Best Friends For Life (M/M)

Postby Jason Toddman » Wed Feb 16, 2011 12:29 pm

A new serial for Snobound, who challenged me to write a passionate (as opposed to intimate) one-on-one male to male TUG.

BEST FRIENDS FOR LIFE

Mark felt unseen hands gently caress his face and he tried once again to move away from his unseen captor, but as always before it was no use; the chains that wound around his limbs and near-naked body held him firmly in their cold, hard, implacable grip. The thick leather hood that covered his head rendered him blind, almost deaf, and totally incapable of speech – at least, while the detachable ball-gag that imprisoned his mouth was in place. It left him free to breathe, as his nose cleanly protruded through the hood’s only opening - but even that was a luxury he could not take for granted as his captor proved when he playfully pinched his nose shut between thumb and forefinger. For sixty seconds (as he counted them mentally as this happened) Mark’s air was cut off; and then the unseen hand with drew and he could breathe again. He could vaguely hear gentle laughter (muffled by the leather pads covering his ears) as he noisily sought to catch his breath again.

Mark’s fit, muscular body hung limply in his restraints as he made an effort to control his breathing. At 6’ 2” and 190 pounds, with a body fat ratio of less than 2%, Mark was as strong as a bull and could endure as much as any well-trained athlete. He would have been the pride of the Marine Corps had he joined, and were it not for the intrusively strict and rigid life style of a Marine he might have enlisted. He could bench press well over 250 pounds, run a mile in under five minutes without breathing hard, and swim circles around anyone not of Olympic caliber. He was a world-class gymnast with enormous dexterity, speed, and stamina. When he ran the Boston Marathon the previous year he’d placed tenth – and then only because of a sheer accident; he ran upon a piece of wood with a nail sticking in the wrong direction out of it. Despite this he still managed to run several more miles to complete the marathon ahead of most of the of the other runners.

But despite his sheer physical prowess, Mark was now as helpless as a newborn infant. His magnificent body was trapped in chains no man alive could possibly break, locked around him in a tight grip only an eel could slip through. He had no footing or other means to brace himself for an escape effort, for his body was completed suspended in the air by more chains… attached to him evenly all over his body by over a dozen different places. He hung at a roughly thirty-degree forward tilt from the perpendicular, head forward as if he was frozen in the act of falling over. Yet his bonds, though tight, were not at all uncomfortable. Every attachment point was at a part of him covered by thick but softly padded leather; His wrists, ankles, elbows, knees, biceps, thighs, chest and abdomen were each heavily wrapped in leather; and by each of these he hung by a chain. In addition there was an attachment point on the top of his hood, and a chain there took all the pressure of his head off his neck – but at the cost of leaving his head as virtually immobilized as the rest of him.

Besides his bonds, the only articles that covered him were his head-enclosing hood (locked in place with a padlock securing the straps tightly but not uncomfortably around his neck), the leather bands to which those suspending chains were attached, a simple jock strap, and thick leather mittens that completely trapped his fingers. His feet were bare; which left his soles completely vulnerable to the occasional random tickling caress of a skillfully-applied feather. The room was hot enough though that this lack of clothing proved more comfortable than otherwise; though not so much so that it caused Mark to sweat – at least, not for that reason alone. There were plenty of other reasons however.

For an unknown time Mark had been left to hang in his suspension in virtual isolation; all his senses deprived of any stimulation. But now his captor was back, and was now subtly torturing Mark by gently stimulating his senses; now keenly-delicate from their long-term deprivation. It began with the light, gentle caress of the feather along the soles of his feet – and it felt like a surge of electricity jolting his legs entirely. Mark groaned and thrashed about as much as he could to avoid that feather, but his movements were too severely restricted and that feather always found him again in its own good time. Sometimes he seemed as though he had somehow escaped from it, but all too soon it would find him and tickle him again. Each time this happened, Mark found himself losing all control; he would squeal like a piglet and thrash about like a fly caught in a spider’s web. His firm resolve not to move and increase his captor’s entertainment would like brittle glass with each new touch of that taunting, tormenting feather.

