritten, and four pages on Google Docs. On here or DA, it only looks about a page long. Just thinking out loud :lol:
Goss1015
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Post by Goss1015 »

nice story
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