AGAMEMNON AND THE HOVEL (m/mm)

[Xtc]

AGAMEMNON AND THE HOVEL


An Old Joke

I thought I would start with a joke:


A burglar broke into a house one dark night and was determined not to show a light. As he groped his way around, he heard a voice, “Agamemnon is watching you.”

“What the. . . ,” he thought and shone his torch around.

Then he saw the parrot on her perch. “Agamemnon is watching you,” repeated the parrot.

“What!?” The burglar noticed the label on the stand of the bird’s perch. It had, “Floofuls” written on it.

“Agamemnon is watching you,” repeated the parrot.

“Floofuls? That’s a very silly name for a parrot,” said the burglar.

“Yes,” said the parrot, “And Agamenon is a bloody silly name for a rottweiler.”


OK, it’s an old one but it might explain the name of one of the characters in our story. And so . . .

TBC?

[blackbound]

I've never heard that one.

[Xtc]

AGAMEMNON AND THE HOVEL


An Introduction

It was a scorching hot weekend in August and Mum and Dad had gone to visit Dad’s father or “Pater” as Dad still jokingly called our grandfather. Granddad is the Sixth Baron Linwood, who had been taken into a posh hospital in London. He is not so much faded gentry as a blazing light in local society and was only in hospital because he damaged his knee when he tripped shooting squirrels or, “American tree rats,” as he calls them. He is a smashing old man with appalling language which my brothers and I enjoy enormously. Mum has a somewhat different opinion of that but even she loves the old boy. We live on his extensive estate. No, I mean extensive! There are woods, ponds, kitchen gardens, a trout stream, a manor house, and a number of old cottages which house his family and the estate workers. All of them had been extensively modernised except the Hovel, but more about that character in our story later.

Oh, and Granddad has a very helpful attitude of, “What the eye doesn’t see . . . ,” as far as our activities are concerned. Both Mum and Dad have a different opinion of that as well!

As I said: Mum and Dad were visiting and would probably be away for the whole weekend. They thought that, as I had already been sixteen for about six months, I would be a suitable babysitter for the Little Squits. How trusting.

Almost as soon as the dust settled on the drive as the Jag drove away, the Squits started: “Alright, tie up games!”

“Yay!”

“I’ll go and get the duffel bags.”

“Allen, you can drive.” Yes, I know I said I was only sixteen at the time but it’s private land and I have the use of a battered old Land Rover.

“Hold it, you two, remember: prisoners always wear . . .”

“Speedos!” said three voices simultaneously. As if practiced, two shell bottoms dropped to the floor simultaneously. The little buggers had obviously been prepared and who was I to deny them?

Our games usually followed the same routine with occasional variations to make things interesting. There must be something in the family genes because both the little squits insist on being tied up whenever we can find some privacy and, on the estate, privacy is fairly easy to ensure.

Within the next minute, the twins had stripped down to just their swimming costumes and their tattiest old trainers. Even we recognise that running around the woodlands barefoot is not a safe idea.

A Tour of the Cages, 1) Stephen

Steven is the mousey-haired one, he is slim and athletic and had been fourteen years old for about a month. He looks quite like our Mum. He was wearing a rather venerable pair of 2.5 cm ‘Speedos’ that were once bright red. As he entered his adolescent growth-spurt, those little things started to look even smaller on him. Surely, that will be the last game before he has to replace them?

I took a shortish rope from the duffel bag of toys that he had brought down from his wardrobe while he crossed his hands behind him. I cross-lashed his wrists quite simply; that is all that would be needed for the start of the game. He tested his bonds quickly, nodded approvingly, and settled down on a chair while I dealt with his brother.

A Tour of the Cages, 2) Colin

Colin is the chunky, much darker-haired one. He is rapidly becoming a real muscle monster. Yes, I know, they don’t even look much like brothers, let alone twins, but they are, although not identical ones. The only give-away is that both have their mother’s eyes, as do I. Colin, though, looks more like our Dad. When one of the twins is being particularly annoying to the other one, our mother will find herself asked, “Are you sure he’s yours?” That is usually followed by a clip round the ear from his twin unless he manages to duck. Colin favoured a pair of black ‘Arena’ briefs that were less brief-cut than his brother’s. He’d had to buy them quite recently due to his rapidly developing frame.

I took another rope from the duffel bag and cross-lashed Colin’s wrists behind him in as near the same way as I could to the way I had bound Stephen. He checked out his bondage, gave me an approving look, and settled down on a chair like his brother. All that was necessary before the game started was to decide on the details of the scenario.

A Tour of the Cages, 3) The Hovel

I thought I should include the Hovel as a character because it has so often dictated the sort of games we have been able to play.

As I have said, most of the estate cottages have been updated to make very comfortable homes for the family and staff but the Hovel is rather special. It is clean, has electric power and a proper flushing loo courtesy of a sceptic tank. That toilet, has, however, not been brought indoors. The track has also been updated to allow good vehicle access, especially for the ‘honey cart’ when it needs to call. Other than that, the Hovel has been kept rather basic. It has also been reserved for family use.

The surrounding native hedge provides privacy to about two hectares of scrubland and a small front garden which Mum insists is kept in the ‘cottage garden’ style. All three of us have been pressed into action to keep it so when we have been found out in certain of pour activities. It does not, however, seem to keep us out of trouble. The Hovel is well-equipped so there is seldom any need to transport much there when it is needed other, perhaps, than food and a supply of logs.

As with all the local hovels that have been recorded, ours has a single room about five metres wide and about nine metres long with quite a small door half way along one of the long sides. There is a sleeping-loft that covers about half of the space and that is accessed by a fixed ladder. It is just a large shelf with no front, rather like a hay-loft. Against the short wall under the loft is a large fireplace with a traditional black lead range. It is wood powered and has an ingle-nook at one end and a traditional fixed kettle at the other. It would have been considered indelicate to ask where the fish (and even the occasional haunch of game) came from that was often to be seen hanging in the ingle-nook. Mum had worked hard to reinstate the lustre on that range. Well, when I say Mum did it, I do seem to remember one of her sons having to put an entire day’s elbow-grease into it one Saturday. Well, it was either that or lose Land Rover privileges having driven the old banger through the front picket fence.

Water was provided by a pump outside the Hovel, by one of the short sides between the thundershed and the log-shelter.

A Tour of the Cages, 4) Agamemnon

Agamemnon: the largest rottweiler you’ve ever seen. He has the run of the estate. He is credited with discouraging unwanted visitors. He must be efficient because we are very seldom disturbed iin our adventures. Agamemnon is also a complete fraud; he is anybody’s and, especially, he is anyone’s friend who has ”Doggy Drops”. Any efficient security system who is satisfied with a couple of nipple-shaped dog-chocolates really should get himself a better agent.

Agamemnon can spoil our games when he finds a well-hidden escaped prisoner because he approaches them noisily in a determined attempt to lick them to death. And it is so good when they can’t resist even if they don’t usually have any Doggy Drops.

