Stories of Tie Up Games

OK, here's the third tale. I's only a short one.

There weren’t many garments that were tight on Joe but those swim briefs were. All the boys had to have them so that they would be allowed to use the pool in their free time; the staff used some excuse about “proper swimming trunks” not clogging the filters. So Joe stood in front of the Prefects waiting to start his ordeal.

He might have been the skinniest boy in his year but at least the fourteen-year-old wasn’t small in all respects although he would still rather not be standing there displaying his assets for all to see. He knew he was to undergo an ordeal by fire. He knew that because of the items he had been instructed to bring to the Prefects’ Common Room and which he had laid out neatly upon the large desk in front of the window before standing with his feet together and his arms folded behind him in the expected penitent’s pose.

One of the Prefects’ perks was to be allowed to light the fire in the large grate and Joe had already had to transfer many logs from the store and stack them ready for use. The power of the blaze was already only too evident as it warmed the skinny kid’s back. The preliminaries were over (Prep completed and checked, confession signed, sentence accepted) and Joe’s ordeal was about to start.

Basset, the head Prefect, started proceedings. “Very well, Hill, do you need the toilet before we start?” Joe didn’t; but he did know how long the ordeals imposed by the Prefects could last so he took advantage of the offer before presenting himself in front of the Prefects once more.

Over the next few minutes, Joe put on his wet-suit, not a shortie one, he knew he’d not get away with that but a full “steamer”. Even that was loose on him. Next came his boardies, a pair of thin socks, a pair of thick socks, his trackie bottoms and waterproof over-trousers.

The sight was now really bizarre but, strangely, it became less so as Joe donned his t-shirt, polo shirt and sweatshirt. The strangeness resumed once he was told to put his hoodie on back to front followed by his anorak similarly. The top of his slender head with its aquiline nose and “Disney” wide eyes was now peering somewhat owlishly over the double mass of hood material.

“Do it all up.” Normally Joe would have had little difficulty zipping up his smock-type hoodie, even when it was the wrong way round but, with all the extra layers, it was impossible. Those eyes turned towards the Head Prefect in desperation.

“Kork, help him.” A younger boy, who had obviously annoyed the Prefects earlier, had been standing with his nose against the wall and his hands on his head since before Joe had arrived. He was only too glad to be allowed to move once more. He zipped up Joe’s hoodie and his anorak. “Put his hood up – not that one, the grey one. Better. Now pull the ties tight and tie them off.” Derek Kork pulled the hood of Joe’s hoodie up over his face, tightened the draw-string behind his neck and stood back. “Now the anorak.” Joe soon became doubly hooded and very much resembled a mummy even before the prefects had finished with him

“Very well, go back to the wall.” Basset’s indication that Derek was to return effectively dashed his hopes of imminent release. The Second-Year boy placed his trainer-clad toes (After all, it was a Saturday) against the skirting board and his nose against the wall. He knew that, once he had linked his fingers and positioned his hands on his head, if his elbows touched the walls, then his suffering would be even more prolonged.


There were only two Prefects resident that Saturday and, other than Joe and Derek, no other pupils required “correction” so Robinson went to work. He took one of the rolls of black gaffer tape from the table (Joe had even been forced to pay for them.) and, with a few threats as to what might happen to Joe if he so much as twitched, Robinson secured his ankles, his calves and his thighs with generous applications of adhesive tape. Looking more like the Michelin Man than a stick insect now, Joe managed to keep his arms folded behind him (as best as he could in the situation) and managed not to topple over. There was certainly no way he could have prevented himself from doing so if he went even a smidgen out of the vertical but at least he would be well padded.

“Unfold your arms. Hold this.” Being hooded, Joe couldn’t see what Robinson was talking about but he did feel something being placed against his right palm so he gripped what turned out to be a hard rubber ball. Robinson positioned his prisoner’s arm and started binding his fingers to the object. A good amount of tape later and Joe’s right hand had been rendered useless. A similar ball and the rest of the tape on the first roll soon rendered his left hand equally inoperative. Even through the hoods Joe could hear the new roll of tape being started just before he felt his upper arms, forearms and wrists being secured to his sides.

“Timber!” Robinson’s rather harsh voice had not yet settled, unlike Basset’s manly baritone, and Joe felt himself pushed. He hardly had time to worry about his landing before someone caught him and helped him safely to the horizontal. He knew what would happen next and felt himself being rolled onto what he knew was his own sleeping bag. He felt and heard the zip being drawn towards his neck and felt the mummy hood being pulled over his already shrouded head. A less skinny kid would have taken more forcing to get him to fit but the Prefects’ job with Joe was relatively easy. He felt the hood being secured and thanked God there wasn’t anything more they could do to him.

Joe’s breathing became laboured but he was in no serious danger even though he was already starting to simmer nicely. Just as he thought Robinson had finished his job, Joe felt something being wrapped around his legs. Damn! There WAS more they could do to him. Most of the remaining roll of gaffer tape later, even though he wasn’t completely mummified, about seven multiple bands of tape secured the sleeping bag round his legs and arms. He then found himself being positioned, as he supposed in front of the fire.


“Kork, listen carefully: either you can clean all the prefects’ school shoes or you can look after this oik while we go for lunch. Your decision.” Without moving any more than necessary, Derek made his choice. He was dismissed to lunch with a Prefect’s pass that allowed him to jump the queue. He gobbled the available comestibles, just the usual Saturday cheesy pasta dish and some sponge cake with pink-flavoured icing and a suspiciously yellow custard, and made his way back to the Prefects’ Common Room as quickly as he could. All the younger boys knew that it was unwise to keep Basset waiting.

Derek was standing in the penitent’s position to receive his instructions. At least having to do as he was told would be better than having to polish over two dozen pairs of shoes to a high shine and, probably, having to redo any that were rejected. He’d had to do that before and it took him nearly three hours before the Prefects were happy with his work.

Robinson made it clear that Derek was going to be responsible for two aspects of Joe’s imprisonment: his safety and his silence. Derek asked very politely why the Prefects simply didn’t gag him. He was left in no doubt! “We’re simply punishing him, not trying to kill him. He needs to be able to let you know if he’s in real trouble but he knows that he WILL be in real trouble if it’s a false alarm.” Thus corrected, Derek was instructed to uncover Joe’s head every hour (the time-scale implication at that point made Derek wonder if he HAD made the right choice.) so that he could take some water on board. Other than that, Derek was to record every time Joe made ANY noise and the Prefects would then extend his suffering when they came back on duty. Of course, they had no way of knowing if Derek would report any infringements but Joe had no way of knowing that he wouldn’t.

The Prefects left for lunch without even telling Derek whether he was expected to maintain the penitents’ position. He thought he’d be able to hear them returning and took the opportunity to relax. He chose a chair and placed it facing the fire and within reach of Joe who had been laid out in front of it. Derek kept an eye on his charge and, whenever Joe took the opportunity of wriggling away from where he had been positioned in front of the fire, he would re-locate him either with his feet or, if he really had to, he got up and dragged him back.


The Prefects took a leisurely lunch and didn’t return for a good hour. When the two of them returned, rather noisily, Derek was kneeling on the floor with Joe propped up on his knees. The hood of the mummy sleeping bag had been unfastened and pulled down behind the skinny boy’s shoulders and both garment hoods had been pulled until they lodged untidily under the sweaty defaulter’s chin. Even with the shortness of the school’s approved haircut, Joe’s hair lay plastered to his skull.

“Has he spoken?”

“No Basset. Well, he did say, ‘Thank you,’ after I’d given him a mug of water. I don’t suppose . . .”

“It’s not your job to suppose. Just to report the truth. However, that was quite in order. Do him up again.”

Derek pulled the hoods of both the hoodie and the anorak up over Joe’s glistening face and tied them behind his head. With a little more difficulty, he repositioned the hood of the sleeping bag and left very little of the anorak material showing. He lowered Joe to the ground and looked at Basset.

“Well done, now get back to the wall.” Derek didn’t dare question the instruction and with a simple “Yes, Basset.” he positioned his toes carefully against the antique skirting board and his nose against the panelled wall before linking his fingers and placing his palms on the back of his head. He hoped he wouldn’t have to hold his elbows clear of the wall for too much longer but he knew better than to plead his case.

Just a short interlude while the Prefects take things easy:

I seem to be missing the interlude - but having now caught up on the previous part, this seems like the worst of the ordeals!

Ooops! Bugger!
Forgot to post the episode.
Damn this flu!
THanks for the intervention, @blackbound

The prefects discussed what to do with the two defaulters so that they themselves would be put to as little inconvenience as possible. As the discussion proceeded, Derek saw his hopes of early release receding more and more. He made a note to himself: don’t get caught for a minor offence when the Prefects had already got another pupil who was going to have to undergo an ordeal.

“Very well, Kork, don’t move, just listen. We want this room to ourselves. We’re fed up with sharing it with a couple of useless oiks. Why should we spend our afternoon guarding Hill when you could do it for us?” Derek realised that it was a rhetorical question and maintained the expected silence. “Very well, since you have no answer to my question, here’s what we’ll do." Basset outlined the immediate futures of Derek Kork and Joe Hill.