The feather eventually left his feet and sought new worlds to conquer; sparing only those areas covered by the leather restraints for the chains that held him fast in their grip. His ankles were spared, but now the feather teased the undersides of his calves, the insides of his thighs, his sides, his belly button, his rib cage – all were carefully explored and conquered, but with less violent resistance than the soles of his feet had entailed. But then the all-conquering feather found the undersides of his arms, as Mark knew they eventually would. Mark braced himself for the ultimate resistance; determined that this time he would not break! He would endure! He would be the Man of Steel!

The determination he’d built up over the feather’s previous exploration to resist caving in to his tormentor crashed and burned in the first instant that the teasing, taunting feather found his most ticklish spots. From then on, Mark was engulfed in what seemed like an endless tickling assault that smashed his defenses and turned him into a shivering, thrashing, squealing, quaking mass of flesh. Gone was the Man of Steel; in his place was a man of Kleenex. He writhed, thrashed, squealed, and made various other muffled and incomprehensible noises that were meant to be pleas for mercy. But, as usual, such pleas were casually and totally ignored as the feather shattered his defiance and rendered him all but insane with relentless tickling. Were he not so well and truly gagged, his hysterical laughter would have been the envy of The Joker from the Batman cartoons.

But finally, after a seeming eternity of tickling torment, the feather suddenly went off to parts unknown and left a shivering Mark to slowly but steadily collect himself from the shattered raw bundle of nerves he had been so easily, so casually reduced to. Then, while he was still rebuilding his pose, he felt those fingers touch him in the shoulders gently – but in a way that comforted and soothed rather than tickled and tormented. After a few soothing strokes that helped to further settle Mark, they went away for a moment only to return. But this time they had a different mission in mind. One hand grasped him gently but firmly at the base of his hood while the other fumbled with the padlock that locked his ball-gag in place. With a few quick, deft movements, the padlock was made to release its firm grip upon him, and then the same hands carefully pried the ball gag out of his aching jaws and took it away. The same hands then gently caressed his jaws for a few moments as he worked it to get the soreness out.

One hand withdrew, and a few moments later it was replaced by the tip of a straw poking at Mark’s closed lips. His lips parted at once to allow this welcome visitor in, and he slowly but greedily sucked in precious moisture. It was merely ice-water, but never had anything – not even his first beer – had tasted half as good to him as this water did to him now. At least, never since the last time he was in this same situation.

“Take it easy Mark!” Mark heard Kinto’s deep but gentle voice tell him with a soft laugh. “Don’t go too fast or you’ll get sick. Don’t worry; it’s not going anywhere until you’re good and ready!” Despite this warning, and despite knowing better himself, Mark continued to drink greedily until the straw sucked up only empty air.

“I’ll get you some more in a moment,” He heard his captor’s voice tell him. “But I think it’s time you had a short break away from the hood.” And with that, the unseen hands returned to the back of his neck, unlocked the padlock that secured the strap holding the hood on, and with slow, gentle insistence the hands pulled the hood up and off of his head. His head no longer had the support and chain on the hood had given him, but it was still definitely a relief to get it off for even a short while.

Mark’s eye adjusted to the light (left dim by his captor to make this transition easier for him) and Mark looked over at his captor. Kinto was stepping out of the room to get another pint-cup of ice water for him. He was gone only for a moment, and the came back with a fresh container of water. Mark sucked this refreshment much more slowly as his eyes lingered on his captor’s trimly muscular body; which was fully open to his view because all Kinto wore was a (tight) set of Speedos that left very little to the imagination. Mark didn’t need his imagination; he’d seen what was underneath those Speedos many times before. More than just seen it, for that matter…

Kinto was the same age as Mark and was also a near-perfect physically-fit specimen of manhood, but where Mark was blond and blue-eyed Kinto was a full-blooded African with much darker skin than anyone whose ancestry included several generations spent away from the so-called “Dark Continent”. His features were handsome and regular, and his body graceful and athletic. But where Mark was 6’ 2” Kinto was 6’ 7”, and his lithe body was supple and lean rather than built solidly like Mark’s was. Kinto was not quite as strong as Mark was, but if anything he was even faster on land or in the water, and won their frequent wrestling matches as often as Mark did by dint of his greater agility, stamina, and his more-developed sense of strategy.