A Tour of the Cages, 5) Allen

Yes, that’s me or the Eighth Baron Linwood as I like to think of myself except that I really do not want anything to happen to Granddad or, on a good day, even to Dad. I am not too tall and not too strong but I am the brains of the family. Dad would agree but would allege that it didn’t say much for the rest of us. I came to understand a few years ago that, if I was going to get any privacy to follow my own agenda, I would often need to indulge the twins’ interest in being tied up before they would leave me alone. Needless to say, Grandpa Google has taught me many techniques over the past four or five years. I was hoping that the twins would leave me to my own devices more once they had their own girlfriends but it has not happened much yet. I live in hope.

Oh yes, all three of us are into on-line gaming but the twins still prefer real tie-up games and, I must admit, so do I but to a lesser extent. Other than that, Stephen is a footballer whereas Colin is a member of the local rugby team. Me, I prefer to go walking and camping out. We are all quite fit and are all skilled “outdoorsmen”.

TBC

[Xtc]

AGAMEMNON AND THE HOVEL


On With the Story

The twins sat waiting impatiently while I made my own rudimentary packing and raised the back-hatch of the old Land Rover. The twins would have been disappointed if they had been allowed to travel in the seats like normal passengers and were simply waiting to be properly accommodated.

“OK, prisoners, grab the bags.” They were used to having to transport the toy bags to the Prisoner Transport; and they dipped down to grab the duffel bags which they dragged behind them out to the motor. I locked the back door and followed on.

Once I had caught them up, I lowered the small tail-gate. I had already prepared for their ‘comfort’ and pulled two strips of cloth and several shortish ropes out of one of the bags. After all, prisoners should not be allowed to know where they are going, should they? That is really only a pretence to build up the atmosphere; there is hardly a square metre of the Estate, let alone the enclosure round the Hovel, which any of us could not recognise easily at first sight, and that was where we had decided to limit the day’s game to. And they shouldn’t be allowed to run away, should they? Again, they wouldn’t try to escape so soon in the event, but our rules are not always consistent. The twins expected to be properly tied up.

“OK, Squits, up you get.” They both managed to sit on the tail-gate and shuffled back on their bums until the backs of their knees came into contact with the vehicle. Then they waited patiently(ish) for their kidnapper to do his work. I took one of the cloths and tied it round Stephen’s head so that he couldn’t see. He said that it wasn’t very effective and asked whether I wasn’t going to tape it in place. I tightened it, knotted it again in front of his face and said that any prisoner who rubbed his blindfold off would be punished for it later. That was an understood code, really, and the prisoner who had been told that could decide whether it was worth taking the chance or not. Stephen seemed happy with that answer and lifted his ankles to be tied.

Just a few rounds of single rope were enough for the time being but I did have the decency to make a better job of it by cinching the rope off between his ankles afterwards. “OK, Prisoner?”

“No gag?” Stephen always considers that he has not been tied up properly until he has been gagged but I pointed out that gagging could come later IF I manged to catch him. That sounds counter-productive but all things will become clear in good time. I grabbed the prisoner under the armpits and shoved him backwards. He wriggled cooperatively until his bound feet were clear of the tail-gate.

Colin got his turn and was soon bound hand and foot and blindfolded and lying next to his brother. The twins had almost certainly noticed that I had taken more than just two strips of cloth out of the duffel bag but they knew I would never use those cable-ties directly against their flesh because they hurt after a very short while. Well, not unless they had been very naughty! I told the prisoners to wriggle until they were face-to-face. They did so and I pulled them around a bit until their feet were very close together. A large cable-tie soon had the twins’ ankles secured not very far apart.

I climbed into the old 4 x 4 and shoved the twins until they were closely chest to chest. Of course, they could have resisted but that was hardly the point. Was it? I took a compression strap that was long enough to encircle both captives twice from one of the duffel bags (Prisoners are NOT supposed to giggle when their kidnapper is trying to tie them together!) and, after some time, I managed to pull it tight. I ran my hands round the inside to the strap and tightened it some more. That left the twins with no way of separating their groins from one another. I made some stupid remark about not enjoying themselves too much but I knew it would be water of a pair of ducks’ backs.

I thought I should reassure them that I had not forgotten them as I jumped down from the Range Rover and fished around in one of the duffel bags for one more item. The twins wriggled amusingly in a vain attempt to get comfortable but without making any sensible attempt to escape. I would not be able to use the next technique for much longer as Stephen was staring to spring upwards whereas Colin was filling out more. I reckoned their heights would soon be too disparate for what I wanted, not for the first time, to do. I would miss that facility but I considered, correctly, that it was not too late yet.

Neither prisoner could see what was about to happen to him but two things would allow them both to make good guesses: that tearing sound and the fact that I often tape them together quite lightly if it is only going to be for a short time. “OK, Girlies, wave ta-ta’s to that neck-hair.” I only wrapped three layers around them after they had manoeuvred their chins to rest on the other one’s right shoulder. Like I said: they were used to it and gaffer tape is nowhere near as vicious as certain other media I could have used.

I should, probably. have used safety straps to stop them rolling around in the back of the old banger but, for such a quick journey, I didn’t think it was worth it; I could simply leave them to roll around a bit. I did decide, though, not to take any corners too gently.

“OK, safe words.” They both gave their chosen emergency words. Such unpleasant names for their splendid older brother from ones so young, but they don’t really mean them - - - I think. Having done the safety check, I threw the three bags into the vehicle, not taking too much care about where they landed, resulting in predictable assertions concerning my legitimacy. I raised the tail-gate and fastened the back-hatch. If that seems like a lot of work for a journey of less than ten minutes duration, it was. But nothing’s too good for my brothers.

I took the keys from my pocket and set off for the Hovel.

Prisoner Transport

I didn’t exactly take the quick route to the site of our game but thought I would take the opportunity to shake the little squits round a bit. The back of the Land Rover doesn’t exactly have soft surfaces but I thought that they were unlikely to do them much harm. The protests came thick and fast as I simply replied, “Sorry, prisoners, but I’ve got my ear-buds in, can’t hear you.” Alright, so that wasn’t exactly true so I followed up with, “Maybe your evil kidnapper is taking you somewhere you don’t know.” They didn’t sound convinced.

After about twenty minutes, I pulled up outside the Hovel. I disembarked and opened up the back. I was greeted with some very un-fraternal language. I knew how to deal with that. “Safe words?” You know, I don’t remember “Bastard” being among them but, having got that out of their systems, they calmed down almost immediately. It was all part of the game, really.

“’Right, lads?” They both admitted that they were but their dignity had been threatened to some extent. You know when you see those pictures of tie-up games? The victims look almost statuesque, don’t they? These two didn’t! As they flexed their legs, they had become interleaved in a manner that might have caused embarrassment. Never mind, they were used to being embarrassed by their big brother and, indeed, by each other; I consider it to be justified retaliation and, as I said, it’s all just part of the game and they can always pull out any time they want to.