“Alright, let’s get him out of here.” Even swaddled in so many layers, Joe was no heavyweight as far as Robinson was concerned and, once Bassett had hauled him to his feet, the chunky prefect easily hoisted him onto one broad shoulder. Having his head swathed in three hoods left Joe unsure as to exactly what was about to happen to him and he let forth an involuntary cry of alarm as he felt himself lifted from the ground. “One extra hour!” Shouted Basset as close as possible to where he assumed one of Joe’s ears to be. The heavily muffled groan from Joe was echoed by the despairing one from Derek.

As Robinson started to carry his burden out of the Prefects’ Common Room, he called Derek to follow. As he did so, Derek wondered whether he could change to polishing the Prefects’ shoes after all. The Prefects had decided that no-one was likely to be using the drying room that weekend and, even if they did, staff members were noticeably reluctant to enter the place and not many pupils would dare to interrupt an ordeal. It just wasn’t worth having to suffer alongside the original victim who would only have to make up the time (and more) later.

One flight of stairs and a semi-circumnavigation of the outside of the oldest school building later brought the four boys to the outdoor pursuits store and the notorious drying room. Perhaps I’d better explain the nature of the room just in case some readers haven’t experienced the “atmosphere” in such a facility. The room was well supplied with heating pipes, hanging rails and storage racks and was always kept above 25º C. It was also full of the sort of clothing in which boys had exerted themselves, got wet, trailed thorough mud and worse and even some such garments that seemed to have been abandoned as irremediable some time ago. Please try to imagine the smell of soaking hiking socks and wet boots, wet suits that had been ducked in the canal, denims that had been worn for navigating the assault course, various items of abandoned underwear and almost anything else that was mucky and with which the boys could not be bothered to deal when mealtimes called. Even the items that had dried out didn’t smell of violets.

Even through the two hoods that covered his face, Joe became aware of the fragrance a few seconds after Basset had closed the door. Not being completely mummified with tape, Joe was still capable of flexing his body, especially with the type of assistance that basset and Robinson were about to render. They could have simply left him on the floor or taped him to a bench with Derek watching over him but that didn’t seem too good an idea when there were those handy pigeon holes available.

“Kork, empty all that shit out of that piggy there. You can stow it tidily once we’ve left.” That in itself was not a job to look forward to, the pigeon hole seemed to have been crammed with discarded underwear and socks (and some less easy to identify items) for quite some time. Let’s face it, all the while the staff were reluctant to supervise the place, the boys needed somewhere to stow all the really disgusting items that they had no intention of retrieving. There was no point in being squeamish; Derek just reached deep into the container and raked its contents onto the floor, some of it landing on Joe where Robinson had dumped him.

“Clear it away from the front of the piggy. Put your back into it.” Derek’s nose came much nearer to the pile of discarded items once he realised he wasn’t going to get away with simply kicking it aside. Yes, now he was sure; he SHOULD have chosen to polish the Prefects’ shoes. “Right, that’s good enough, face the door.” Derek adopted the usual hands-on-head stance against the door. Even the residual smell of the timber preservative was preferable to having to enjoy the prevailing atmosphere in the drying room.

The Pigeon hole, above which some wit had inscribed “Toxic Waste”, was about 70 centimetres wide and high and the best part of a metre deep. It was part of a wooden system of storage spaces that was constructed from bits of “two-be-one” slats attached to the traditional “two-be-two” vertical and horizontal framework. The Prefects (and, indeed, many of the other boys) often found the resultant sturdy slatted construction useful for securing and torturing their victims. Derek was wondering how on earth Joe was managing to take in enough oxygen to survive from the disgusting atmosphere. Then he realised, the Prefects had told him that Joe’s safety was one of his two major concerns.

While he stood smelling the door, Derek was unaware of exactly what was happening to Joe but he made a very accurate guess. Basset stood their mummy upright and Robinson shouldered him again. Basset guided the foot-end of the sleeping bag into the pigeon hole then Robinson rammed him home. By the time he’d finished, Joe had been scrunched into a “Z” shape with the hood of his sleeping bag well inside the pigeon hole. Robison then picked up a rope that had been dumped following a rock-climbing session and started his artistic masterwork. It must have taken him ten minutes to complete it before Basset gave Derek his final orders.

“Don’t forget, if he calls, ‘Mercy’, you MUST uncover his head immediately. Use this knife if you have to.” Basset lodged a formidable looking knife on the shelf where Joe had been imprisoned. “If you’re worried about him, prod him hard, he knows he must react if he’s alright. Don’t forget, untie this lot and give him water every hour.”

As the Prefects left, Derek saw what Basset meant by “this lot”. Robinson had taken the climbing rope and threaded it in a zig-zag between the slats along the side of the pigeon hole. It must have taken quite an act of patience especially as he had followed that up with a further zig-zag between the top and bottom slats, weaving the rope through the horizontal lengths resulting in a fairly secure net enclosing the mummy within the pigeon hole.


As Robinson and Basset made their way back to the Common Room, the discussion, as soon as they were out of Derek’s earshot, became quite intense.

“How long are we going to leave him there?”

“About two hours?”

“Yea, sounds about right. What about Kork?”

“Well, he’s just about served his time but unless we can find someone else to guard the mummy. . . .”

“I’ll go and see if I can find one of the oiks to do it.”

“Suppose no one’s out of order?”

“Oh, come on. How long have you known me? I’ll find a tiddler who deserves a hard time and make something up. You know he won’t dare argue.” For someone who was basically a nice guy, Robinson had a dark side to him that surfaced some times. “You get a brew on; I bet I can find one inside twenty minutes.”

“Is that a bet, then?”

“Of course. Couple of quid?”

“You’re on.” The two prefects shook hands and parted.

-


To cut a long story short, at precisely eighteen minutes and fifty-seven seconds after Basset had set his watch, Robinson reappeared with both Derek Kork in tow and a grin on his face. “Hand it over. Tell him, Kork.”

Derek folded his arms behind him and recounted the story. “Robinson brought this kid, Harrison, into the gas chamber.” That was what most of the boys called the drying room. “Apparently he didn’t hold the door open for him or something.” Robinson’s grin widened as Basset put the coin in his hand. “He got the same orders as I had and was threatened with taking Hill’s place if he got it wrong.” Basset acknowledged that he should have known better than to doubt his principal lieutenant, smiled and shook his head resignedly.

“Alright Kork, push off. Your time’s up.”

Derek held his ground. “Permission to speak, Basset?”

“Yes?”

“Can I stay in mufti for the rest of the weekend or do I have to change into uniform?” He was aware of the custom of confining defaulters to uniform while all the other boys who had stayed in school were casually dressed, but asking was safer.

“Eric, flip that coin and cover it up.” Robinson flipped his ill-gotten gains and held it in front of Derek’s face.

“Call.”

Derek looked as if concentration would help him make the right decision before calling, “Heads.”

Robinson uncovered the coin. Derek’s mouth sprung open. “OK, Kork, piss off and don’t do it again.”

Derek’s thanks were effusive and sincere even if his promises of future good conduct were less so. He wasted no more time leaving as the Prefects smiled.

“You’re all heart.”

“Tell me.”

The two prefects settled for a lazy couple of hours without interruption until the time came to release Joe.

The atmosphere in the drying room hadn’t improved any when Robinson and Basset entered. They left the door open. The sight that greeted them indicated that Kork and Harrison had been busy with the disgusting clothing, which had been sorted, even if it hadn’t been stowed again. Harrison had made a very poor job of net-weaving after he had obviously watered Joe who was slightly less scrunched up than when they had left him, with the hood of his sleeping bag now forcing the woven rope net quite a way clear of the end of the pigeon hole.

Robinson pushed Joe back into his pokey dungeon and told Harrison to undo the rope. The Prefects were in no hurry to slip Joe free from his confinement until Harrison had wound the rope to their satisfaction. Once he had done so, he was told to hang it over his right shoulder and under his left arm before putting his hands on his head and pressing his nose against the end wall.

Robinson and Basset pulled at the sleeping bag until Joe was clear of the storage aperture and his feet soon hit the floor. Joe knew his ordeal must be nearly over as he was laid on the floor.

“Harrison, get that tape off his sleeping bag. Don’t bother putting the rope down.” The unfortunate First Year knelt down and tried to find the end of some of the tape. The rope impeded his work and he had to keep readjusting it but, after a while there was no more tape in sight. Joe was desperate for an easy breath of fresh air but no one seemed to be too worried about that as Harrison was told to undo the drawstring on the hood of the sleeping bag and undo the zip right down to Joe’s toes. A clearly audible grunt could be heard from behind the two remaining hoods and Joe tried to breathe deeply but there was still far too much tape round him to allow that.

“Roll him over.” Harrison did as he was told, untied the anorak hood and that of the hoodie. “Both of you listen very carefully now if you know what’s good for you.” Both boys made sure to look as though they were paying very close attention indeed. “Harrison, undo the tape round his legs so that he can walk up to the Common Room then tidy up all this shit and get up there yourself. Tell me exactly what you’re going to do.”

“I’m going to release Hill’s legs, Basset, but not his arms and then finish stowing all this stuff tidily,” here he indicated the tidy piles of discarded items, “And then I’m going to put all the tape in a bin and report to you, Basset.”

