Introduction to

MAN-TO-MAN STUFF
a short story by Derek Arnold
(made longer by Jim Stewart )

This 41,500 word adventure story is extreme fantasy, but many vividly described procedures and situations are drawn from real-life experience.

The main story is told in the voice of the leading character, British police officer Dan Drummond, but a commentary on the action is added as occasional narration

MAIN TOPIC: Abducted / snatched / kidnapped

'SNATCHED'

EXCERPT FROM THE BEGINNING OF CHAPTER ONE ...
As consciousness returned, I tried to sit up – and couldn't. I could barely move a muscle ...

How many bondage/fetish related stories start with the leading character regaining consciousness in severe restraint?

The hero of this tale had never even read a so-called kinky story in his life. Dan Drummond is one of the new fast-track to promotion breed of youngish British police officer. This brawny thirty year-old is an Information Technology whiz kid but could just as easily have left university for a career in professional Rugby League. A quick-fisted, motorcycle riding young ‘Turk’ from early grammar school days, those anonymous men who keep an eye open for potential Establishment talent had monitored his progress surreptitiously through every phase of his go-getting education.

Now, having bypassed many dedicated young police constables and sergeants, “Desperate Dan” (as older colleagues called him), is more commonly known as “Bulldog”. But, to get himself ‘snatched’ while following his own unorthodox monitoring of an elaborate undercover operation has landed him in a serious predicament ...

 

... Disoriented, it took time to assess my situation:
Arms tied tightly behind me ... that I knew right away. There was also something tied tight around my ankles and bent knees. Even my thighs were lashed together, I discovered. Rope (I assumed) secured my wrists, and my elbows, pulling them painfully tight together in the small of my back. My head was enclosed in ... something; the smell was familiar, but I couldn't place it. My mouth felt stuffed full with a soft, springy-but-tough mass and I could barely swallow. Whatever encased my head shut out all light. It felt like a skin-tight helmet of some sort. Gradually, I grew more aware of the pressure of more rope laced all around my body. Everything was painfully tight and my muscles throbbed from the severe strain of the unusual position my limbs were trussed into.

Lying on my side, I couldn't straighten my legs without pulling on my arms. Hogtied, I thought dispassionately. I'd seen it in pictures but never imagined it could be this uncomfortable. Also, my skin felt strange. I couldn't work it out but knew that every part of me was covered in some way. Was my uniform still on? No, I'd been wearing my beat-up old motorcycle leathers. I knew how they felt; tight and thick – but not this tight. Certainly, the heavy steel-toed boots were no longer on my feet. My assessment skills tried to kick in, but the uncomfortably stressful physical contortions were, I decided, already having a dangerous effect on my mind.

Concentrate, damn it, I told myself. But, somehow ... after being unconscious, my mind was in a disoriented state as a continued to try and assess the situation. They must have targeted me for some reason – be after something – and me being in no position to put up much resistance – this is serious trouble. The muscular pressure was already getting to me. I must fight it. My bulk was not an asset in such a predicament. Beef had it's uses, but in this contorted position ... my mind left the sentence uncompleted. Already, I wasn't sure how much longer I could deal with it ... and I can't even talk to them, I thought desperately. What the hell do they want? What's going to happen next? Why hasn't somebody realised that I've regained consciousness?

Suddenly I thrashed around as much as the bindings would allow, just to let anybody on the outside know I was conscious. The movement made me breathless inside the enclosed hood. I fought to stay calm and to remember all those tedious anti-terrorist and anti-kidnap training courses. The wham-bang action sessions had been fun, but the interminable theory lectures and discussions were Yawnsville. But here I was – trussed like a turkey – and there was something very oppressive about the way it felt – my entire body was somehow – constricted – more than just ropes and a hood. We'd had some of that in training exercises: canvas sack over the head – cold water – being yelled at – smacked around. That, I'd survived. Enjoyed surviving, but this – this is something more – sinister!

I tried to flex my fingers and realised my hands were enclosed in something like a mitten. This kept my hands tightly trapped and useless. I couldn't feel anything through the material; it was thick. To make matters worse, I felt so hot my body was sweating profusely, and the perspiration wasn't going anywhere. It was making my whole body wet, the heat was over every part of my body from fingers to feet, and especially my head. I couldn't make it out. What the hell had they done to me? As I tried to clasp the material surrounding my mittened hands I suddenly realised what the smell was, because I now recognised the texture of the material that covered my entire body. It was rubber.

With this realisation came a dangerous thought. What type of villain kidnaps a member of the police Force and then encases him in rubber and keeps him trussed up like this? Some weirdly perverted and seriously demented bastard. Or is it a diving suit; will water be involved? I couldn't get my mind around it. I knew that some people found rubber a turn-on – and I'd seen films where they used this type of gear for sensory deprivation. It hit me. Oh Jesus! Brainwashing.

Trying to reduce the strain of the 'hog-tie', I moved as best I could, but nothing relieved the pain. I became aware that my arms were, in addition to being lashed together, secured tight against my body and ropes were also wrapped around my torso in some criss-cross fashion. I could feel them biting against my flesh through the thick covering. Somebody must have spent a lot of time applying such elaborate roping to an unconscious man. It seemed it was deliberately intended to punish as well as be super efficient.

I experimented by attempting to speak but immediately knew it would be impossible to make myself understood. Even with determined effort, only muffled grunts were possible, and they remained inside the thick helmet or whatever covered my entire head (not my motorcycle helmet I told myself. Too tight). Saliva dribbled from the side of my gagged mouth and was pooling at the side of my face and chin, the liquid trapped inside the casing. No light relieved the darkness; no way of knowing if it was day or night.

My body throbbed all over in pain. My six-foot-four well exercised frame was not built for this type of stress, and desperate to shift position, I strained painfully in an attempt to move even slightly. The effort paid off. Suddenly I rolled onto my chest, the movement dragging my feet high up behind me, still attached to my wrists as they were. Settled into this new position, the pain in my arms eased slightly but I felt my cock and balls crushed under me, now pinned between my body and the hard surface on which I lay. As this new sharp pain crashed through my groin I sucked hard on the wad in my mouth. Long time since I’d been so aware of my genital equipment in this way.

… Years of police training at officer level had taught Dan Drummond that, when any man is in the hands of an experienced ‘interrogator', his mind is more of a target than his body but a physical softening-up process can be an effective route.

Ruthless men whose aim is power over others as much as profit, had been discussed in several analytical grounding session. Some big-wig behavioural psychologist had expounded elaborate theories about the dangers of power without responsibility, to the study-group. Now here, thought Dan, is the real thing. Was he a pawn in a ruthless game being played out by a dangerously unscrupulous group of carefully anonymous men; some of whom relished their special ability to generate fear and pain?

Dan's experience of the darker side of such men was only theoretical. In his wildest dreams he could not imagine a villain who so enjoyed exercising his power, as to cold-bloodedly pre-prepare an elaborate ‘treatment' which would involve equipment and secure space so he could play with his victim like a cat might play with a mouse caught in a trap ... and get off on it!

FURTHER EXCERPTS (6) FROM THIS VERY LONG AND DETAILED STORY GIVE A TASTER VERSION.
EXCERPT TWO = INTERROGATION

Alternatively, a printer-friendly version of the complete text which runs to 44 text pages
can be found at MAN-TO-MAN STUFF if you're that sort of masochist.

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