It was because he’d won their latest match that Mark was in his current situation now. Every weekend they would wrestle together, and loser was always the bondage slave of the winner for the entire weekend. Mark had won last time, but Kinto had won the preceding three times in a row. Mark decided he needed to work out more if he were to hope to stay roughly even with Kinto on who defeated who in their weekly wrestling matches. Not that he minded being Kinto’s slave for the weekend; Hell, no – but it was a matter of pride that he continue to pose as much a challenge to his best friend and roommate as he possibly could.

Mark indicated that he’d had enough liquid refreshment for now, and Kinto obligingly put away the still half-filled container. But now he offered Mark refreshment of a different kind as he walked back up to Mark, hugged him for a moment, and gave Mark a long, passionate kiss. On the lips, on the cheeks, on the forehead, and then back on the lips and past them as the two wrestled with their tongues as avidly as they’d earlier wrestled with their bodies. This time there was no clear cut winner or loser.

Afterward, Kinto smiled – and then locked the hood around his best friend and roommate’s head once again; after all, the weekend had just begun. Mark relaxed within his oh-so-secure-and-yet-so-comfortable bonds once again and relished the feel of Kinto’s lean but powerful hands as they gave him a much needed shoulder rub.

There were definitely worse ways to spend the weekend than to be Kinto’s prisoner, Mark decided silently – and not for the first time either.

TBC
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

Re: Best Friends For Life (M/M)

Postby sarumansauron » Thu Feb 17, 2011 8:05 am

Good begining! Thanks!
I love TUGS and TICKLING Torture!!!!!

Re: Best Friends For Life (M/M)

Postby jessica615 » Fri Feb 18, 2011 12:27 am

How fun!! Again another great story! :tickle:

Re: Best Friends For Life (M/M)

Postby Jason Toddman » Fri Feb 18, 2011 12:46 pm

Flashback: 15 years ago

Mark and Kinto had grown up in the same neighborhood and had known each other and played happily together their entire lives, but it wasn’t until the week each celebrated his eighth birthday (for the two were born only two days apart) that their mutual play began to hint of the special relationship that was to form between them and last them the rest of their lives (at least, up to now).

Mark was the older of the two and, as he’d done each year since he was old enough to make his wishes in the matter known, had invited Kinto over to his house for a private family party – for, after all, was Kinto not part of his family too? He was as far as Mark as concerned, and he knew Kinto felt the same way. And, as everyone expected, Mark spent the day with Kinto at his house to celebrate Kinto’s birthday. By then, this was taken for granted not only by the two boys but by both sets of parents as well; and each loved the other parents’ child as if he were their own. Secure in the knowledge that each was equally at home at the others’ house as at his own, the two often had sleepovers – taking turns equally. Therefore Mark knew Kinto’s parents as well as he knew his own, and also called them (as Kinto did) mama and papa, just as Kinto called Mark’s parents mom and dad.

The parents themselves were not as close with each other as their children, but were still very friendly and often exchanged relaxed visits with each other. All this helped to nurture the brotherly affection each boy had for the other. As Kinto’s father put it succinctly, they were brothers in all but blood. Indeed, the two were more alike and closer to each other than many flesh-and-blood brothers were except perhaps for twins.

Late that afternoon of Kinto’s Eighth Birthday, they watched some of their favorite shows on Cartoon Network. Both boys loved watching the action and superhero cartoons from the 1960s there. One secret each boy unknowingly kept from the other was WHY they those cartoons so much; those old cartoons were replete with scenes of boys being tied up! An episode of Space Ghost showed Jan and Jase tied up, and the title character of the Dino Boy feature was also tied up by some bad guys. Then the blond (and half naked) kid Dorno of The Herculoids was tied up by some villains who looked like humanoid birds. After that, they watched an episode of Jonny Quest where both Jonny and Hadji were tied up by the bad guys.

Mark and Kinto were so much alike that it was only natural after all this that they both had the same thought on their minds: Wow, I’d sure like to try that! Both the tying AND being tied up. Anyone else in that position might have been struggling to find a way to broach the idea of doing this activity themselves with the person they were with. Not Mark and Kinto. These boys were very fortunate; the moment they exchanged glances, they knew immediately what was on the other boy’s mind. They simply smiled slyly at each other, and were in perfect accord as if they’d been planning this for many months instead of the idea being spontaneous with each of them.

And so, when Kinto’s parents were occupied with preparing a barbecue party outside the house, Kinto and Mark found some rope inside a half-forgotten box inside the attic and tucked it away for later use when no one else seeing or hearing them.