“Make sure you do and make sure his arms are still secured.”

“Yes, Basset.”

“And in future, show any Prefect more respect.”

“Yes Basset, Sorry Robinson.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to report to the Prefects’ Common Room, Basset.”

“And have you learnt your lesson?”

“Yes, Basset,” lied Joe.

“Right Harrison, get on with it.” So saying, Basset turned on his heels and exited the “gas chamber” at a brisk rate leaving the other three boys behind.

“Listen mate, don’t stow all this shit again. No one’s going to come back for any of this skanky old junk. You see those underpants there? I left them here when I was in the Third Year.”

“But Basset said . . .”

“Do you honestly think he’s going to come back to check? Just put it all in one of those skips behind the kitchens. We could use an empty pigeonhole, couldn’t we, Hill?” Joe thought that it would be wiser if he didn’t answer.

Once Robinson had left, Harrison divested himself of the rope that was making his task so difficult as Joe advised him that it was safe to do as Robinson suggested. He then released Joe’s ankles, calves and thighs before Joe made his unsteady way to the Common Room having asked Harrison to bring his sleeping bag with him when he reported to the Common Room. It took Harrison five journeys to the bins with armfuls of smelly discards being held much closer to his nose than he enjoyed and he made very sure that he left the place tidy(ish) just in case Robinson returned to check up on his work.


Joe walked rather comically round the outside of the school building with his arms and his useless hands still taped to his sides, not even stopping when some of his fellow pupils saw fit to take the piss. He did, however, manage to instruct them to go forth and multiply as he passed them.

Having climbed the stairs, Joe made his way along the corridor and used his socked feet to knock on the door of the Prefect’s Common room. No one seemed to hear him. His second attempt involved head-butting the door as gently as he thought would be effective. Once he had been bidden to enter, he found himself lying, still taped and over-dressed in front of the blazing fire with his hoods blindfolding him and making his breathing difficult once more. The Prefects hardly broke their conversation as they positioned him far too close to the hearth for comfort, swathed as he was. Joe started to steam nicely again as the Prefects sat around in shorts and t-shirts. They liked their fire.

Time dragged and Joe began to wonder when the Prefects were going to get round to freeing him rather than periodically rolling him back towards the fire once he’d been able to ease himself away. After what seemed like hours, Joe thought he heard a knock on the door.

The indistinct conversation that followed preceded Joe’s being rolled over and, even through the excess clothing, feeling what he hoped was someone trying to remove the tape from his body. Harrison took the easy way and, once he had located an end of the tape, simply pulled causing Joe to roll away from him until he ran out of room when he’d just drag him back again and repeat the procedure. It must have taken ten minutes before all the tape securing his arms had been removed allowing him to move them once more.

Harrison was told to free Joe’s right fist and then get over to the wall. Not being the first time he’d been in trouble, the younger boy knew exactly what was expected and, having finished his task, pressed his nose and toes against the wall and placed his hands on his head.

Joe was given permission to undo the hoods and force them down under his chin. After he had fumbled behind his neck with his only available hand, the subsequent sight, as his concerned eyes shot from side to side was more than slightly comical, an impression that Joe was unable to share. He was still lying on the floor when he was told to free his other fist. Having been taped for so long into fists, Joe’s fingers were not at their most nimble and his difficulties added to the gayety of his appreciative audience.

"Alright, Hill, stand up and get 'em off. The longer you take, the worse it's going to be afterwards." Such unspecified threats were always useful when the Prefects didn't have the vaguest idea how they were going to make things worse for a defaulter but there weren't many pupils who would take a chance on it. Joe got to stripping as quickly as his rather stiff recently released body would allow soon there were two pairs of socks, one pair of waterproof trousers, one pair of trackie bottoms (not uniform), Joe's blue boardies, his anorak, hoodie, sweatshirt, polo shirt and t-shirt in a disordered, and rather fragrant, heap on the floor.

"For Christ's sake, Hill, put all that stinking crap in a plastic bag. Here, Harrison, give this to him." The First-Year boy left his station by the wall and took the black refuse sack that Basset was too idle to leave his armchair to deliver to Joe where he stood surrounded by the increasing pile of unsavoury clothing. Those Disney eyes looked daggers at the seniors.

"Quickly, Hill, the clock's ticking." Joe set to work once more. Even though he was still wearing his steamer and standing near the roaring fire, the sheer relief of not being so completely swaddled in so many restrictive clothing layers helped Joe's physical recovery significantly. His back was loosening, his fingers were becoming more nimble again and the aches in his arms and legs were almost gone by the time he'd rammed all the sweaty gear into the bag. He was probably the only boy in the school who had so little trouble in removing his wet-suit which quickly followed the rest of his clothing into the sack.

Standing in just his swimming costume might well have been embarrassing but he did feel much more comfortable now that the steamer was no longer clinging to him and making him sweat so badly and at least he didn't think that the Prefects would make him remove his last remaining garment in front of them.

"Catch!" Robinson threw a roll of packing tape over to Joe. "Have this one on me." Joe looked suspicious. "Close that smelly stuff away." Joe sealed the bag. He noticed that there was a lot of tape left on the roll.

Harrison couldn't really see what was happening to Joe although his nose did give him a very good idea of the effect his recent imprisonment had upon his person. Let's face it, Joe was the last person who needed to sweat off any excess weight.

"Hill, did Kork and Harrison make sure you took water on board?" By now Joe had his arms folded behind him and he was still holding the roll of tape. He couldn't help looking to see if there was anything left on the rolls that he'd had to provide for his own discomfiture.

"Yes, Basset."

"Good. Have you any plea to make?"

"No Basset, - thank you, Basset." More calculation went into that remark than most readers will understand. There was obviously more torment in store for the skinny kid and, if he wanted to avoid it, he could. It was as easy as that. However, his original misdeeds would be reported to his Housemaster along with his signed confession. Joe simply made the wisest decision as far as his future was concerned.

"Good. My colleague, Robinson, here has something to explain to you."

"Thank you, Head Prefect." Robinson's strange husky, but still intermittently squeaky, voice called Joe over to where he was sitting. "What do you think will happen to you for the rest of the weekend?"

"Confined to uniform, Robinson."

"Correct. - - And?" Joe was silent. "Well, as you have no suggestions, here's mine. Harrison, come over here." Harrison approached the Prefect without removing his hands from his head. He was also careful to stand up very straight. "I am sure Hill won't make things difficult for you, will you, Hill?" Joe was left with the option of silence or an answer in the negative. Even without knowing what was about to happen, he knew that silence was not the advisable option. "Good, now Harrison is going to practice his parcel wrapping technique. Make a good job of it, boy or you might be taking the place of this loser."

That was really quite an efficient technique, Joe was really a nice boy (if not too bright and a little mischievous) and he knew that, if he resisted and prevented the younger boy dong his job properly, then Harrison would be punished even more severely.

"Feet apart, we don't want you toppling." Joe did as he was told and Robinson started instructing the other defaulter who was, to say the least, worried about what Joe might do to him later in retaliation. He simply didn't understand Joe.

Joe's arms were secured behind him after he had been made to grab hold of his own elbows. It must have taken Harrison ten minutes to wrap Joe's forearms together all along their length. By the time Robinson was satisfied, he had applied three layers. He then had to wrap the shiny brown tape all the way down from Joe's shoulders to his elbows, pulling his arms tightly towards his torso and making struggling almost totally ineffective. Two further layers and Robinson declared himself satisfied. Harrison folded his arms behind him.

"Harrison?"

"Yes, Basset?"

"What have you to say to my friend here?" It was obvious that Harrison was expected to apologise to Robinson for his lack of respect and to make promises that it wouldn't happen again.

"I'm sorry, Robinson, for disrespecting you. I was wrong and it won't . . ."

"OK, never mind all that crap; apology accepted. Now get that bag of clothing up to Hill's dorm and get into your uniform. Come back here and show yourself. If you're quick enough and totally smart, you MIGHT be let off wearing it on Sunday. Push off."

After a very short pause, Harrison collected the plastic sack, slung it over his shoulder and departed as quickly as he could in the circumstances. His passing farewell of, "Yes Robinson. Thank you, Basset. Thank you, Robinson," disappeared into the distance with him.

The formal coda to Joe's ordeal was about to start. "Remind me, Hill, what exactly did you do to deserve to undergo ordeal by fire?" Joe went through the list of offences (even the two for which he was unjustly framed, one by his best mate and one by the Prefects just to ensure a "conviction") and made some nearly sincere apologies for his major offence, of which he was indeed guilty. That poor little blond kid took ages getting all that jam out of his hair and, even worse: the blue dye caused him to have to shave his head. It was a wonder he didn't grass Joe up to the staff, really. He probably would have done too if he hadn't been his best mate! He knew that, if he just dropped a hint to Robinson, Joe would suffer badly enough to serve until revenge could be his.

Joe got to the bit about promising not to do anything of the like again. "Well said, Hill. Go and get someone to release you and then show yourself in your uniform. See you next time." Joe's puzzled look transformed almost instantly into a rueful smile. He shook his head gently and left while the going was good.

Well, that's all about Joe's suffering - for now, perhaps.