I left them where they were as I collected a very sharp knife from the glove compartment. It’s not the sort of item that it would be a good idea for the police to find, but I can’t drive off the estate yet and our folks know that the three of us use it for camping purposes. I would lose more than Land Rover privileges if I ever took it off the Estate. Having collected the knife, I dragged the prisoners’ feet over the edge of the tail-gate. Their combined weight was starting to be a bit more difficult to deal with but, let’s face it: they were being cooperative. I gave my brothers the traditional warning about keeping very still. because lots of blood would be the end of our games.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Get on with it.”

“Don’t teach granny to suck eggs.”

I cut the cable tie between their ankles with one cut and the prisoners tried to move their legs out of each other’s way. The compression strap round their waists negated that attempt to a considerable extent. I thought I would leave that in place until I had cut the tape capturing their necks. I positioned the knife. “Ready?” Without nodding, even to the extent that they could, (they were used to this) they assured me that they were. I made one cut and helped them to roll over. One more cut and all that joined them was the compression strap. There were two exaggerated sighs of relief as I released the strap but the twins knew there was more tying to come once their ankles had been freed.

OK, the first competitive game we played is an easy one: the prisoners ”escape” and hide and the first one that is caught loses the game with certain consequences but with “rewards” for the winner. The only problem is that, when we played the game originally, it could take me forever to find either of them so, a handicap was devised whereby they had to confine their escape attempt to the immediate surrounds of the Hovel. The prisoners would know that I would have to dump the bags and pull the Land Rover a few metres further along the way to get it off the track before starting the hunt. I would not be able to see the direction in which they departed from the gate. The twins sat on the tail-gate waiting.

TBC

[blackbound]

There's really nothing quite like some brotherly fun in the fresh air. Looking forward to what will transpire!

[Werdify]

You have done it yet again, this is clearly a masterpiece in the making. Thank you for another incredible addition to the xtc universe

[Xtc]

Thank you, @Werdify, that is very encouraging.

I must agree, @blackbound, I wonder if the little ones are hypocritical enough to store up some "revenge".

[Xtc]

AGAMEMNON AND THE HOVEL


The Prisoners Escape

I untied Stephen’s ankles before using the rope to cuff them about thirty centimetres apart. He would still be able to escape but would not be able to get too far before I came after him. Colin was treated in exactly the same way and I told the prisoners to roll over so that I could check their wrist bindings. As usual, they had made no attempt to escape before the start of the game. I unlatched the gate to the Hovel and returned to the prisoners. I pulled them out of the motor and helped them stabilise before pulling their blindfolds off as nearlv simultaneously as I could. The prisoners made their, not very fast, get-away.

I pulled off the track and returned to collect the bags, unlocked the front (and only) door to the Hovel and stowed the bags safely before locking up gain. I strapped my small back-pack of necessary supplies on my shoulders and was ready to go. Needless to say, I worked as quicky as I could but the prisoners were out of sight before I could go in pursuit.

I had to go round to the back of the hovel and make a guess which way one of my brothers might have gone. Stopping to look round, I could see neither of them. I made a guess as to how far they might have gone and jogged away from our HQ before turning and taking a careful look round. Still no sight so it was probable that they had gone to earth already. I took a moment to stop and listen. Oh, rough grassland and trees, I love you. Hey-fever, I love you too. Someone had forgotten to take his remedy that morning. I started working my way in a zig-zag back towards the Hovel. There was more sneezing. I headed towards an ancient beech tree that had recently started doing what all ancient beech trees do eventually. It had dropped a further mighty bough to join two vast branches that had already fallen. One of the little squits had worked his way over the most recent fallen bough and into a handy refuge formed by the previous debris. I ducked into the tight void, just about made out the sight of Stephen doing his best imitate a pile of leaves, and drew my weapon.

One Down, One to Go

The water-pistol I favour to immobilise escaped prisoners seems unbreakable, slips easily into my belt and has an accurate range of nearly five metres. It is the very nuke of the water-pistol arsenal. Stephen was a dead man or, at least, once I had hit him, he had to play dead for five minutes. I hit him. He swore mildly. Ever since I have taken to using dyed water, there has been no doubt about the accuracy of the hydro-shock device. I now had to retrieve my trophy; not as easy as you might think in a tight space and with a ‘dead’ fugitive. I can’t have it both ways and Stephen, although he could not resist, was unlikely to help in any way. The hydro-shock, as I have said, only lasts five minutes.

It must have taken me most of the five minutes to drag my quarry into a space where I might have room to work. His wrists were still securely fastened so all I really had to do was bind his ankles to prevent his escape. Well, that’s all I needed to do but I think Stephen would have been mighty disappointed if that was all I did. I released the rope cuff between his ankles and used the rope to retie his ankles so that they were crossed. That doesn’t hold particularly well but it makes it very difficult for a prisoner to stand without support and he wasn’t going to be left so lightly bound after not too long.

Just in case he decided to try to work on his wrists, I had most of a roll of that shiny packing tape with me. I considered that about five layers round his upper arms and torso would immobilise his arms sufficiently until I could give him more than cursory attention. The stunned prisoner started to come round from his shock. I thought I was only just in time. Two bits of fabric brought a bit of a smile to his face; at last, a gag. I tied a bulky knot in the middle of what was a strip torn from an old sheet. Stephen opened wide. I tied the gag as tightly as I could behind his neck before tying a second knot to secure it. I knew the little gag-freak wouldn’t be satisfied with that so I had made sure the fabric strip was long enough to tie once more in his mouth. “OK now?” Stephen nodded his head. I knew the extra knot would not stop him trying to remove the gag by that stage of the game so I made good use of that packing tape to reinforce the work so far. Yes, I know I’m an old softy but I did keep that tape over the cloth at the back of his head as best as I could, I could obviously not do so at the front.

I used the other cloth strip to blindfold Stephen but I didn’t bother taping over it. I gave his arms a bit of a shake and was reasonably satisfied with their security. “Ready, Squirt?” Following an affirmative nod, I lifted him under his arms, leaned him against the ruinous ash tree before shouldering him over my right shoulder. I was thinking that I wouldn’t be able to do that so easily for much longer but, all the while I could, I jogged gently the short distance towards the Hovel.

A sort or rhythmic snorting escaped mainly from my brother’s nose. It coordinated with my steps. It wasn’t long before Stephen started wriggling. Isn’t it difficult to get a decent swat to the backside of an annoying little squit who’s draped over your shoulder? “Stop wriggling!”

“Mmmnnn!” I pretended that I was about to drop him. “Mnnnnn!”

“Stop wriggling?” And I gave him another welt to his backside.

“Mnn.” I couldn’t see it but I think Stephen nodded his head. The rhythmic cross between a grunt and a snort resumed.