That evening, after Kinto’s parents had gone to bed, Mark and Kinto (who naturally shared the same room and even the same double-sized bed), got out of bed, got their borrowed rope, and – still dressed only in their white cotton briefs - began to experiment with tying each other up. As it was Kinto’s birthday, he got to decide who tied who up first, and he wanted to be the one who got tied up. Mark was perfectly agreeable, and so that is what happened.

Though only eight years old, Mark and Kinto had already had some practice at knot tying through their membership in the cub scouts. Contrary to popular rumor about this organization, they had not yet encountered situations where anyone had been tied up by anyone else in knot tying practice (thought this would change as they got older and they graduated to the Boy Scouts), but each probably had something like this on their mind long before Kinto’s Eighth birthday arrived. It was probably the one secret each kept from the other, though it was likely unintentional considering how quickly this changed. In any case, for eight-year-olds, the boys already had considerable knot-tying skills.

Mark started tying Kinto first. Even at age eight, Kinto was noticeably taller and wirier than Mark was; and tying his wrists together well enough so that they remained tied was a bit of a challenge for Mark. However, he made one fundamental mistake; he tied his friend’s hands in front rather than in back of him. He also had not realized that Kinto had practiced tying his own hands and untying them again afterward. This, added to his friend’s natural limberness, enabled Kinto to work his hands free within minutes.

Then Kinto and Mark traded places and Kinto tied Mark; but he tied Mark’s hand behind his back. And while Mark was having fun with that, Kinto knelt in front of Mark as he sat on the edge of the bed and tied his feet as well. Mark didn’t protest; he’d considered tying Kinto’s feet but wanted to start slow –so now it’d be perfectly fair to do the same with Kinto! Besides, he enjoyed the extra sensation of helplessness this gave him, because by the time Kinto finished tying his feet it became obvious that he would not free his hands at all easily without help.

Kinto sat backwards in a chair, leaning forward and resting his lean arms on the back of it as he watched his friend struggle to get loose. It wasn’t easy, but that was fine with Mark; he enjoyed a challenge and, really, he wasn’t in any big hurry to free himself anyway. But after about a half hour’s struggle (which Kinto found highly entertaining) he finally did it when his desire to tie up his gently teasing friend grew stronger than his desire to remain tied up himself.

Mark took his turn tying up Kinto, and this time he was much more careful. He sat Kinto in the chair he’d sat in before (but facing forward) and tied his wrists carefully together and then to the chair. He then tied Kinto’s feet together and to a horizontal spoke that stretched between the two front chair legs. He didn’t stop there though either as his well-developed imagination began to assert itself. He took more rope and wound it around his friend’s shoulders and torso to further trap his arms, and then wound extra loops around Kinto’s shins and knees and connected them to the rear horizontal spoke that connected the two rear chair legs. Then, for good measure, he gagged Kinto with one of his own T-shirts and then blindfolded him with another.

It was a very elaborate and well-executed job of tying up for an eight year old. Kinto was able to struggle out of it, but it took the limber, wiry boy well over an hour to do it. It was almost midnight by this time, but neither boy was as yet tired of the game. And both agreed it was only fair that Kinto have a second go at tying Mark just as Mark had gotten two chances to tie him.

Kinto had Mark lie on his own half of their shared bed and stretch his arms up above and past his head. Kinto’s bed had a thick heavy metal railing with vertical bars (about one-half inch thick) set beneath an upside-down U-shaped frame four times as thick as the bars framing them above, and a straight horizontal twice as thick as those bars at mattress-top level below. Kinto tied Mark’s wrists together and around one of the vertical bars, cinched it, and then cinched it again around the horizontal bar below. Once he was finished, Mark’s hands were well-trapped, and though he could move his fingers easily the knots well tied cunningly enough to be well out of their reach.

Mark’s feet were tied together in similar fashion against the opposite railing, and then he was blindfolded and gagged as well; only Mark’s mouth was stuffed with a pair of (thankfully clean) rolled-up ankle socks first. Kinto invited him to start trying to get free as turned out the light and climbed into his own half of the bed; less than two feet away from Mark. He then lay on his side and happily watched his friend struggle to get himself free by the light of the moon.