But there was always that episode involving the "Men from the Zoo".
Perhaps I'll write that up when I have time - and the inclination.

Whoops, I missed out on the rest of this story! I'm not sure whether the fire or ice ordeal were worse, to be honest.

Definitely interested in the Men from the Zoo!

Thanks for checking in.
I should get my second wind once Elf Yewtree stops nagging me about continuing "The Real Father Christmas and His Elves".

Xtc wrote: 2 years ago Thanks for checking in.
I should get my second wind once Elf Yewtree stops nagging me about continuing "The Real Father Christmas and His Elves".

Cool! I've been hoping for a new chapter there; better catch up on the ordeals here...

There is one planned and started but progress is very slow.
Yes, please catch up on this one; I might have got the next "ordeal" completed by then.

“OK, Li, and you, Lewis, piss off; we’ve got bigger fish to fry.” Li Xiaji ⁽¹⁾ and Bobby Lewis couldn’t believe their luck. Surely their trials were not to be over so soon? Then they turned around and saw Nigel and Gary standing to attention with their arms folded behind them. Obviously, the prefects did have bigger fish to fry. The two first year boys hightailed it from the Prefects’ Study as quickly as they could before Basset, the Head Prefect, could change his mind. They even still had time for their game of tennis.

OK, so those who already know the set-up at the school, where the Prefects seem to run the place, won’t be too surprised about the situation except that they might be gob-smacked about the way Bobby and “Lisa”, as he was known (He didn’t mind!), seemed to get away so lightly. Well, here’s what happened.

⁽¹⁾ Pronounced ‘Lee Shya-Jr’ ( Lī Xǐajì )






“Alright, you little wank-buckets, freeze!” Four of the five boys in Dorm 3z froze. None of them was in bed. “Out. Hands on heads, feet apart.” The boys knew exactly what they had to do and rushed outside to stand in the Third-Year Quad. (Or, at least, most of them did.) The Prefects were doing a ‘turn out’. Even for Dorm 3z (Known, even to the staff, as ‘The Zoo’) things had gone a bit too far. Gary regretted – not for the first time - that he was the only lad from the dorm that didn’t wear pyjamas, not that they would have provided much more warmth than his boxer-briefs, and Nigel simply slept through the disturbance. (He would.)

Chris Thompson, one of the prefects, stripped the duvet from the slender blonde and planted a couple of the tins from the dormitory fridge on Nigel’s most sensitive parts. He moved then! Before not too long, all five Men from the Zoo were standing, hands on heads, elbows back, feet apart, legs straight, and looking straight ahead.

Bassett, the Head Prefect, started. After very few, very well-chosen words, he stopped.

“Permission to speak, Bassett?” Gary thought it was worth a try. “But Robinson is famous; he did it twice at an Open Evening in his third year.” Eric Robinson, another of the Prefects, blushed.

“Yes, and he was sanctioned officially by the school. He also had to undergo an ordeal as a result.” Eric giggled like a little girl; he often did that. Gary’s argument fell. Obviously being sanctioned by the school had not prevented Eric from rising to the rank of Prefect.

What the boys (Other than Nigel, who was dreaming the dreams of the not so just) had been doing was practicing. Open Evening was approaching and tradition needed to be observed. Since Eric’s famous feat, no one had been (officially) apprehended but every year one ‘mountaineer’ had successfully repeated his feat.

When the somewhat pissed-off prefects called at the Zoo, having had their beauty sleep disturbed by a report of a disturbance emanating from their House, Gary was about to climb out of the widow, edge his way along the protruding lintel between the two dormitory windows, and return via the other window. Being on the first floor, it wasn’t exactly a safe manoeuvre but tradition demanded . . . Besides, 3z couldn’t possibly allow any of the other dorms to steal the honour and they were bound to be practicing as well.

The prefects left the barefoot “oiks” to appreciate the cool grass for a while before delivering the inevitable verdict.

“Alright, you little f***pots, you are keeping us from our rightful rest.”

“Yes, and Robinson needs his beauty sleep.”

“Watch it, mate!” Eric giggled. So did some of the Third Years.

“Who told you any of you little wankers you could laugh?!” The inhabitants of the Zoo became silent instantaneously.

“Yes,” continued Bassett, “We don’t have the inclination to deal with you now but we’ll see you in our study after Prep. Bring your confessions with you.”

Thompson’s instruction of, “Don’t be late,” was hardly necessary; the culprits knew exactly what they needed to do if they were to avoid the Staff finding out about certain nefarious activities to which the Prefects were already privy, and the accounts of which were unlikely to be in any way down-played in their transmission. It was all part of the game but the defaulters only hoped the game would be worth the candle.

The prefects departed, the Third-Years waited for what the first of them to move considered to be a safe time before they all removed their hands from their heads and made for their beds.

By the time the Third-Years had arrived at the Prefects’ study, a First-Year and a Second-Year pupil, neither of whom they recognised, were already being entertained there. That could be a good thing or it could be a bad one depending upon the mood of the prefects. If they had already taken things out on the incumbents to their satisfaction, they might be feeling merciful towards the Men from the Zoo, otherwise, they might have just used them for a warm-up.

“Alright 3z, noses and toes until we’ve dealt with these two.” It’s a good job (sort of) that the prefects’ study was a large room in the old building because there was plenty of room for six defaulters to stand facing the wall with their toes and noses in contact with it and their arms folded behind them. The seventh one had obviously done something to annoy one of the Seniors even more because he had been made to take a good step backwards leaving him leaning uncomfortably with his head against the wall. It wasn’t looking good for Gary, Nigel and co.

“Gray, come here and face the desk. You, Hemmings, get that nose against the wall properly.” The younger boy presented himself to the Prefects’ desk behind which Bassett, Robinson and Thompson were sitting. The Second-Year adjusted his posture. He looked as if he had been there for quite a few minutes and was really suffering but honour demanded that he should try not to show it.

To cut a long story short and return to the main narrative, Luke Gray had had the temerity not to fold his arms behind him properly when Chris Thompson reprimanded him for not holding a door open for him. He had already completed his Prep and presented his confession (insurance policy for the Prefects) and it was quickly decided that there was only one suitable punishment. Luke was in for a miserable couple of hours.

“Your honour, I believe, Mr Thompson. Gray, get ‘em off, just your top half.” Bassett had spoken. Luke reluctantly removed his blazer, tie, shirt and t-shirt which he folded carefully before placing them on the floor. He returned to the “attention” position. Thompson collected one of the ropes that had already been laid out on the desk.

Not being well advised to turn their heads to look, the Third-Years were completely unable to appreciate that Thompson was obviously very adept at what he was doing. He looped the doubled rope three times around both Luke’s left wrist and his right forearm just below the elbow. He shoved the bight between the coils and Luke’s arms and tied a reef knot leaving a considerable length of unused rope. A second rope had soon attached Luke’s right wrist to his left arm.

A few counter-wraps tightened the initial coils and Thomson even asked Luke to confirm that he was happy to continue with his punishment. He could always have begged for release in a real emergency but he would only have had to start serving his sentence again at a later date – or have whatever the Prefects had recorded in their files passed on to the staff. Luke confirmed that he was fit for punishment and Thompson carried on with the process of ‘reminding the little oik how to stand properly when being addressed by a Prefect’.

The free ends hanging from Luke’s left wrist were passed between his right arm and his torso, across his chest and back over his left shoulder where Thompson left them hanging down Luke’s back along with a dire threat about what would happen if they should ‘accidentally slip off’. Luke nodded and made himself stand up even straighter. A symmetrical arrangement was soon in place and Thompson tied the strands with a reef knot behind Luke’s neck. The binder inspected his work while his colleagues started taking bets on whether he would run out of rope before he could finish.

“Gentlemen, look and learn. Watch and wonder.” The demonstrator tied an overhand knot in all four strands and adjusted it before pulling it tight. “Observe how the Master Binder carefully selected two ropes that were not only long enough for the task but whose ends had been whipped with different colours.” Thompson selected both ends of one of the ropes and pushed them between Luke’s right arm and his torso and round his arm once before passing them between the vertical strands above the overhand knot. Thompson was in the zone and had started singing quietly to himself. Having repeated the previous process symmetrically, he adjusted his masterpiece. “Hold tight, Gray.” Luke braced himself. He stood straighter again as Thompson pulled the ends, constricting his upper arms. A final reef-knot finished the binding and Thompson adjusted his work once more until it was symmetrical enough for his satisfaction. “Don’t worry too much, Gray, those final loops will adjust themselves a bit and won’t pinch as much soon. Fit to carry on?”

A man has his pride and Luke’s answer was inevitable, really: “Yes Thompson. Thank you, Thompson.”

“Alright, back to the wall; nose and toes.”

“Yes, Thompson.” Luke returned to an unoccupied position against the wall and placed the toes of his smartly polished shoes (no point in risking getting a uniform detention as well) against the skirting board and his nose against the wall. At least, with so many defaulters awaiting sentence, there wasn’t room for them to have to put their hands on their heads with their elbows back.


“Bartholomew, stop fidgeting. One step backwards.”

“Basseeett!!”

“Did you say something?”

“No, Bassett. Sorry, Bassett.”