It took only a couple of minutes before I carried my burden round to the front of the Hovel and propped him up against the wall. I took the key from my pocket and opened the door. Time for a touch of revenge for all that wriggling. I don’t know how many times I have done that, but it’s a coconut every time. You know I had tied his ankles across one another. Well, they were still crossed but he could stand all the while he was resting against the cobb wall. I gave him a little shove on his left shoulder. What did he do? Yup, that’s it: tried to push on his right leg to stop himself toppling. As I say: works every time, get a friend and try it out some time. I did catch him before any accidental damage could be done. I don’t think the sound was alarm or outrage but, more probably, the sound of one who had been suckered again.

I lifted my quarry under the armpits (Don’t worry, I wiped my hands in his hair afterwards.) and hopped him backwards into the Hovel, leaving him rested against the 150 mm square wooden column that supported the sleeping loft and carried on up to the rafters. That post has been so useful in our games over the years. Stephen gradually allowed himself to slide down the post until he was sitting cross—legged on the boarded section of the floor.

You might think that, by being captured first, Stephen had won the game and was about to rewarded by a prolonged tie-up but, over time, the rules have been adapted. Yes, he was about to be tied more securely but, once I had brought his brother in, he would be released and have to be the domestic slave for the next few hours. Unless he could escape, that is, because, of course, an escaped prisoner would have to be tied even more securely. In that case, guess who would have to perform the forthcoming domestic duties. Fine judgement was called for on both parties.

I made a further check on Stephen’s well-being; he looked secure but there was no undue reddening near his ropes and he refused the opportunity to use a safe-word. A nod (or, in this case, a shake of the head) is as good as a wink to a blind horse, as they say. So, I thought I would try something a bit different from the usual routine, which would have involved Stephen being bound round his chest to the wooden pillar. The tape round his arms would have made that quite difficult in any case so, just as added insurance, I wound a few more layers round his forearms and abdomen thus immobilising them even further.

As a finishing touch, I located the middle of another shortish rope and tied a blood byte about 60 centimetres from it without tightening the knot. The resultant loop was big enough to fit over Stephen’s head but, once it had been adjusted carefully, would not be big enough for it to slip off again. Neither would the knot tighten round his neck – although, it was tempting. I made a guess as to where it would be possible to position my prisoner’s head and tied an overhand knot in both strands of the rope. I separated the free ends and passed one above and one below his crossed ankles before tying them together and pulling quite hard. I was so glad I had gagged him, I’m sure that those words that I could nearly discern would have made the birdies blush. As I pulled, Stephen’s ankles became trapped and his neck was drawn towards his ankles.

I suppose I could have just left him there, with his shoulders hunched and unable to raise his head but there was still quite a lot of rope left and it would have looked untidy if I had merely left it, wouldn’t it? A further couple of circuits binding his ankles left enough to tie a few circuits around the vertical cords. That looked better although one of us didn’t seem to agree. While I was down there, I was forced to experience the ‘scent’ rising form those tatty old trainers. They must have been bad enough at the start of the day but, having been worn without socks for several hours on a warm day, they didn’t so much hum as sang the National Anthem complete with drum-roll. I considered retaliation to be necessary.

I pulled the nasty old shoe off of one of his feet and, working as far from my nose as I could, I unthreaded the long trainer-lace and withdrew the tongue as far out of the body of the shoe as possible. I did not bother to check the quality of the internal fragrance personally but I did use Stephen’s nose as a test-bed. The order of operations became important if the little squit was not to avoid paying the price for generating atomic levels of offensive atmospheric contamination. He must have been able to guess what was about to happen and was certainly used to having to suffer for his lack of consideration. Things needed careful preparation and, once prepared, speed was of the essence.

I took the disgusting old trainer and what was left on the roll of tape and moved to be behind Stephen. Needless to say, he leaned as far forward as possible. I pressed down on his shoulders with my knees while I attached the sole of the poisonous garment to as much as I thought it was safe to free from the roll. Stephen’s obvious ploy of shaking his head from side to side was his usual one and it is difficult to combat without help. Timing was essential. I held the trainer in my right hand and held the freed tape taught with my left. I had one chance.

Then I struck. I clamped the trainer, toe up, on the front of his face and managed to wrap the tape almost round to his right ear before he could resist. His head kept shaking, leaving the roll of tape not far from his nose. Binding the shoe to his face from then on was somewhat arbitrary but, with enough tape freed, enough adhered to do the job. There must have been about ten layers anchoring the shoe in place, not neat layers but they did cover most of sole of the trainer from heel to the wide part of the sole. It would take some shaking to remove that bad boy. Obviously, I had abandoned all attempts not to trap Stephen’s hair with the tape; security was the much more important consideration and, besides, it would help to secure his blindfold.

By now, Stephen was making real efforts to remove the filter that was contaminating the atmosphere that he was being forced to breathe. I was enjoying watching his efforts but decided against securing the manky old trainer more heavily; let him enjoy himself, he would be safe enough. However, perhaps some of his increasingly muffled objections might have been serious. I thought I should check. We all know now, the best way of dealing with complaints from an unhappy customer: “Safe word?”

A disgusted snort didn’t count, especially when it was accompanied by a frantic shaking of Stephen’s bowed head. I suspect that, one day, I’ll get him to give the safe-word but even I could not be that nasty as to force it. I have often wondered how extreme I would have to be before he surrendered without having tried to escape.

So, having done as much as I ever do to ensure Stephen’s safety, I went on the hunt again.

TBC

[blackbound]

The perils of trying to game the game. I think the punishment fits the crime!

[Xtc]

I strongly suspect that there is a feature of this particular tie-up of which Stephen approves less than he does of others.

[Xtc]

AGAMEMNON AND THE HOVEL


Colin Brings a Friend Home

Now that he had won the competition, you might think that the easiest way of locating Colin was to call out that Stephen had been captured and that I would come and get him. I suspect that some readers might even suspect why that wouldn’t work. Yep, in the past, before the rules had been moderated to give me more of a chance of locating the escaped prisoners, I cheated (says he without shame). We had not restricted the playing area to the environs of the Hovel by then and the escapees had not been hobbled. I had spent about an hour searching and not a dicky-bird. Fortunately, I had gagged both the twins quite effectively at the outset, a practice that we have since decided to be unsafe. I simply went round the area shouting that Stephen could come out of hiding because Colin had been captured. Worked a treat. Stephen stood up and moved to where I could see him. Colin was not exactly in a state to disabuse him. I paraded a blindfolded and newly un-gagged Stephen around the surrounding Estate until Colin knew it was safe to reveal himself. He also knew how treacherous his oldest brother was – that must have come as quite a surprise to him.

OK, back to the story.

So, I still had one escaped prisoner to find and inform him that he had won the extended tie-up while his bother waited on us hand and foot. First, I tried the thundershed and the log store; it wouldn’t be the first time that one of the little sweethearts had tried doubling back and hiding near our base. No sign but, glory of glories: I had already been blessed with good luck when capturing Stephen and now my ears detected a very welcome sound indeed. All I had to do was wait. So, I retired to the Hovel and bided my time.