After a while, whenever Mark failed to show signs that he was still awake or even conscious, Kinto would casually reach over and makes gentle, teasing circles around Mark’s belly button or lightly tickle the vulnerable armpit closest to him. He smiled fondly at his friend, who reacted with a squeal and a violent shudder of his little body each time Kinto did this; renewing his struggle to free himself.

After two hours of this, Mark made no noticeable progress in freeing himself, and Kinto felt himself get sleepy. “I’m falling asleep. Do you want me to let you go?” Kinto asked. After a second or two to think, Mark shook his head. “Are you sure? Once I fall asleep, you may be stuck like that until morning! You sure you want me to leave you tied up?” he asked again. Mark nodded his head without any noticeable hesitation this time.

And so Kinto left him tied up there, and fell asleep. Several times he awoke to check on his friend. The first time, Mark was still struggling to free himself but indicated that he was in no distress when Kinto sleepily asked. The other times, Mark was apparently fast asleep himself, but his breathing was regular and even. He did not even awaken (or, at least, he never opened his eyes) when Kinto decided to play safe and remove Mark’s gag and the sock stuffing from his mouth. Mark simply yawned in his sleep, made a contented smacking noise with his mouth, and continued softly sleeping. Kinto lay awake for fifteen minutes afterward just watching his friend sleep comfortably before he fell asleep again himself.

When he woke again, it was past sunrise and Mark was still asleep. Kinto was tempted to wake him and let him struggle to free himself while Kinto dressed and have breakfast, but with his parents now waking up as well that was potentially too risky. So Kinto untied Mark as soon as woke him up and helped him massage out the marks the ropes had left on his wrists and feet.

The two smiled at each other as they got dressed. Both knew by then that this tie-up game would only be the first of a great many they would have between them. Each was already looking forward to the next one.

*****
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

Re: Best Friends For Life (M/M)

Postby sarumansauron » Mon Feb 21, 2011 12:45 pm

Good continuation! Thanks!
I love TUGS and TICKLING Torture!!!!!

Re: Best Friends For Life (M/M)

Postby snobound » Mon Feb 21, 2011 4:32 pm

Yes! Yes! Yes! Love it! :bondage1:



Edit: LOL... "Kleenex Man".... cleans up "messes" in a single swipe!
Try out the TUGs chat! http://chat.mibbit.com/#tugsnet

Re: Best Friends For Life (M/M)

Postby Jason Toddman » Wed Feb 23, 2011 7:03 pm

(this chapter was co-written with Snobound - particularly the portions involving the construction of the featured bondage device) - JT


Years of devising elaborate methods of restraint through modifications to otherwise mundane pieces of furniture had caused Mark to develop considerable carpentry skills. Not a single chair, table, or bed within his "private" residence had escaped conversion into a dual-use piece of dungeon equipment. Though casual visitors to Mark's home were rare, one might remark upon the unusual bulk and heft of his living room furniture, or upon the excessive bracing and strength of the modest house's tables and chairs. Further inspection would likely result in more pointed questions.... What's with all the eye bolts? Why is everything padded only in thick, black leather?

Well, you can see why Mark seldom had visitors aside from Kinto and the occasional, though always like-minded, third or fourth party guests necessitated by the whims of their desires. Actually, Mark had long ago given up on trying to disguise the primary purpose of his personal residence. His latest innovation helped to push the living room past the point of no return. He had come across the original diagram while browsing a BDSM web site, but had incorporated numerous additions of his own design.

The staff at the local lumber yard hadn't asked any questions when instructed to rip two of the massive 6" x 6" timbers that Mark had requested in half lengthwise. Nor had the cashier raised an eyebrow when he added gobs of heavy steel hardware to the order. For this, Mark was thankful. He loaded the lumber into his pick-up, drove home, and set to work – ignoring with difficulty the persistent hard-on beneath his tight, well-worn jeans.

Amid the persistent shriek of a circular saw and drone of a drill, Mark's creation had slowly come to fruition within his basement workshop. Constructed with sturdy, unmodified 6" x 6" timbers, a rectangular frame had taken shape on the bare concrete floor with dimensions of eight feet by five. The corners were masterfully joined at diagonal angles, much like a picture frame's, and massive lag bolts and steel bracing plates made these joints nearly infallible.