“Two steps backwards, forefingers out.” Gary knew the routine and thought he would do better to cut his losses. He took two (not exactly giant) steps backwards, extended the nominated fingers, placed them against the wall with his arms straight and leaned on them. He really hoped that the Prefects would not take too long dealing with the Second-Year kid.

“Hemmings, come and face the desk.”

“Yes, Bassett.” Ross presented himself to the hanging judges and folded his arms behind him.

“Remind me why you’re here.” The rigmarole continued as Ross explained that he was deeply sorry about accidentally brushing against Robinson’s battered old Land Rover that, as a Prefect, he was allowed to park behind the building. He thought he would be wiser not to point out that he was likely to have caught something nasty if he had scratched himself on that old rust-bucket. The matter was quickly settled: Ross grovelled a lot and Robinson graciously allowed him to clean all the prefects’ cars at the weekend without even having to strip down to his swimming costume to do so.

“Yes, Robinson. Thank you, Robinson.” Ross thought he had got away quite lightly; Eric was always considered to be the nicest of the prefects.

“Dismissed.”

“Thank you, Bassett”.

“And don’t forget, just your rugby shorts.” Ross nearly answered the Head Prefect back.

“And your jockstrap, I suppose.” I expect that still made Robinson the nicest of the prefects. Ross decided to beat it while the going was good.


The prefects were in no hurry to deal with the 3z defaulters and nominated Jeremy d’Olio, a tall, dark-haired boy from the Zoo to go to the kitchenette and make coffee for Basset and Robinson and tea for Thompson and to bring them back while the others waited. Luke and the other four were studiously ignored while refreshments were being prepared.

After about ten minutes, Jeremy appeared with three mugs, a milk bottle and a packet of sugar on a tray which he placed on the prefects’ table before distributing the mugs to the appropriate Prefects. “What’s this, d’Olio?”

“Tea and coffee: what you asked for, Basset.”

“And what is missing?”

“Nothing, Basset.”

Thompson thought he ought to elucidate. “Where are the biscuits?”

“Please, Thompson, Basset didn’t ask for any.”

“Listen, you diddle-o, we ALWAYS need biscuits with our brew.” Perhaps Robinson wasn’t in such a good mood after all. “Go.”

“And be quick. My tea’s getting cold.” Jeremy didn’t need telling twice. He only hoped he would be able to locate suitable comestibles before Thompson’s tea became even colder. The Prefect’s kitchenette was a tip; after all, the cleaner wasn’t due in there ‘til Friday and they would be sure to find some unfortunate defaulter to clean it up tomorrow before the cleaner arrived. Jeremy found the opened packet of digestives just by the “Toxic Waste” sign that some wag had posted over where the rubbish bin was supposed to be stowed. He rushed the biscuits back to the Prefects’ study. He was in luck; Basset couldn’t be arsed to insist that they should be presented on a plate as long as there were plenty of them.

Jeremy left the packet standing upright on the table well within Thompson’s reach and returned to his position in the middle of the defaulters. The prefects embarked on a lazy refreshment break while the ‘Men from the Zoo’ frantically tried to avoid any unnecessary movement. It must have been a good ten minutes before Basset called the kangaroo court to order.


“Bartholomew, over here. Hands on head, feet apart and listen.” Gary was glad to be relieved of having to lean on his extended fingers so soon, and he needed no further instruction concerning keeping his legs straight and his elbows back, he’d got it wrong in the past and Thompson had tied an old mop between his arms and his neck, forcing him to adopt the required posture. The old metre rules, that had mysteriously appeared from the Physics lab, and an awful lot of tape forced his legs straight. What a shame that Robinson was a St. John cadet who seemed to have an endless supply of that wide Elastoplast at his command. Gary felt very vulnerable as he desperately tried to ensure that he wouldn’t topple. At least Thompson ‘allowed’ him to stand very close to the wall he was facing.

Being an old offender, Gary knew the routine: he simply had to plead guilty to any charges that were levelled, grovel excessively and weigh up the advisability of admitting any further offenses before they could be brought up by the prefects. At least he would have a couple of days to get his prep done and his confession written before reporting for the punishment that would probably take up most of his coming weekend.

Gary confessed to the ‘mountaineering’ charge and, for once in his school career, he couldn’t think of anything else that he would be wise to divulge. He grovelled excessively and completely disingenuously and, once the confession had been accepted, asked for permission to speak. His petition was granted.

“Please Basset, I am guilty as charged and I think the other members of 3z who were up at the same time will accept their guilt too.”

“Hold it there. OK, you three drongos, is that so?” The accused confirmed Gary’s assertion without removing their noses from the wall.

“But Quinn was asleep as he should have been. He shouldn’t . . . I mean please will you consider letting him off?”

“Quinn, anything to say?”

What was Nigel to do? He might be able to escape punishment. But he might also be considered, by those who were not Men from the Zoo, to be a complete wuss, even worse, his room-mates might consider him to be a traitor. There was only one thing he could do. “Please Bassett, I should have got out of bed for the turn out.” Yes, he probably could have got away with it to a certain extent but had more to lose than to gain and, in any case, solidarity mattered.

There followed much learned legal discussion and a lot of biscuit eating. Luke just hoped they would get on with things; he was getting more than a little uncomfortable and he needed, at least, to be allowed to move.

Eventually the prisoners were called before the impartial jury to listen to their fates. The first bit was predictable and concerned written confessions that would fall due on Friday and prep that would be inspected at an inhuman hour of Saturday morning. Sartorial requirements were outlined and Gary and Nigel were glad that it was July. The Men from the Zoo were going on a short trek, just far enough from the school buildings for the Prefects to be unlikely to be disturbed while delivering justice. They would obviously need to get weekend passes but they were signed off by the Head Prefect in any case.

“Right! AnyQuestionsNoGoodDismiss!” You can bet there were no questions; that would have been too risky. In any case, the old lags among the Men from the Zoo were well acquainted with the expectations that they could always explain to the non-existent virgin defaulters if it had been necessary. Five Third-Year pupils high-tailed it rather more quickly than dignity allowed.

Luke was ignored while the Prefects made various bets concerning the outcomes of the forthcoming ordeals and suggestions concerning how any failures to overcome them should be dealt with. Luke considered clearing his throat but, even though he was only a First-Year, he already knew better than to try it.

Eventually, the Prefects stopped pretending that Luke didn’t exist and called him up to the desk. Luke stood straight-legged and was almost glad to have been allowed to move.

“Very well, Gray, now what have we punished you for?”

“Not standing properly while Thompson was addressing me, Bassett.”

“That’s right and you have served that sentence well . . .”

“Thank you, Bassett.”

“. . . as I was saying,” Luke knew that he had spoken too soon, “But what else did you do wrong?” Luke saw all or part of his weekend disappearing.

“I didn’t hold the door open for Thompson, Bassett.”

“Stop muttering, you little worm.”

Luke’s shoulders sagged as far as they were able to. “Sorry, Bassett . . . ,” and Luke repeated his confession, but very distinctly that time around.

Eric was getting a bit fed up with things by that time and had a suggestion to make. “Umm, Bassett, don’t you think it’s time to let the worm get back to his dorm in case the house parents decide to make a round?”

“So, do you expect us to let him off?” Thompson sounded outraged.

“No, it’s OK mate, if I know our Eric here, he’ll have a plan.” It’s true, Robinson usually thought before he spoke.

“Now, you want to get back to your dorm, yes?” Luke didn’t have time to anticipate the loopholes so he simply nodded. “Well, we’ll let you go now and you have until Friday evening after Prep to suggest what punishment you deserve.” That was a smart move; Luke was stuffed: if he over-bid, he would have to serve the nominated sentence, but if Thompson was not satisfied, he would serve not only the sentence he suggested but whatever the injured party might have suggested originally as well.

Bassett summed up. “Alright by you, Thompson?” Thompson guessed what Luke had probably already figured out and graciously agreed. “Alright, worm, dismissed.” Luke didn’t have time to move before Thompson reminded him that it might be a good idea to have his Prep done and a confession neatly written.

Yes, now Luke was certain that he had no free time to look forward to in the coming weekend. At least he still hoped that the prefects would untie him before dismissing him. Never mind; he’ll learn.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

“Oh, his clothes.”

“Hang on.” Robinson picked up Luke’s shirt and t-shirt and stuffed them securely between his arms and his back, using the bindings as additional security. He then hung the jacket over its owner’s shoulders. “Right, Go!”

Luke moved. “Hold it!” Thompson had picked up the tie that Robinson had overlooked. “Open up.” Thompson just couldn’t resist loosely gagging the unfortunate Luke Gray. “That’s the lot. Get lost. Luke cut his losses and left tout de suite. He would just have to hope that his dorm mates were not in a silly mood and would untie him before he could get into any more trouble.


 

Just a scene-setter this time but without it future developments might not be clear.

It's good to se a few more people checking in. Thank you.

On his way past the PE notice board, Li Xiaji noticed a gap in the bookings for the tennis courts on Saturday. Being First Years, Bobby and he always got lowest priority but, as long as they got up early, there was a slot available before breakfast, which was always later on Saturday and Sunday than it was on week-days. Even the main court was vacant. It was the ideal opportunity for him to get his revenge on his good mate, Bobby. The Great Tennis War could continue. He put a note through the caretaker’s door applying for a reservation. Surely no normal person would want that slot now. He ran off to challenge his blonde mate.