The desultory barking dissolved into a concerted concerto of happy recognition and, not obvious until I had neared the source, the yipping, snuffling and snorting as Agamemnon paid his compliments to my little brother. I was in no hurry. After all, who was I to deny our treasured family dog his pleasure? By the time I had come within visual range of Colin, he was just about ready to be rescued from the exacting tongue-bath to which he had been subjected for some minutes.

“Col. mate, stop provoking that poor dog.” Agamemnon immediately abandoned the helpless centre of his attention and bounded up to me. At full pelt, a full-grown rottie has been known to topple the object of his attention and affection so I braced myself. At least on this occasion I did not have to try to unseat him as I lay on the ground. You wouldn’t have thought one dog would have enough slobber to be able to bestow it so generously upon two of his best friends ever, would you? Well, this was a BIG dog!

“OK, Aggy, down boy. Down.” I’m sure he looked disappointed but, as a well-trained dog (Sometimes!), he did what he was told. It wouldn’t take much, though, for him to demonstrate his affection for his friends once more.

“Christ, Col., you look like you’ve just taken a shower in shit.” Colin had enough dirt and detritus adhering to his helplessly bound body to pass for an over-sized caddis-fly larva. “Pity we’ve not got a shower, init?”

“OK, come on, just get me away from the Beast of Bodmin over there and get me safely tied up back at base.” I picked up a nearby stick and threw it. Agamemnon took his cue and retrieved it while I untied Colin’s ankles. All the while our faithful family dog was sitting with the stick in his mouth waiting for it to be thrown again, we were both safe from molestation – as long as Aggy wasn’t kept waiting for too long. The cue would be when he relinquished the stick by dropping it next to where I was kneeling. Luck was still with me - and Colin - and I only had to throw the stick twice more before Colin stood up.

“OK, Aggie, home, Boy.” I threw the stick, Agamemnon retrieved it and trotted along as the three of us headed towards the Hovel.

Rewards and Penalties

Not that we’d ever discussed it in so many words, but I reckon Colin missed being carried off over the shoulder of his cruel abductor but he had simply become too heavy to carry too far like that in safety. I simply gave him the odd boot up the bum to assure him that I still cared for him.

Well before we arrived at the Hovel door, I believed that Agamemnon’s super-power had manifested itself: an olfactory sense whose range seems to know no limits but, as Mum was not at home, he could surely not have smelt lunch being prepared in our house so on second thoughts I guessed he must have simply known what she would normally have been doing at that time of day. Whatever: he barked happily, just twice, and made off for where he believed he would stand a better chance of enjoying some tastier scraps than he would get at the Hovel and he could always return when the cadet branch of the family was more likely to be dining.

That would make life much easier for all three brothers for at least a couple of hours – or until Aggy became bored, whichever was the sooner. I took to prodding my prisoner in the bum with the throwing stick much to his discomfiture but, as I said before, he could pull out whenever he wanted. I do wish he would expand his range of expletives, though. Serve me right for not gagging him.

We entered the Hovel and found a, still tightly-bound, Stephen waiting for us. He had obviously been enjoying a bit of a roll around the boarded half of the floor. He had certainly worked up a sweat but that offensive trainer had hardly shifted at all. I would have to remember that way of binding him although he did confess later that, if I had pulled his head any closer to his ankles, he would have been forced to use his safe-word – or at least grunt the SOS signal.

I returned Stephen to be the right way up and told him that, because Colin won the extended tie-up, he would have to wait for a few minutes while I secured his twin in the manner he had earned. He didn’t object. Or not as far as I could tell in any case.

I turned my attention to the winner who was already waiting impatiently to be comfortably (or otherwise) secured. Sometimes I would have given the winner the choice of the way he should be bound but not today so I pulled two more fabric strips from my backpack and rolled one of them quite tightly. “OK, prisoner, open up.” It was a tight fit but the wad was soon lodged as deeply in Colin’s mouth as could be manged without choking him. He didn’t even try expelling it while I tied a fair-sized knot in the middle of the other strip and secured the packing in place. I held a new roll of packing tape in front of his face. “OK, Colin?” Silly question; as long as he wasn’t gagging, he was happy. He simply nodded.

That shiny brown tape never makes a very tidy job, even with a cooperative prisoner because it is too fond of trying to adhere its sticky surface to itself as one works. However, I soon had Colin muzzled from his nose to his chin. Then he tried out his jaw movement. He looked cross and I could take a hint. I grabbed his cap from where he always left it in the Hovel and put it on his head, peak forwards; he never wore it like that. It would go some way to protecting his hair as I wound about six layers of tape tightly between the underside of his chin and the top of his head. Now he could hardly manoeuvre his jaw usefully at all. “That better, Diddle-o?” Colin nodded appreciatively.

Perhaps I should have planned the securing of the winner already but, you know me, gagging him gave me at least a short time to think. So did the time I took to blindfold him simply with several layers of packing tape; let’s face it: there was not much hair left showing to need protection.

By then, I’d had an idea. We always keep the Hovel provisioned for stay-overs, even the adults use it sometimes to get away from us. I can’t think why. That included canned food, tools and bedding. It was a very warm day and I felt like making Colin suffer. Wearing just a pair of speedos (and a pair of trainers that was equally as rank as his twin’s) was much too comfortable.

I started at his ankles, which I taped securely before turning him over onto his face and sitting on his thighs. He didn’t resist as I lifted his feet. I took the opportunity to rip the trainers from his feet and to throw the vile objects out of the open door. I think Colin tried to object.

I saw no reason why Stephen should sit comfortably doing nothing so I dragged him over beside his twin and then turned Colin over and swung his ankles round and lodged them high on his neck. Stephen needed no threats; he simply knew he had to behave if he didn’t want his loser’s penalty to be extended. It was just part of our understanding. I pushed Colin’s knees down until his legs were straight; he could guess what was about to happen. I was glad to have brought another new roll of wide packing tape.

A few layers of tape round Colin’s legs above his knees and a few more below them left his legs secured more than sufficiently so I added a few more layers round his calves and even a few more round his thighs. His legs were very close to being mummified.

Once I had pulled Colin into a sitting position, it must have been very uncomfortable when he flexed his developing leg muscles, he certainly tried to keep his legs straight. I checked the security of his wrists, they were still fairly secure and, after a binding of tape round his upper arms and torso and a few more layers round his forearms and abdomen, they would be going nowhere for quite some time. I lowered Colin’s torso to the floor and asked him not to miss me too much while I went to get something.

Colin wriggled like a fortune-telling fish while I took a few seconds to rock Stephen onto the small of his back so that I could apply a surprise tickle to his unprotected foot. It always surprises me how much a tightly bound prisoner can move when trying to avoid torture. I let go of his foot and spun him round. I pretended that he was saying, “Thank you.” I thought it would be safer to return him to a sitting posture before departing for a minute or so.