Four parallel cross members, each constructed of the halved sections of spruce timber- now measuring 3" x 6"- connected the rectangular frame's longer sides along its interior perimeter. The first of these cross members- that which would ultimately immobilize a captive's ankles- was positioned only five inches above the frame's base. This gap, Mark thought, would be sufficient to accommodate either a bare or booted foot below the ankle stocks. The second cross member lay parallel to the first, though eighteen inches further along the length of the frame. Mark could clearly envision the toned muscles of Kinto's lower thighs lining up perfectly with this length of spruce while securing it to the frame with yet more steel bracing plates and lag bolts.

The remaining two cross members were positioned toward the frame's opposite end. The spruce beam that would be painstakingly carved to lock a sub's wrists into a rigid, unyielding prison mirrored the positioning of the ankle stocks - located five inches from the frame's top, rather than its bottom. Twenty-four inches below this piece of timber lay the final cross member - just above the height at which Mark was sure Kinto's neck met his leanly-muscled shoulders. With each of the four halved interior timbers fully secured to the frame, Mark had set to work carving the recesses that would accommodate his partner's limbs... or, hopefully at some point later on, his own…

The budding carpenter undressed - he couldn't allow his figuring to be muddled by bulky clothing. With a black Sharpie in hand and grin on his face, Mark spread his naked body across the four interior cross members. He began at his wrists. Mark positioned his arms in a strict Y-shape above his head, making slight adjustments until satisfied. Leaving his left arm still, Mark traced the outline of his own wrist and forearm with the Sharpie. He handed off the Sharpie to his other hand, repositioned his right arm to mirror his left, and repeated the awkward process. In much the same fashion, Mark traced the outlines of his neck and upper arms upon the next cross member, then sat up and marked the profiles of his thighs along the third length of spruce. Finally, Mark traced the sides of his ankles- spread out in the same strict Y-shape as his arms.

It took Mark a while to gain mastery of the razor-sharp carving chisels he'd purchased at a woodworker's specialty shop. He realized that one slip with these babies and he'd be off to the E.R. with a real gusher! However, with a little practice and a lot of patience, spruce chips were soon flying through the air with abandon. After hours of tiring labor, Mark, sweating and covered with wood shavings, lay down upon the cross members, resting his arms, legs, and neck into the smoothly carved depressions in the heavy timbers. It felt wonderful lying there upon his creation, and Mark rubbed a growing hard on beneath his jeans - again.

It wasn't time to rest, however. Mark sprang to his feet and began retrieving the second halves of the interior cross member timbers that had been ripped by the staff at the lumberyard. These 3" x 6" timbers were placed atop and lined up with the half-stocks already secured to the frame. The black Sharpie made its reappearance as Mark carefully marked off the boundaries of the existing carved depressions on the new lumber. Mark connected his rough hash marks with lines, providing a vague outline sufficient enough to carve the front half of each stock. Woodchips flew once again, though Mark's newfound expertise made this second session with his chisels move much more quickly.

The process of carving the limb depressions into the stocks was tedious indeed, though nothing in comparison to the countless hours Mark spent sanding each cut-out to a flawlessly smooth finish- top and bottom. Mark used his band saw to cut the top portion of each stock in half at their centers. This would allow these portions to close upon a captive's limbs from both the left and right sides, and then locked at their original mid-points. Mark returned these halved tops of each stock back upon the frame in their respective positions. It was remarkable how closely the halves of each spruce restraint matched up - Mark had even surprised himself.

A single massive hinge was used to join the moveable segments of each stock to the heavy outer frame. Mark tested the hinges, thrilled by the loud, intimidating slap as the top half of each stock made contact with its base. Hasps that would accommodate heavy padlocks were then installed in order to secure the two halves of each stock once both the left and right portions were swung into place.

Enthralled with his creation, Mark opened each stock and lay down upon the carved depressions of the fixed bases of each of the four stocks. He hoped.... no... he knew that Kinto would appreciate his hours of meticulous labor. Mark sat up, and closed the stocks across his ankles, then across his thighs. He closed the hasps, but possessed no padlocks. Lying flat once again, Mark closed one half of a stock across his left bicep, covering only half of his neck. Reaching up with his free arm, Mark enclosed his left wrist and forearm with the last of the four stocks. Imagining what it would be like to be fully immobilized by this spectacular piece of dungeon equipment, he began stroking his bulging jeans with his unfettered right hand. He couldn't control himself - he was just too damn excited. Mark exhaled deeply with a sigh only minutes later...