Fridays after Prep was always the time for sentences of execution and, on that front, other than Wednesday, it had been a quiet week and there weren’t even any First-Years to torture until Luke turned up. Obviously, the Men from the Zoo would need to present their confessions unless they wanted their sins reported to the Staff. With their reputation, they (other than Nigel) would certainly be suspended at least and, even more importantly, the shame of the loss of that reputation in front of their fellows was unconscionable. The Prefects had resigned themselves to giving up most of their weekend; with power came much responsibility – and frequent really good excuses for torturing younger pupils. Luke Gray was obviously expected to make his own suggestion for a suitable punishment and Thompson thought it had better be good a good one; if not, he would enjoy coming up with a better one himself.

The Seniors had forgotten Ross but he knew the routine of old and he was the first to attend with his confession. Bassett covered up quite well and even Thompson couldn’t find anything wrong with either the confession, Ross’s uniform or his posture as he waited to be dismissed. “Just remind me of the sentence we decided upon.”

That was unnecessary as it was obviously there in the confession and the statement of consent but it was all part of the ritual. Ross hoped that it would not be that cold in the morning. Bassett dismissed him and reminded him that he had better not forget his prep. As an old lag, Ross needed no reminder.

Next to arrive were the Men from the Zoo who had never been so well presented before. All five had immaculately polished shoes, ties properly knotted and covering their collar buttons, shirts tucked in and even hair combed and blazers brushed. They probably even wore the regulation white underwear in case Thompson was in the mood for checking. Five old offenders stood, feet together, legs straight and arms folded behind them facing the hanging jury.

Following a decent delay for inspection, Bassett opened proceedings. “D’Olio, Corelli, Cook, over there; toes and noses.” Jeremy, Dan and Ollie stood in line facing the wall opposite the Prefects’ table with their arms folded behind them. “Space out, hands on heads, elbows back.” That was inevitable, really; now the petty delinquents hoped that the Prefects would not take too long in sentencing the master criminals.

“First things first: Quinn, you have confessed to failing to respond during a turn out. What is the usual penalty?” Nigel had forgotten the ‘usual penalty’, he had been there so often. He was renowned as the tiredest boy in the Third Year. Unless there was mischief to get up to. His choir-boy looks stopped fooling anyone, even his granny, several years ago. Nigel had, over his Third-Year experience so far, suffered three different penalties on an escalating scale for sleeping through turn outs. His least favourite was the most recent barefoot, 16 k cross country. Sixteen kilometres was merely a nominal distance and would have required four laps of the official course, running from the school gate (the discrete one round the back of the old building), round the lake and returning to the gate with his arms bound. Thompson had added an innovative twist because it seemed to him that Nigel coped with his punishments too easily. After all, for the tiredest boy in the Third-Year, he was also a very competitive cross-country runner. Thompson said that, to save his having to run all the way round the pond, he could swim across it. Of course, he would be dressed for swimming but to make up for that, he wouldn’t have his arms bound. Thompson is all heart. He was, however, generally stumped as to what sentence would be appropriate this time. Some of his ideas would certainly not get past Bassett.

“Sorry, Bassett, I don’t know; I know what you made me do last time . . .”

“OK, shut it. Unless you have any suggestions.”

“And don’t just suggest a longer run, we know you just consider them to be good training.”

“Yes, Thompson. Sorry, Thompson.”

Let’s face it, at one time or the other all the Men from the Zoo had already suffered ‘Ordeal by Water’, ‘Ordeal by Fire’, and it was the wrong time of year to sentence any of them to ‘Ordeal by Ice’. The Prefects have even had to resort to innovative methods on several occasions, and all that was on top of any official school punishments. None of those five was, as Robinson remarked, “Tall enough to be a pain in the neck”.

“I’ve got an idea.”

“Pray tell us all, My Good Eric.”

“Well,” that cracked, unstable voice carried on. “You care about the school environment, don’t you?” That gave Nigel no option but to agree. “Well, turn out in your cossie, not your PE one, the briefs you use for leisure time in the pool. Yes?” Once more, Nigel had no option but to nod. “I’ve got an idea that I shall put to my colleagues here once you have gone.” That was no comfort to Nigel at all but Basset knew that he could trust his lieutenant to be creative; he could also trust him not to go too far, unlike his other colleague.

“Right, that’s one down and four to go.” Bassett turned his attention to Gary. “OK, Sherpa Tensing, what have you got to say for yourself?”

“It’s a tradition, Bassett. For the honour of the house.” Eric Robinson could not suppress an admiring smirk as he gently nodded his head.

“It was dangerous and who do you think would get it in the neck for not keeping an orderly dorm if there had been an accident?” For a barely eighteen-year-old, Bassett can sound just like a real adult when he is in ‘Head Prefect mode’. “Well?”

“You would, Bassett.”

“And, so what do you think I ought to do about it?”

“No idea, Bassett.”

“OK, you little scrote, do you think you deserve worse than Quinn; at least he wasn’t an accident waiting to happen?” Thompson thought it was time to intervene.

“Well, I suppose so, Thompson.” Gary was quite prepared to pay for his crime – he always was. Having said which, the Prefects wouldn’t want to drop him in it with the staff, he never meant any harm to anyone else and, in any case, he was too good value.

Robinson intervened again. “You know that idea I’ve had? Let me explain when the little wazzocks have gone. Trust me, Bassett; it’s a doozy. And I can adapt it to suit both of them.”

“And I suppose you can include the other three as well?”

“Just trust me, Chris – have I ever let you down?” The other prefects declined to answer in the interests of solidarity.

Bassett was intrigued and Thompson was trying to predict Robinson’s idea. “Right, you two, remember: swimmers only – and don’t forget your prep. Now piss off.”

Was that it for the day? Was that really all? But then, there was always the complete uncertainly about what was to happen tomorrow. Nigel and Gary made their getaway.

“Come here, you three, face the table and stand properly, listen to me very carefully.” Robinson had taken over proceedings, the other two were only too happy to have him do so. “You three, turn out tomorrow morning in your Corps fatigues, boots and vests (PT). I shall get an equipment list and individual kit lists to you tonight and instructions about where you should take it. Take your prep with you, I’ll check it on site.” At least the Men from the Zoo should get some idea from the list of what was in store for them and the Prefects were sure that the three rogues were very unlikely to get caught not having completed their prep; that would have been the cause for a visit to the Housemaster and a reference home.

“Who’s the fastest out of you three?” Obviously, Nigel would have been the quickest but he was not present so Ollie Cook owned up. “You, don’t bother with the denims, wear your shorts (PT) and gym shoes.” Nobody liked wearing the usually over-sized, blue cotton shorts that were required for Corps PT sessions. Ollie was going to look like a cross between a dosser and a scarecrow and, as for those old-fashioned plimsoles . . . He didn’t want to ask about underwear in case he was denied any at all and assumed that he would have to wear a jockstrap.

“Yes, Robinson.”

Eric seemed to have finished so Bassett dismissed the defaulters with the customary warning about ensuring that their prep was completed. As soon as the Third-Years had departed, Robinson outlined his ideas.

“Very commendable, Eric.”

“Yeah, very environmentally minded.”

“And a real pain for the oiks.” The Prefects approved


Eric liked being organised and sat down at his laptop and began typing lists. After about ten minutes, Thompson threw a shoe at him; that happy, tuneless whistling was really annoying. The effect didn’t last long. Once he had finished, Eric inserted the papers in a brown envelope and sealed it. He wrote, “Do not open until 06:00 hrs on Saturday.”

“Ooo, that was nasty. I approve.” Thompson admired his colleague’s work. “Saturday? Six o’clock? They’re really going to hate that.”

“And the best bit about it is that they’ll have to leave it sealed in case ‘somebody’,” here Bassett looked at Thompson, “Checks it”.

Chris Thompson feigned innocence.

Eric was so contented with his ideas that he even went to Dorm 3z to deliver the epistle personally.


Eric was probably a bit premature in putting himself out as delivery boy. If only he had waited, a very panicked-looking Luke arrived at the Prefects’ Study. He had not found completing all the weekend’s prep tasks easy in the available time and was certain that he would be for it (even more than he was already) because he was late. By then, Thompson was in a really good mood due to the creativity of his absent colleague, and Luke got away with it quite lightly – well, sort of: he still had to explain his suggestion to the Prefects. He only hoped they would agree and that he hadn’t awarded himself too stiff a penalty.

He started at ninety-miles-a hour with his stammered apologies and explanations while arranging his prep on the large table behind which Chris Thompson and Bassett were sitting. Eventually, he stopped the unstructured stream of desperate pleading and, having worked himself to a halt, stood breathing heavily.

Thompson let him stand there for longer than it seemed to a Luke who had worked himself up into a right old state. Basset told him to breathe in slowly and to calm down. There followed another interminable (to Luke) wait.

“Ready now?”

“Y-yes, Bassett, thank you Bassett.”

“Right, Chris, my man, as the offended party, over to you.”

Luke looked dutifully in the direction of whoever was addressing him at the time. “Very well, Gray, remind me of why you are here.”

