See HBB-1 for previous story development
The officer in charge of army training is again spreadeagled naked and helpless when his men return several hours later ...
A voice I immediately recognised as Dave Norris broke through into my mind and body numbing predicament:
So you failed to escape boss he said.
Just let me up ... I began ....
I warned you what would happen if you failed to escape and I'm a man of my word. he said.
Ignoring my protests, he stooped to replace the gag. Thrashing my head around didn't stop him achieving this and then blindfolding me again, finally slipping a green cotton hood over my head. Don't go away, he said, The boys have been looking forward to this.
Before leaving, I felt him tighten up the already tight paracord attaching my balls to the peg. Don't want to make this too easy, do we sir?
This was not happening to me. I couldn't believe I'd been released by the biker only to find myself at the hands of my own men who I knew often indulged in what they called 'a bit of fun' which could be pretty heavy-handed.
I kicked and struggled trying to loosen the pegs holding my feet, but when I had been returned, the biker had checked everything and spread-eagled me tighter than when I had been left the first time. And because Dave had retightened the paracord to my balls before disappearing again, I was in a worse situation than before my abduction if that was possible.
So absorbed was I in trying to find some way out, it was only at the last minute that I heard movement and knew the team had arrived. I could imagine them standing over me enjoying watching me struggle.
Hello again boss - you look as if you were trying to toss yourself off, laughed Cuff' Norris. More laughter escaped from the assembled men - at least four of them I guessed but couldn't be sure inside my hood. You should have spent the time trying to escape. There was a key right by your left hand. I screamed in frustration.
Don't say you weren't warned, sir. If you'd escaped you would have avoided phase 2 of your initiation. As it is you didn't escape twice - so we're going to have to come up with something really special for you - in fact perhaps four something specials - seeing as there are four of us on this little exercise.
Up with him lads. Let's see if we can't cover him up a bit
I was untied and helped to my unsteady feet. But arms cuffed behind my back. Don't want you touching the family jewels just yet! History repeated itself and I found myself being led by the balls, this time stark naked, through the woods. Nettles swinging over my body helped me on my way and switches were cut and used on my smooth legs to guide me through the undergrowth. Soon I heard the sound of running water and knew we must be by the stream. A trip from behind and I found myself rolling down the bank into the stream. The cold was intense but took away some of the stinging from the nettles. Hands grabbed me under the armpits and dragged me from the water, dumping me face down in the mud. The bag over my head was wet and I could hardy breathe. It was whipped away along with the blindfold and I saw for the first time my new captors. Four men in full combat gear and webbing stood in front of me. But under their helmets were black balaclavas. I couldn't identify my assailants. Of course I knew Dave Norris was one of them but that's all I knew. Without a word they closed in and I was rolled in the thick, sticky, slimy, mud of the stream. Handfuls of mud were picked up and smeared around my cock and balls, up the crack of my arse, all over my body and head. I was covered from head to toe in mud. I was pulled out shivering from the river. You may have lost all your hair but at least now you've got a new covering to keep you warm. Or at least it will when it's dry. Let's go
A tug on my balls told me to move and this time I had to trot to keep up. We emerged from the woods and neared the derelict farm I had left so long ago now. OK, the fun's over, time to get you warm and dry sir. Thank god the end was in sight. But instead of releasing me I was taken to an outbuilding, and with a length of rope from each foot, I was suspended from a beam, legs slightly akimbo. The cuffs were taken off and my hands tied out to upright posts at my sides in a sort of inverted crucifix. Mud slipped down my legs to my crotch. The paracord was taken off my nuts and some of the mud at my crotch used to resmear my balls. Next a fire was built and soon I was drying off but I quickly realised the mud was going to harden on my body. It was not a pleasant feeling.
OK, like I said, the fun's over. Now to business. CSgt Norris sounded like he meant it. There are four of us from the unit and each of us is going to set you an endurance test. During each test you'll get the chance to name your tester. If you're right the test will end. If you're wrong the test will continue and you'll get another chance later on. Oh, and to give the tests some realism we'll be asking you some questions to find out where you've been. Of course, you can't answer, sir. So we'll just have to see what it takes to persuade you to change your mind. Let the tests begin
TEST ONE
I was taken down from the inverted crucifix position. Mud crumbled from my limbs. The contents of a Bergen were tipped on the floor. Still only Dave spoke. Put this on. I was handed a filthy, muddy US style footballer's jock strap. I slipped it on. Now put this inside the jock. I was given a US Bike' Cup. It was full of mud. Don't spill any. I leant forward at the waist and lifting the jock to one side pushed the cup over my cock and balls. I got everything inside and repositioned the jock strap, which held the cup close to my body, making sure I couldn't touch my cock. Some mud oozed down the insides of my leg but nothing was said.