As I returned from the sleeping platform, Colin was taking full advantage of not having been tethered to anything. “Oh look, it’s a maggot, perhaps I’d better stamp on it.” Poor Colin was soon pinned to the floor with my foot on his back. “Going to behave?” A quick grind of my heel into the small of his back elicited the correct response. Colin stayed face down on the floor while I completed the preparations. Let’s face it: the game was consensual and he would want to be subjected to a “proper tie-up” that he knew he could make much more difficult for me to complete if he really wanted to.

I tried to work quietly as I carefully laid out a soft, patterned blanket on the floor beside Colin. There was just about enough room for the next manoeuvre. Almost as soon as I had started it, he must have figured out what was about to happen. I rolled him onto the blanket and started to make a Colin sausage roll. Once again, he could have made it more difficult for me but with very little effect and he was soon swaddled in the fabric with his head protruding from one end of the wrapping. “OK, Maggot?” The sausage roll nodded. Now I had a decision to make: Obviously, I had to secure my brother in his cocoon but should I go further? Silly question. I opened the sleeping bag that I had brought down from the loft. At least the blanket would help to keep it clean.

Having folded the excess fabric up from his feet, I carefully lodged Colin’s hidden extremities into the foot of the sleeping bag. Fortunately, it was only the sort of bag that was suitable for indoor camping so there was plenty of room. I would probably have to tighten it up a bit later. I zipped the bag up and slipped Colin’s head into the hood. Once I had tied the drawstring, all that was showing of my maggot brother was his nose where it protruded from the packing tape and the peak of his cap. I straddled the well-packed sleeping bag and assured Colin that I was, “Just checking.” Once he started wriggling more desperately, I released his nose. “Seems to be OK.” Colin grunted in disgust.

I just rolled Stephen out of the way to make room for the maggot as I dragged it towards that vertical pillar that had not accommodated him earlier on. The sleeping bag would not need much securing, having been quite comprehensively filled but I told Colin that I thought I should provide him with a safety belt – or two. I presume that the grunt indicated approval but thought that I should check. “Safe word?” The head of the maggot shook from side to side several times. “OK, Col., show me the emergency signal.” Nine muffled, but distinct grunts signalled SOS. “Good man.” And I gave him three gentle pats on what little was showing of his cheek.

More rope was required but, let’s face it, we had packed lots. I made my best guess where Colin’s feet were and tied a rope several times round where I supposed his shins were. I used the free ends of that rope to secure the maggot to the pillar. I know that, with all that blanket, it might not have been very secure but he needed something that he had a chance of removing in his struggles. The hood made tying round his shoulders completely unnecessary but I told myself that he would appreciate the feeling of being further secured. The same went for the rope around his legs and the other one somewhere probably round his abdomen. I took one or two photos of “Colin the Caterpillar” on my phone to show him later.

Having awarded the winner’s prize to Colin, I turned my attention to the loser. I thought one or two photos would be in order before releasing him. I thought that some of the poses were quite artistic in spite of his almost complete immobility. The one of him on his back with his bare foot being ticked wasn’t exactly a masterpiece but the head-down one with his arse in the air looked quite spectacular. His attempted protestations as he got a couple of little swats were quite sweet, really, they were so pathetic.

“OK, mate, that’s enough enjoying yourself. Time to get on with the slaving.” I don’t know whether that wheezing noise was one of relief or one of despair. I rocked him onto his back to give me easier access to the rope drawing him into the extreme crouched position and it took less than a minute to remove it completely resulting in an instant unravelling of Stephen. I gave him a minute. “OK, mate?”

Stephen lay there breathing heavily through his nose. I do hope he was still enjoying the fragrant filter that was still effectively in place. As he lay relaxing a bit, I tried to figure out what was the least I could do to allow him to complete untying himself. It didn’t take too long to decide that I would do better to undo everything other than what was binding his feet and all that tape round his head. I went for the scissors.

The tape round Stephen’s arms soon littered the floor, (He could tidy that up later.) and I untied his wrists. Having checked that he was OK to carry on, I placed the scissors in his hands. He could now either use them or scrabble round to find the ends of the tape. “I told you not to bite your fingernails.” Then I went to watch the entertainment as my twin brothers struggled.

It took Stephen a good half hour to deal with all the tape and, all the while he was determined to strip it from his face without use of the scissors, at least I wouldn’t be offended by what was obviously bad language until the final stage as he pulled the stuffing from his mouth.

“OK, Loser, hot water and firewood. – Oh, and tidy up all that crap.” I indicated the tape that adorned the floor. He understood my predictable demands but I might need to explain them to any readers who are unfamiliar with the Hovel.

TBC

[blackbound]

Ah, older brothers tormenting their willing younger twin brothers... what could be better?

Great idea to incorporate the treasonous dog.

[Xtc]

He's not treaonous. He's merely pleased to meet his friends. Now, if anybody is prepared to bribe him with food, he could well take sides,

[Xtc]

AGAMEMNON AND THE HOVEL


Domestic Architecture

Half of the Hovel floor is tiled; Granddad had decided that it would be safer all the while we used that wonderful old range that was safely installed in the brick wall at one end of the Hovel. It is a wood-burning combination of water heater, hob and even oven, a real survivor from the early 20th century. At one end is an oven and at the other is what I am told is called a kettle. It has a brass tap that we have to remember gets hot before we use it! It needs to be filled from a bucket and we learnt long ago that it is not a good idea to fill the thing completely if we want hot water inside a couple of hours. The black leaded grille can accommodate either two sizeable pots or that huge frying pan that we use so often. There is an ingle-nook at one side that allows us to enjoy smoked trout, smoked venison (Them as asks no questions . . .) and even home-cured bacon. To the right-hand side is a large recess for the storage of dry logs. Pine logs smell wonderful but hardwood (. . . isn’t told no lies.) is better for cooking.

We are proud of that old range and have had to put a lot of work into restoring it because Granddad made it quite clear that, if we were to be allowed to use the Hovel unsupervised, then we had better help maintain it.

Just to the far side of the door from the square vertical column is the stair up to the loft. It has flat open steps and a hand-rail nearest the door. The bottom reaches about one and a half metres from the end wall opposite the range. There is one small window in the same wall as the door. It is a bit dingy.

Right, so, long story short; Stephen would have to pour a bucket of water into the kettle and make enough kindling and firewood to replenish what we were about to use. He went outside almost glad to start his task. One: he drew a bucket of water from the pump which he simply pored over himself before drawing another partial one and pouring it into the kettle from the ancient leather bucket (As a family, we have collected all sorts of traditional implements over the years.) Two: the job any teenager loves, using an axe. Not a normal axe but a bill hook (pronounced “bill ’ook to rhyme with pillock). It is easy to keep sharp using a whetstone and an oil-stone and being a well-balanced tool is very easy to use; the pointed end of the hook is useful to pick up the logs that need a bit of reducing. Granddad, and subsequently Dad, had made sure that we knew exactly how to use it safely. We had even been instructed on the safe way to reduce Pine logs, layer by layer, using a very sharp knife, for kindling or what Granddad insisted on calling “spills”. He always used them to light his roll-ups and that smelly old pipe from the range. Gran stopped him from smoking at home years ago and Mum banned smoking in the Hovel a few years later. He sometimes wondered about his place in the pecking order.