Luke recounted his heinous offence and repeated more apologies than anyone should have been able to fit into the time available.

“Right, schtum.” Luke clammed up immediately. “Prep?” As if Thompson could not see all three tasks sitting in front of him. Luke breathed in and introduced his geography task. “Show me.” Luke unfolded his arms and acted as a lectern to display an immaculately annotated diagram alongside a brief explanation of how the Pennines affected the English weather. If Thomson had any heart at all, the cartoon of the guy with the umbrella standing somewhere in Yorkshire would have earned him at least some sort of partial reprieve. However; Luke couldn’t really tell what that snort signified.

Basset intervened. “Do your tie up.” Luke had obviously forgotten the last-minute safety checks. Things were not looking good. “Next piece.”

That was better, Luke was good at art and picked up his sketch-book containing the required lightening portraits of three of his classmates. Basset had difficulty suppressing a snort as he recognised what was obviously a caricature of his little brother. He was still smirking as he asked, “Next!” That was boring: a maths exercise that neither Bassett nor Thompson could be arsed to check, fortunately!! Luke collected up his work and, without being bidden, pushed his confession towards his tormentors.

Thompson scanned it quickly and, not finding anything incriminating that the Prefects did not already know about, shoved it into a drawer as insurance. “Now, wretched worm, what do you have to propose as penance for your lack of respect for your superiors?”

Luke breathed in. Even as a First-Year, he knew the sort of ordeals he might have to undergo. He also knew that, try as he might to suggest something that might avoid it, such events would always involve his being tied up to some extent.

Not that he could explain it to his inquisitors, but Luke thought it was somewhat unfair as he had already been tied up and had to really abase himself to his so-called mates before they would agree to untie him. However, needs must when the Devil drives and Thompson would certainly not object to filling the role of the “Bad ‘Un” in order to maintain standards.

Luke simply had to make the best of things with the cards he had been dealt, so he went for it. “Please, Bassett, may I just act as Orderly to Thompson tomorrow?” That was usually quite a safe option, the convict would simply have to wait on the nominated Prefect hand and foot for the day. Thompson looked as though he was considering the petition.

As readers might have gathered, Luke was not exactly the brightest glow-worm in the hedge and he obviously expected to hang around the Prefects’ Study or outside the Common Room and act as Gofer for the day. Things would very quickly change his expression from grim determination to accept his fate to open-mouthed horror as the true nature of his fate dawned on him.

For the minute, let’s just say that Thomson accepted Luke’s offer and Bassett outlined some of the unforeseen consequences of his acceptance. Luke could not exactly withdraw his offer at that stage.

“Stop the fly-catcher impersonations, Gray.” Luke realised that his mouth was agape and quickly slammed his jaws shut.

“Right, dismissed; and don’t be late tomorrow.” Luke collected up his work and started to make for the door. “Oh, and Gray, leave me that cartoon of Basset Minor. You won’t mind making another one, will you?”

It was much too early for any self-respecting teenager to be up on a Saturday morning; it was even too early for ‘that’ envelope to be opened safely just in case ‘somebody’ checked. Once they had read the contents, the language of the Men from the Zoo would have made a builder blush. They had all had their weekends completely banjaxed. That was only to be expected but the three of them who had already dressed, would have to really shift themselves if they were to present themselves at the designated place fully equipped. They probably wouldn’t even have time for breakfast, which was always served late at the weekend.

Now they knew why Ollie had to dress like an exile from ‘Chariots of Fire’. At least Dan and Jeremy got to wear trousers and boots. The day was going to be warm at the worst but, at that time of the morning, it was still too cool to be wearing a vest (PT) with no shirt. The lads tried to console themselves that hard work would warm them up. They weren’t really convinced and Nigel and Gary would have things even worse. All five set about packing their Corps Bergens. Robinson’s lists appeared to be very thorough but gave no hint as to what the punishment was likely to involve other than completely knackering a perfectly good weekend that could otherwise have been dedicated to minor mischief or taking day-passes into the nearby village. Oh well, the local girls would have to do without their attentions this weekend.

All five boys hefted their heavy packs and made for the Stores. Being a boys’ boarding school, Gary was still in his boxers and Nigel in his pj bottoms. Yes, the Stores WOULD be open so that any out-door pursuits freaks and any school teams could get off early. The three vested defaulters ran to present Robinson’s kit-list to the Quartermaster. They would certainly need the old trek-cart to transport it and, probably, all three of them to pull it. They really needed to get a move on.

Gary and Nigel were not in so much of a hurry, disturbing the Prefects before eight-thirty was known to be unwise so they returned to the Zoo. At least they simply had to wait around until their presence in the Prefects’ study would be safer but, having left their packs at the Store for the others to transport for them, they decided to get dressed in the required fashion.

The two major criminals were a real contrast, except for both being pains in the arse to the prefects. Nigel was a slight blonde with a sort of Tin-Tin quiff and without a spare ounce of fat on him but his slender musculature was well-defined. As has been explained, he was a very fit cross-country runner whereas Gary was a moon-faced gym monkey with short, brown hair. If he had not been about to suffer a weekend’s imposition, he would probably have made early bookings in the gym on both days. He wore rather tight, mostly red, 10 cm swim-briefs (He also enjoyed diving.) of a rather old-fashioned style in contrast to Nigel’s none-too-tight, light blue hi-leg briefs. They needed ‘proper swimming costumes’, as the school called them, if they were to be allowed to use the school pool at the weekends as they usually did. The addition of the boots and socks, that they had also been ‘advised’ to wear, contrasted with their bare legs to give them both real ‘clown feet’ but Robinson’s note said something about safety and there was no other clue as to their forthcoming suffering other than that. Neither of them thought they should devote any of the ‘dead’ time to study.


Chris Thompson thought he would take a little walk and visit the Zoo on the way just to see that the, “Lazy little oiks,” especially Nigel, were under way. He rather hoped that they were not. I can’t think why. As he passed along the First-Year corridor, he was nearly taken out by two un-guided missiles. Bobby Lewis and Li Xia-Jr were racing along the corridor on their way to their tennis game. It was, of course, more important to barge into one another and try to kick each other up the arse than to watch where they were going. Thompson decided to call off his walk.

Bobby and Lisa were not used to getting into trouble and the sight of a volcanic Thompson was not something they had witnessed before. They certainly made it to the Prefects’ study much before Thompson did. By the time he arrived, the First-Year boys had their noses and toes against the wall beside the door. Thompson opened the door. “Right, you two, inside!”

The two would-be tennis players were impressed with what they saw. The Prefects were already up. After all, they were expecting visitors. “Put those racquets on the table and get your noses against the wall.” The poor little kids were more or less ignored while Thompson brought his colleagues up to speed.

The two friends presented a real visual contrast: the slight, dapper Chinese lad and the heftier, blonde British scruff-ball. Li sported a long, black crew-cut that was never untidy and Lewis was crowned by an unruly mass of very blonde hair that only saw a brush when his gran was expected to call round. Lisa sported a brief pair of tennis shorts with pockets and prominent lower hems, even his short-sleeved tennis top was tucked into his shorts. Both boys obviously had to wear whites if they were to be allowed to use the facilities but Bobby’s crumpled t-shirt hung outside his equally crumpled pair of basic and rather superannuated, once-white gym shorts. Both boys had to wear the despised, official, white plimsoles (See earlier reference) before stepping onto the hallowed surface of the school’s best lawn tennis court. (Did I tell you it was a very posh school?)


 

OK. I think that set's the scene adequately.
Now for the tying up.

These should be a great way to spend Halloween I shall start reading about all the Boys and their plights and tights right now.

Thank you for the rection. There are several of them to meet.
People seem to like Pinky. I wonder what will happen if he ever gets to become a prefect?

Having heard Thompson’s account of his encounter with the tennis players, Robinson suggested that they ought to slow the little buggers down a bit. He went for some of the rope that he had already prepared for their expected guests. Just then, the First-Years heard the knock on the door but, of course, they didn’t dare to turn round to see who had just arrived. That was when they heard Bassett’s voice, “OK, Li, and you, Lewis, piss off; we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

Yes, there probably was a God but, as they collected their racquets and made good their escape, the two First-Years still wondered whether that was all there was to be of their suffering. Never mind, a good kick to his arse quickly drew Bobby’s mind back to their forthcoming tennis game and what he was sure would be his imminent victory. He didn’t manage to catch up with his escaping Chinese mate until they reached the finest lawn tennis court the school had to offer. The Great Tennis War was about to continue – and there should still be time for breakfast afterwards.


The departure of the tennis players left the Prefects free to concentrate on the two main defaulters from the Men from the Zoo, not an honour that they really appreciated. Thompson looked the defaulters up and down as they stood, eyes front, feet together, legs straight and arms folded behind them. Yes. They were both attired in acceptable swim-briefs and their Corps boots with khaki socks folded down neatly around the top of them. He could find nothing wrong. Let’s face it: they’d already had enough practice in getting it right.

“Alright, Bartholemew, toes and nose. Over there.” Gary went over to where Thompson was pointing. The pointing was hardly needed; it was almost his usual place to be and he even put his hands on his head and forced his elbows back without being told to do so.