Mark swept up the considerable mess of wood chips and sawdust, and then retrieved the bulging bag of heavy steel hardware still resting upon the basement's workbench. After standing the entire frame upon its side, Mark measured out then marked off intervals of six inches all along the front and rear perimeters of the frame. He did the same along the inside perimeter, between each of the four parallel stocks. Mark drilled pilot holes at each measured location- 100 holes in all. Then, because where bondage is concerned, too much is never enough, Mark installed stout lag eyebolts into each pre-drilled hole. You can never have too many attachment points, he thought.

The entire structure underwent another thorough top to bottom sanding. A dark stain was applied to match Mark's other "furniture", followed by two coats of polyurethane. Done and done. Mark hardly waited for his creation to dry before disassembling some of the structure for ease of transport to the living room...

One of the things that helped make their private contests of prowess to determine who would be who’s captive for the weekend was the fact that the loser of the previous contest always got to choose the nature of the contest for the next one. Each had certain advantages of the other in some things, while in others their skill levels were so close it was usually anyone’s guess who would win. The choice as not always predictable to say third party who might have been able to observe them however, because the choice often depended on whether the chooser had a strong preference for then outcome.

Being the loser the previous week, it was Mark’s right to choose the nature of the contest this week. If he were as determined to be the captor as some people might be, he would choose a sport or game he knew he clearly outclassed Kinto in. There were not many of these, nor were there many where the reverse was true either; they had similar interests and were similarly skilled in them all. But one in which he excelled Kinto was – strangely to some people perhaps – basketball. Though Kinto was taller and seemed a natural for the sport, his skills in sinking baskets was not quite as great as Mark’s, as his height advantage was obviated by Mark’s keener eyesight and better aim. Archery was another sport where Mark had the advantage, for much the same reasons. Hockey, soccer, volleyball, tennis, racquetball, ping pong, and lacrosse were also sports he was noticeably (but not excessively) better at; whether trying to score a goal or prevent one from being scored.

If Mark was feeling a preference to be the prisoner (as was often but not always the case), he would select a game where Kinto had the greater skill but in which he still had a fair chance, such as running or swimming or seeing who could do the most jumping jacks or pushups. Even when he made such a choice, he always did his best to win, as would Kinto. Sometimes, to his surprise, he would actually win where he had not expected to; but this was always by luck or skill rather than Kinto cheating to lose – for both had agreed never to do such a thing. The surprise of beating Kinto at his own game was a rare bonus, and since the winner got to pick who tied who didn’t necessarily mean he had to be the captor if he really didn’t want to be that weekend.

If Mark was feeling no strong preference for the outcome, he would simply choose of the many games they both enjoyed in which they were pretty evenly matched, which was most of them.

This weekend, Mark wanted very much to win, as he’d finished his special surprise for Kinto just the other day. The surprise wouldn’t be wasted if he lost – but now he wanted very badly to try it out on its intended recipient as soon as possible. Of course if he lost the game this weekend he could Kinto about the surprise. Perhaps Kinto might decide it would be fun to turn the tables on him – and Mark was sure that he would enjoy that immensely himself! But no! This surprise was meant for Kinto, and Mark very much wanted Kinto to experience this very day!

And so they played a game of Hoops after work late Friday afternoon.

It as a closer game than usual; Kinto lost by only one point! Yikes, he was getting better at this, as if determined to prove white men really couldn’t jump! However, in the end Mark was victorious and he gleefully drove Kinto to where he had already made his very special preparations for his best friend’s weekend-long captivity.

In addition to the house they shared together, Mark and Kinto each owned a small secluded house on opposite ends of town. Neither ever visited the other’s house unless invited to do so or, as was usually the case, as the other one’s ‘guest’ - or rather prisoner. This was not because either wanted to spend much time alone away from the other, but so that each could prepare a special surprise for the other without it being seen ahead of time. Each enjoyed arranging surprises for the other in this manner, like indulgent parents surprising their children with presents on Christmas morning or their birthdays. Quite often these surprises required elaborate preparations best done in privacy, away from the house in which they lived together. Both knew that if the other was away from home after work for any significant length of time, this was the likely reason why, and they’d likely want to be the prisoner of that other the next time so they could experience the surprise as soon as possible.. It was an arrangement that suited the both of them.