So, both the twins were quite happy with their lots and, once I had got the range fired up, I could just sit outside the Hovel doing nothing and convincing myself that I was supervising Stephen. We chatted idly about many things, among them why, although prisoners had to wear speedos, we had never devised a costume suitable for slaves. Stephen didn’t appreciate my last suggestion: that breechcloth was not only insecure but the sacking that it was made of made his bits itch.

A Lazy Afternoon

Colin didn’t get much say about our plans for the rest of the day but he could always, “Mmmmfff,” to attract our attention and nod or shake his head at any controversial suggestions. Well, it gave the poor lad the impression that his opinion mattered. What it boiled down to was that we had better be home well before our folks were likely to return from the hospital and that we had better feed Aggy even before that.

So, lunch it was – for two of us in any case. Colin knew better than to expect to be fed unless he wanted to be prematurely released and we all knew better than that. Tea was brewed, burgers were flipped and more biscuits were devoured than you would believe that any pair of youths could manage in the time. I made a note to ask Mum to replace the supplies; it wouldn’t do to go hungry next time. Would it?

There was even time after lunch (and after Stephen had done the washing up) to tie the slave up again. By then, Colin was no longer in contact with the vertical column so, with its being vacant, I thought we should use it.

“OK, slave, get ‘em off.”

“What? These?” Stephen, open-mouthed, pointed to his swim-briefs with both hands.

“No, Divvy, those stinky trainers.” Stephen had replaced the missing one before using the axe but I really did NOT want them anywhere near me. At least I was out of the Hovel looking for his brother for most of the time he was enjoying their aroma previously. He wrenched them off his feet and, at my insistence, threw them both out of the still-open door.

I sorted out a few ropes. As far as Stephen was concerned, it was worth it even for about an hour and a half while his twin rolled around trying to free himself and, presumably, swearing copiously in frustration. Of course, getting tied up was the main purpose of the event but struggling to free oneself was an important part of it as well. Colin had slipped the rope from round his feet and the one from round his shoulders but had not got much further. He did seem to be enjoying the struggle, though, as he bounced off various items of furniture in the Hovel.

“OK, over here.” I tapped the pillar and Stephen approached it and hugged it. “Sit down first.” I had often wished that the Hovel had been built round a cylindrical support but experience had taught Stephen that hugging it on the diagonal would be more comfortable than facing one of the flat surfaces. There is a thesis there concerning the implications of both aspects but I shall not embark upon it here. Stephen sat and, without being asked, stretched his legs on either side of the post and hugged it with both arms. There was plenty of space to cross-lash his wrists with very little resultant stress and his ankles likewise. They were simple ties but getting this job done quickly would give him more time to enjoy trying to escape. If he could manage to do so, he would be owed, as an escaped prisoner, a more secure tie-up at our next opportunity to play.

“OK?”

“Nah.” Now, that was unusual.

“Wha’s up?”

“Wha’ d’ you fink?” I was obviously slow on the uptake. “I’n’t i’ a bi’ noisy in ‘ere?” He always spoke like that when he was pissed-off – as long as Mum couldn’t hear him.

“Ah, OK, I suppose you’ve earnt it. Hang on.” I thought I had something that would do the job efficiently even if it was a bit too long.

I went outside and collected both Agamemnon’s catching-stick/Colin-goad and the knife that had recently split small pine logs into even thinner slices. Stephen looked surprised. I stamped on the stick having supported it on the hearth so breaking it in half. “Hang on, mate, that’s Aggy’s stick.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’ll mind.”

“But it’s been in the dog’s mouth.”

“Yes - - - And?”

“Bastard!”

“Safe word?” I could see Stephen considering it but I didn’t leave him too long until I started stripping the bark into the range. “Better?” Stephen snorted, nodded once and opened his mouth. “OK, hold on a sec.” I went just outside the door and picked up one of Stephen’s battered old trainers. It’s really quite difficult stripping such a long a lace from a shoe while trying to keep it at arm’s length.

Upon my return, Stephen was still enjoying the taste of a freshly stripped stick even though it poked out for quite a distance either side of his mouth. “Give.” Stephen relinquished what was obviously going to be a novel gag. I draped the shoe lace round his neck and collected another (clean) fabric strip from a rucksack. I wrapped it about six times, knotting it with each turn, round the centre of the stick and pushed the knots together. The sharp knife made short work of the loose ends of the fabric.

I presented the resultant artifact to Stephen’s mouth. He took it in and bit down, not that he had much scope for jaw movement. I set to work by slipping a clove hitch round one end of the stick and pushing it towards Stephen’s cheek before tightening it. That left two long free ends for me to pass behind his neck and to tie round the stick on the opposite side from the clove hitch as near to his right cheek as possible. There was no need to pull the knot too tight as a few turns around both strands soon tightened it up.

“Safe word?” I thought that what I had done might be too much for even that little gag-freak.

“Xxx x-x-x!” I think that what he said would have sounded like a Russian name without the gag in place but it certainly wasn’t the safe word or the SOS signal. I thought I would keep an even more careful eye than usual on him, though.

“OK, enjoy - - - and no humping that post.” I scruffed his hair and did a bit of tidying up while the twins enjoyed their confinement. It was only then I thought that it would have been less painful to have used yet another of our fabric strips to secure the stick in place. Oh well.

TBC

[blackbound]

It all sounds like a healthy mix between the traditional (is that an Aga oven?) and the inventive (new frontiers in gag tech). Looking forward to what else the day holds in store for the boys.

[Xtc]

No, not an Aga: much more primitive! It is largely a grill with a hot chamber at each end.

[Xtc]

OK, last part of this little tale coming up.

[Xtc]

AGAMEMNON AND THE HOVEL


Stephen’s “Bonus Time”

Time wore on and I needed to become topless as the range did its work. Colin managed to dislodge most of the ropes confining him but that was all. Stephen even gave up trying to force the gag out of his mouth by pushing it against the post but he had nearly managed to slip one of his wrists out of the ropes securing his arms round the post. I told him that there was still enough time for him to pay for trying to escape. He wasn’t as happy about that as he would have been if he’d actually managed to free himself. OK, so I wasn’t really allowed within the rules to do what I did next but, you know . . . And besides, who was he going to complain to?

I pulled his wrist back into place and massaged the bindings a bit to counteract his nearly successful escape regime. He did not wish me a happy birthday but that’s water of a duck’s back. If I thought he really meant it, I might have considered releasing him. Yes, I might have but . . . In the circumstances, I went for a small foot-stool that Mum uses to make herself comfortable having drawn her chair up in front of the range. As I brought it up towards him, his language deteriorated noticeably. What a good job I couldn’t understand it or I might have been quite offended.