“And you, Quinn, arms out.” Thomson picked up a tidily-hanked rope from the table. He had a sort of harness in mind that he wanted to try out. He shook the rope loose, located the middle of it and passed one end under Nigel’s right armpit and returned it over his left shoulder. Repeating the procedure on his other side left Thompson’s subject with a rope-strand high across his back and two ends hanging down behind him. Thompson tied the strands together with an overhand knot which he adjusted until it was against the base of Nigel’s neck before tightening it. It was not as posh or as immediately achieved as a reef-knot would have been but it did draw both free ends together.

“Arms by your sides.” Nigel did so in almost military style. Thompson seemed to be doing some sort of calculation before tying another overhand knot in both strands and tightening it leaving it more-or-less in line with the middle of Nigel’s slender biceps.

“Remind ne to show you a better knot for use there.” Robinson was trying to be helpful.

“Later, my man, later. Don’t disturb the Master when he’s in the groove.” Thompson was enjoying himself. He fed one of the free ends round Nigel’s right arm and returned it between the vertical ropes above the lower overhand knot, leaving it hanging as he proceeded to his victim’s left arm. He stood back and examined his work so far. He pouted slightly and nodded. He knew there was no point in tightening his work yet and added a further loop round each of Nigel’s biceps. Then he pulled the ropes tight. Nigel stood his ground; he knew what was expected if he was not to suffer any more than necessary. A bit of fiddling around preceded the free ends of the rope being tied together around the vertical strands just above the overhand knot. That brought the slim Nigel’s elbows very close together but, with his figure and his known suppleness, Thompson thought he could handle it.

“Too tight, Worm?” Thompson knew the rules: torture was in order as long as it was unlikely to lead to permanent damage, and as long as it was unlikely to be referred to either the Staff or the victim’s parents in the light of confessions received.

“No, Thompson, thank you, Thompson.” Nigel also knew the rules: he could get relief from his torment as long as he didn’t mind running the risk of getting suspended from school or getting killed by either of his parents.

Thompson continued with another overhand knot where it would come well below Nigel’s elbows. He knew tying ropes tightly around another boy’s elbows was unwise if he was to be kept bound for more than a few minutes. More loops, this time around Nigel’s forearms. brought his wrists together, palms facing inwards. Thompson even had enough rope to spare to tie the ends together above the knot securing Nigel’s elbows. That should keep them out of the way of any prying fingers, not that Nigel was likely to be unsupervised for long enough for him to make any escape attempts even if they would not already have been ill-advised.

It was probably completely unnecessary, but Thomson took another, shorter rope and made a simple column tie securing Nigel’s wrists. There was no way he could slip his arms free even without it but Thompson thought the bindings made his prisoner look better like that. He took hold of the rope between Nigel’s elbows and shook it vigorously. Nigel stood firm.

“Right, Quinn, toes and nose. You, Bartholemew, come here.” The two defaulters swapped places as Robinson prepared himself.


As Eric Robinson unravelled another neatly-hanked rope, there was a knock on the door. Thompson called the visitor in. A rather nervous-looking Luke appeared, attired in similar scarecrow gear to that which adorned Ollie, although nowhere near as relatively out-sized, but with the addition of his not exactly heavy backpack. He was obviously going to be kept running around.

“Alright, Gray, toes and nose, over there.” There was still room against the wall to accommodate Luke with his hands on his head but, unlike Gary, he required being instructed to adopt the expected posture. He was not allowed to lose his backpack first.

“Hands up, Bartholemew.” Robinson carried on. He hung the rope over Gary’s shoulders leaving the middle of the rope behind his neck. He was taking an easy, but well proven way of starting. He did use a reef knot to secure the rope behind Gary’s back. “OK, put ‘em down.” Robinson slipped each end of the rope between Gary’s arms and his torso and twined them behind his back. He pulled tight drawing his subject’s arms towards one another. Gary grunted.

“Watch it, Bartholemew.” Thompson didn’t like it when their guests objected.

“Sorry, Thompson. Won’t happen again, Thompson.” Gary though it was better to play it safe.

Robinson added another couple of rounds of rope that secured Gary’s arms closer together than he really appreciated but certainly not as close as Nigel’s had been drawn. “Awrigh’, Bartholomew?” Robinson thought he ought to check.

“Yes, Robinson.” Gary did manage not to say anything silly like, “I can take it.” There was no need to encourage his tormentor to make things any more extreme, but he did add the formal, “Thank you, Robinson,” before determining to remain silent.

Robinson tied off with another reef knot. He then shook the bindings to even out the pressure a bit. He knew that he could always use the remaining rope to tighten the bindings if necessary. As it was, Gary was bending forwards to a certain extent and his chest was certainly being thrust forwards. Eric was satisfied. He told Gary to lift his forearms and examined the amount of unused rope with which he was left. With Gary’s elbows drawn that near to each other, he decided that there was enough. He simply wound the two strands round Gary’s forearms none too tightly and tied them off. There was no way he could slip his arms out of the bindings.


“Quinn, come here.” Thompson thought it was time to take a hand again and he had selected a fairly short rope. By the time Thompson had arranged his victims to his satisfaction, Nigel was standing only about 50 centimetres in front of his fellow sufferer. That was ominous and became even more worrying as Thompson started his self-appointed task. There are several ways of tying a re-tied figure-of-eight but this time Thompson opted for the classic method. To do otherwise might have been easier but it might not have had the required effect of tying the two friends quite so closely together. He tied a loose figure-of-eight about 60 centimetres from one end of the rope and fed the end around Nigel’s neck before threading it round the prepared knot in parallel. He then tightened the re-tied knot leaving a loop round Nigel’s neck. It was loose enough round his neck not to endanger his breathing but tight enough for him not to be able to slip it over his head and it would certainly not pull tight.

A similar arrangement round Gary’s neck left the two friends unable to distance themselves from one another. Thompson looked admiringly at his work.

Alright, he had tried but Gary couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “Oh, come on, Thompson, that’s too close. How are we expected to walk like this?”

“Did you say something, Slug?”

“You know, my dear Chris, I believe he did.”

“No, I mean, please, Thompson, Robinson, we’re going to have to walk to where Robinson told us to go. We’re much too close, especially tied round our necks. Suppose we slip?”

“No, Mate, Shut-up, it could be worse.” Nigel thought it was important to take the risk of intervening; he could see that look on Thompson’s face.

“Got any of that wide “Elastopast” of yours, Eric?

“Yea, but it doesn’t make a really good - - - unless you use lots or it.”

The alarm bells were now ringing. “Or unless we stuff their noisy great big gobs first.”

“Yes, what do you suggest using; some of these bandages?” Eric indicated some of his plentiful supplies.

“Or perhaps a pair of swimming trunks?” The exchange was, of course, pure theatre but even Gary got the message by that stage. The subsequent silence was impressive.

“Right, in that case, you’d better get in a few steps of practice. Get your noses against that wall.” The two criminals moved silently to stand beside Luke. Their elbows were quite close together.


“OK, Gray, your turn. Stand there.” At least it sounded to Luke as though he was going to be “looked after” by Robinson so he moved across to face him. That Corps PT kit was probably the set with which he was issued at the start of the school year and was probably in need of replacing. The shorts were now fashionably long but nearly too tight to be seen out in and Luke, being somewhat less than slim, didn’t exactly have the figure to model the now rather tight singlet that was tucked into his shorts. Yes, Luke was obviously a growing boy.

There was a lightly-packed Bergen on the table and Robinson fitted it to Luke’s front in archetypical commando fashion. Shame it was a full-sized pack. Even though it wasn’t very heavy, Luke, being only a First-Year, had difficulty looking over the pack. Robinson seemed to approve. He tightened the straps. Luke gave up trying to see round the thing; he would just have to make do with what he could see over it.

Robinson tried positioning Luke’s hands behind him, then he tried feeding his wrists through the loops underneath his own pack. “Nah, I know. Hands by your sides and relax.” Yeah, sure Luke could do that! Robinson took both a new rope and Luke’s left hand. He halved the rope, wrapped the bight three times round Luke’s wrist and tied off the rope not forgetting to massage it firmly to even out the pressure.

“Your’e spoiling that oik.”

“Wouldn’t want him to be in too much pain and need early release, though, would I?” Luke wasn’t so convinced that Robinson was being considerate.

Robinson told Luke that he was going to cuff his wrists together in front of him and to try to cooperate. Cooperate?!! What choice did the little guy have? Once Robinson had finished securing Luke’s right wrist, he had hardly any scope for arm movement. Robinson then returned the remaining rope ends through the bight by Luke’s left wrist and tied them off. The resultant cuff between the smaller boy’s wrists even supported the pack that was impeding his vision. Thompson expressed his approval.

“Alright, Gray, go and join the other two oiks.” Luke stood beside Gary. He did try to adopt the “nose and toes” pose but even Thompson thought that was unreasonable.

“Just stand up straight, Bergen against the wall.”

“Yes, Thompson, thank you, Thompson”. Luke was learning the necessary conventions for self-preservation quite quickly. Pity he had not remembered about holding doors open for the more vindictive of his “betters”.

great story love how you explain how they are being tied up
i may have to try them out on my tug mates
looking forward to reading more

Thanks for the support, @Camguy2050, I appreciate it.