Now these. A pair of combat trousers were next but like everything else so far they were covered inside and out in mud. Whoever had done it had done a very good job. I struggled to pull the sticky trousers over my legs and eventually got them on. After a great deal of effort I got the flies closed. A lightweight tropical DPM shirt was next, muddy of course. Boots were handed over and as I slipped my bare feet into them, I realised they were full of mud. It squelched between my toes. I laced them up as best I could with slippy hands on slippy laces.
Now I'm going to remove your gag. Do not speak yet or you will suffer. The rope was unwound and I was handed a soggy mess of a balaclava with only a slit for eyes. I worked my mouth whilst I could to relieve the stiffness from the rope gag and pulled on the mask. Mud oozed into my ears and round my mouth. Everything I had on was clinging to me like a second skin. By the side of the fire the clothing quickly began to dry out.
Four men sat down to watch. I was told to stand in the At Ease' position and not to move until I was completely dry back and front. I was permitted to turn round once when my front was dry. Whilst my back dried I observed the four men from my unit trying to identify anything which would help me later on in my tests. But there is nothing quite like combat gear for preserving the anonymity of the wearer especially with balaclavas. Hands occasionally reached inside webbing pouches and I saw plasticuffs, paracord, hoods and other restraint gear so common and readily available in the unit. I'm sure it was deliberate. Smiling eyes watched me dry. More than a couple of hands adjusted balls in pockets and I'm sure I saw the outline of an erection in one pair of particularly tight DPM trousers.
If I thought I was finished with the muddy clothing I was wrong. Layer after layer was added, jumper, scrim scarf, a second pair of combat trousers, a flak jacket and combat jacket with integral cold weather hood. At every stage I had to dry and it took longer and longer as I struggled to move in my mud prison. But time was something they obviously had. The fire was kept burning with branches from the wood outside. I hardened in my casing of mud. As a final measure, buckets of mud were brought in from outside and I had to stand like a figure X whilst 8 hands smeared mud over my body. This was repeated three times and in the end I could not lift my arms for the mud to be applied, so they had to help and squeezed the mud up into my armpits and around the tops of my legs. At last it seemed I was ready and my questioning began.
INTERROGATED
I can't answer that question, sir I repeated time after time to every enquiry about where I had been. Whatever my situation I knew I would lose all respect with my men if I answered in any other way. Eventually I was asked whose test this was and told I could answer. I didn't really know but in view of the fact that I had been packed in mud guessed at Sgt Packer. I was wrong.
On with the endurance test. He still needs more time and perhaps another clue.
So there were going to be clues. I had another chance. But not before I was wrapped in another layer. This time mud caked scrim scarves were wrapped around my body starting at my feet and working up, trapping my arms against my sides. The wrapping continued and I was dried out again by the fire turned and steadied on my feet by one soldier in particular. I guessed he was the deviser of the test but I couldn't identify him from the cam-creamed eyes which were all that was visible to me. After I was completely dry, I was wrapped in a final layer of black gaffer tape and lifted outside by all four of the men. I was mummified in mud and couldn't move a muscle other than to nod my head slightly. Once outside I was lifted to the edge of a slit trench. I was placed on the ground and a sleeping bag zipped up around me. The down filled hood was pulled over my head and the drawstring tightened until I could just see out. I was then turned over and laid face down in a second sleeping bag. It was zipped up but the hood was left down. I was heaved down and planted at one end of the trench. I must have looked like some giant insect cocoon. A wall of sandbags was built in front of my feet. As soon as it reached the height of my knees earth was tipped into the hole and pressed down compactly over my feet and around my legs. The wall of sandbags was raised and the in-filling continued. It didn't take long before I was buried up to the neck and six pairs of feet stamped the earth down. One man dropped down in front of me and the hood of the second sleeping bag was raised and tightened round my face. I was relieved to find I could still breathe just. The questioning resumed. I had to shout to be heard. I can't answer that question, sir I answered time and again, hour after hour. On and on the questioning continued until at last the question I had been waiting for. Whose test is this? I had been using the monotony of my replies to give myself time to think. Who in the unit would have a US footballer's jock and cup? Several, I knew had been to the states and several in the unit were keen on American football. I had overheard them laughing at the mud-covered players in many games shown on the crew room TV. But what else? I had been buried in a pit for a reason and it must be a clue. Of course. The only possible link was the unit's sports fanatic and American football fan Corporal Pitman. I gave my answer and waited. The sleeping bag hood was pulled away from my face; the soldier in front of me removed his helmet and balaclava. Correct, sir. Cpl Pitman grinned. Test one complete.
END OF EXCERPT "Test One" FROM HAPPY BIRTHDAY BOSS