The pointless effort Stephen made to avoid my positioning his feet on the woven cord surface was very entertaining – as well as being a complete waste of time. I took a belt from our supplies and used it to ensure that Stephen could not remove his feet from their cosy lodging place. Perhaps I had drawn his little parts up against the corner of the post but he would be able to back off by a couple of centimetres while I went for my last requirement. You know: I can’t think where he gets his language from.

Colin continued rolling around the floor but, as long as he kept to his own end of the floor, it didn’t matter much and, if he didn’t, all I had to do was drag him back to the far wall away from the range. It took no time at all to find what I was after and Stephen didn’t look exactly welcoming as I displayed the inevitable shed crow-feather and the scrubbing brush that we kept for removing mud from our boots.

“OK, Diddle-oh, bite down; we’ve still got some time yet.” That stool is so handy; I sat on it or, more exactly, on Stephen’s shins and started gently with the crow feather. Poor little squit could hardly move as the gentle implement did its work. After a few minutes I dismounted and transferred my attention to his un-protected armpits. With my brother secured as he was to the pillar, it was an easy matter to lift his wrists with my left hand and swirl the instrument of torture round his left armpit with my right. His arse almost beat a tattoo on the tiled floor as he became more and more desperate.

I stopped and Stephen relaxed. “And now the other armpit.” As I repositioned myself there was a definite escalation in his invective. “Safe word?”

“Gnnnhh!”

I’ll take that as a “No. Oh, hang on a minute.” I thought it would be wise to drag Colin the Caterpillar away from the range before continuing. He must have been steaming nicely by then.

I suppose I could have taken advantage of Stephen’s various available torture locations but thought I would settle for or confining myself to his armpits and feet for the time being. I did, however, drag the hard-worked and, by now far from pristine feather, round under his chin and, as far as I could, round his nipples and along the insides of his thighs before retrieving the scrubbing brush. OK, it’s good to brandish the instruments of torture in a menacing way but, let’s face it, the captive can guess what is about to happen so I really prefer to blindfold my victim so that he can’t predict with any accuracy where his torment will occur. So, on with the selected locations.

I knelt and pulled his feet towards me, probably trapping his assets against the corner of the supporting pillar once more. ”Ooops, silly me.” Yes, that definitely wasn’t the safe word that I heard. Poor Stephen, his poor, speedo-clad arse upped its rate of collision with the floor tiles. I’ve always been impressed by the scope for movement that such a restrictive binding still leaves my brother. However, all good things must come to an end and I stopped my assault. I didn’t think I would untie Stephen yet, though, not until he stopped telling the world how much he loved his big brother. Oh, the indignities I have to put up with.

Time to Go Home

It had come to time to release Colin. He had already shed the ropes that originally confined him but had made no progress with the sleeping bag. I unzipped it and got as far as leaving my brother simply wrapped in that coloured blanket. I rolled down the edge of the blanket nearest his feet. “Ready, Col?” The caterpillar nodded. I spread my arms as far as would not impede the efficacy of the next manoeuvre (Why hadn’t I released Stephen to help me?) and grabbed the exposed edge of the blanket. I pulled as hard as I could and Colin rolled out of his cocoon.

“Gawd, Mate, you ‘umm!” Judging by Colin’s nodding, he seemed to agree. In a cartoon, steam would have been rising from the more muscular of the twins but all that really happened was a desperate attempt to draw more breath into his nose. I rolled Colin to be face up. “OK, Diddle-oh?”

After a short delay, Colin nodded. He had certainly received a prize tie-up about which he could surely have no complaints. The use of a pair of substantial scissors (the ones Mum uses for cropping the stems of flowers that she arranges for the hovel) assisted the rapid release of the contest winner who was soon left in just his cap, which he quickly reversed, and a far from dry swimming costume. Oh, and a face full of tape.

“OK, Mate?” Colin nodded and I thought I would help him remove the remaining tape. Otherwise, it might have taken over an hour for him to have done so himself. Would have served him right for biting his fingernails. I left him to untie the final (?initial?) layer of his gag while I turned my attention to his twin.

“OK, Mate?” Stephen nodded. “Safe to untie you now?” Stephen nodded once more. Let’s face it, he had still got quite an effective tie-up and he knew that he had to pay a forfeit for losing the contest with his darker twin. In all, both littlies’d had, by their own standards, quite a satisfactory experience. I released Stephen, who removed the gag that had been tormenting him and protecting me form the worst of his compliments for the past period.

As the littlies recovered, I tidied up a bit and packed the play equipment away. When it became time to go, I got the inevitable demands to be tied up for the return journey. For once, I declined. I explained that our folks might already be suspicious when they wore long-sleeved shirts and jeans at home. They had to agree and we all got to ride on the seats of the old banger on the way home.

It was only when we were nearly home that I remembered what we should have done before we left. Oh, bugger it, it would be alright and I couldn’t be arsed to return to the Hovel by then. The little buggers must have known.

Home, Sweet Home

We arrived home and I had the motor to tidy up and park. The twins immediately showered but jadn;t covered up the signs of their recent confinement for some reason. When I returned, I couldn’t help overhearing their conversation.

“You reckon Dad will mind?”

“Course he will.”

“Yeah, but he’ll only blame the Other One.” I knew who that was and my ears pricked up.

“You’re right. But what if we didn’t tell him?”

“But that wouldn’t be right; after all, it’s not safe, is it?” OK, that was all nonsense and I realised that the Mafia had it in for me. I had forgotten to damp down the range and that, as far as our parents are concerned, is a hanging offense and I would be regarded, probably quite rightly, as responsible for it.

All the while the evil little buggers were discussing my forthcoming execution, they were searching for what they might require to buy their silence. Stephen had found a large jar of peanut butter, which he displayed to a delighted Agamemnon (Aggy loves peanut butter) while his twin shouldered a backpack of “toys” and went to the shed for that sack-truck to which I had tied him the other weekend.

“Hang on, lads, suppose the grown-ups come back soon?”

“Oh, didn’t you hear the phone going when you were parking the Land Rover.?”

“No, why?”

“Oh, they won’t be back til tomorrow afternoon so there’s no hurry.”

“Coming down to the shed?” I had a decision to make. I knew that I was likely to be tied down to the sack-truck and used as a dining table for a hyper-active rottweiler. Our parents would not be back in time to save me. “It’s OK, we’ll help you out of your jeans and footwear first, wouldn’t want Aggie to have to launder them, would we?”

I should have known better than to leave my weapon in the open. As soon as the jet of red water hit me, I had no choice but to comply. As I fell to the ground, my fate was sealed.

THE END

[blackbound]

Into doom with eyes open - the measure of a real man.

[Xtc]

Well, serves him right for leaving such a potent weapon lying around. I get the feeling that the twins will enjoy their revenge; but I'll bet they're down to their speedos at the next opportunity.