Though Kinto had almost defeated seeing his surprise this weekend (perhaps he had one of his own ready? Mark wondered – and he hesitated), he was as eager to see it as Mark was to show it to him. Unlike their play in former, more youthfully-rash days however, Mark didn’t bind Kinto in any way prior to or during the ride to his private house. Not that Kinto would have minded *that* at all normally, but with all the hidden surveillance cameras that were around on every street corner and on many buildings these days, both agreed long ago that outdoor TUGs within the town limits were too risky. Out in the privacy of their shared or private homes or out away from prying eyes and cameras (such as out in the woods) was a different matter, but neither ever had the other tied at any time when there was even a slight chance of being seen or ‘caught on tape’.

Besides, each had his own car to drive; making any TUGs-fun along the way impractical.

And so it wasn’t until Mark and Kinto were emerging from their respective cars in front of Mark’s house (at a point invisible from the street or anywhere else off the property) that Mark handcuffed Kinto’s wrists behind his back, shackled his legs, gagged him, and escorted him into his private house like a master and his slave from an episode of Roots.

When Kinto saw what awaited him in the living room, he was as excited about being locked inside it as Mark had been in building it! There was not even the slightest thought of resistance as Mark released him from his handcuffs and hobbles, bid him to strip down to his Speedos, and then take his place inside Mark’s home-made stocks. He stood there trembling with various eruptions (of which fear was most definitely not one) as Mark slowly, sensuously locked each piece into place and trapped Kinto into total immobility… all but the piece around Kinto’s neck.

Before that piece was locked into place, Mark produced a leather hood and fitted it with tender loving care over Kinto’s head. There was one hole through which Kinto’s nose easily fitted, allowing him to breathe unimpeded (good thing to; he was breathing quite hard at the moment!); and another for the mouth but otherwise the hood was solid leather. There was extra thick padding where the ears were, and there was a (detachable) ball gag secured by small padlocks and straps for the mouth. Once that hood was securely on, the stock for the neck was closed and locked into place – locking the hood into place at the same time.

It was sensory deprivation bliss for Kinto then for an unknown amount of time… until that first subtle caress of an invisible feather impinged upon his now greatly-heightened sense of touch. Kinto braced himself… determined to resist what was to come…

But in mere seconds, the muffled sounds of hysterical laughter (or was it screaming? It was hard to tell with into sometimes) could be heard from inside that dark leather hood. The tall, lean, ebony body writhed and thrashed within the miniscule range the stocks made possible and glistened with a sheen of sweat. The front of Kinto’s Speedos swelled like a tray of Jiffy Pop popcorn being heated on the stove…

Kinto was most definitely enjoying his surprise!

And so was Mark.

TBC
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

Re: Best Friends For Life (M/M)

Postby sarumansauron » Thu Feb 24, 2011 11:52 am

Good continuation! Thanks!
I love TUGS and TICKLING Torture!!!!!

Re: Best Friends For Life (M/M)

Postby snobound » Wed Mar 02, 2011 3:29 pm

Jason, thanks for bringing that convoluted creation of mine to life! I can't wait to add a chapter soon... hopefully before the weekend.
Try out the TUGs chat! http://chat.mibbit.com/#tugsnet

Re: Best Friends For Life (M/M)

Postby mikeybound » Wed Mar 07, 2012 6:40 am

More Toddman!

Re: Best Friends For Life (M/M)

Postby Jason Toddman » Wed Mar 07, 2012 9:42 am

Hmmm... I'd virtually forgotten this one.
I suppose when I finally come out of hibernation I might resume this one, but there are some others I need to get back to first - especially "What's a Prisoner Among Friends?". :geek:
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

Re: Best Friends For Life (M/M)

Postby mikeybound » Sun May 05, 2013 7:14 pm

Nothing still?

Re: Best Friends For Life (M/M)

Postby Jason Toddman » Sun May 05, 2013 9:04 pm

mikeybound wrote:Nothing still?

Haven't done much TUGs writing at all in the past couple of years, Mikeybound. Continuing problems with allergies especially have been making it hard for me to concentrate on writing, but iIm hopeful that this is finally about to change.
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...