Date: Fri, 14 Nov 2003 18:47:39 -0000 (GMT)
From: ok_uwater@merlads.net
Subject: boy-daredevils-in-speedos-3

Boy Daredevils in Speedos 3

Copyright by Speedyboy, Nov 2003.  This story is submitted to Nifty under
their submission guidelines.   No part of this story can be submitted
or archived by anyone else without my express permission. If you are
too young or don't like stories about rough play with erotic overtones
press the back button NOW!

This story is fantasy.  The author does not endorse, encourage, or
consent to any attempt to make any of the below described scenes real.

Please send feedback to Speedyboy, Rln1966@aol.com.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Let the ordeal begin", boomed Wolf.

The skinny ten year old in purple speedos (as yet unadorned with the
trident symbol which the boy hoped to win) looked touchingly small and
vulnerable beside the muscular aristocrat, but the boy's expression was
one of utter determination.

Rob tugged his matching purple goggles over his thick boyish mop of
straight brown hair, placing them carefully over his eyes, and put the
regulator in his mouth.  He stood on the ledge a meter above the surface,
raised his arms as if summoning Excalibur from the depths, and dove in.
He immediately regretted his flamboyance.  A shock of cold stabbed to the
very center of Rob's slender frame, paralyzing him.  His goggles came
loose and his mouth piece popped out.  As Rob groped for his dive gear
he sank to the bottom and disappeared into a cloud of silt.  By the time
he could see and breath again he was in total darkness.  Rob searched
frantically for the tunnel entrance, but he was barefoot and could not
ascend much against the weight of the tank, so all he did was stir up
more silt.  He had never been so cold.  The frigid water penetrated his
eyes, and back, and even his hair.  It seemed the water had stolen every
last morsel of warmth from his body.  After a few minutes, all he could
do was kneel on the bottom, in the cold and dark.  He hugged his chest,
feeling his nipples stand erect in the cold.  His breathing was fast and
shallow.  Even the air seemed cold.  Rob knew this was the wrong technique,
but he could no longer control his body.  Finally, he accepted defeat,
mustered his last dram of strength, and scrambled up the bank.  He plopped
on the ground before Lord Wolf.  Tears mixed with the lake water on Rob's face.
Lord Wolf looked disdainfully at the shivering white shape before him. Two
tormentors dragged the hapless pre-teen to Lord Wolf's feet and ripped off
his air tank.

"Now you see what happens to boys who don't concentrate", snarled
Wolf. "Do you realize that your very life will depend on your ability
to listen to detailed instructions, and to obey them implicitly?"

Rob was furious with himself, and felt very small indeed. He lay there,
looking like a drowned waif. But then he got a grip - this was his big
chance to undergo every ordeal he'd ever dreamed about in the safety
of his boy bedroom at home. He begged for a second chance, explaining
that he was over-excited and over-awed by the magnificence of the
setting. The cunning imp certainly knew how to flatter his master, who
indulged the boy and let him try again, after he'd been punished. The
delicious chastisement consisted of having the drawstring of his speedos
undone, so that the white nylon cord could be wound deftly around the
boys small, hairless balls and cocklet, and tied tightly, before the
trunks were snapped back into position onto the boy's milky-white body,
and the cord was re-tied as normal to secure them. Rob was thrilled by
the punishment...it felt just right!

Galvanised by his shame at having fallen at the first fence, and spurred
on my the delicious waves of pain caused by the cruel misuse of the
white nylon cord, Rob expeditiously negotiated the long, snaking tunnel
into the arrival chamber.  The cold attacked, but Rob convinced himself
that his skin repelled it.  He was Rob the seal, now.  The oxygen tank was
quit three-quarters of the way through the journey, but Rob's determination
not to appear foolish prevailed over the feeling that his young lungs were
turning inside out, and that his throbbing head was about to break open. When
he felt he had nothing left to give, he switched to remote and swam
automatically, now a boy-machine, devoid of emotion and feeling, immersed in
the task at hand. He surfaced, and croaked a whoop of joy as two more
tormentors yanked him out, hurled him onto the flagstones, and untangled his
drawstring.

He was led to a changing room, where two other boys sat waiting, eyeing
him suspiciously. But Rob had an open, friendly manner, an infectious
giggle, and large trusting brown eyes, and soon there were telling the
new boy about the place, and what to watch out for. They warned him
in particular about the doctor who was supposed to check the boys for
serious injury, Dr Jamboree - an embodiment of evil, as far as Rob could
make out from their tales.

The other two were led off to more ordeals - one to the piranha tank,
the other to the curiously-named fist machine. Rob waited for his
instructions, and Wolf eventually appeared in a gallery far above him. The
ten-year-old felt his knees buckle as his day's ordeals were described
by the severe aristocrat in great detail. The swimming training was tough
enough - four hours with no real break, and then a short pause before the
mental and physical ordeals would begin. He began to feel light-headed
and faint, and swayed dangerously on his feet, but one of the tormentors
forced a strange flask of liquid down his throat, and he began to feel
emboldened and oblivious to pain. Rob gathered himself, filled his lungs
and swam keenly off to the pool, the route memorized carefully. The
schoolboy was determined that there would be no more errors.

The passage was dimly lit from gratings in the roof.  As Rob's eyes
adapted to the dark, he noticed what looked like the skeletons of small
boys beneath him.  At first he was horrified, and rose until his back
slid along the slimy stones of the ceiling.  Then morbid curiosity took
over and Rob dove to investigate.  He was somewhat relieved to find glazed
plaster bones in deliberately ragged boy-sized speedos. Rob knew already
that Wolf had a sense of humour, from the two weeks he'd spent under
his command at cub scout camp.

The swimming exercise took place in a short narrow channel carrying
water diverted from a nearby stream. A large valve upstream of the
swimming area set the speed. The water was deep and the sides rose
two meters above the surface.  Once Rob jumped in he could not exit without
assistance. He had to swim continuously against the frigid, relentless current
until a tormentor lowered him a rope four hours later.  Behind the swim area
the water disappeared into another tunnel.  Rob did not want to know where it
led.  A couple of times Rob's legs cramped.  He looked up the shear stone walls
pleadingly, but there was no one in site.  He did not know he was being
monitored by infrared cameras below.  With no help in site, Rob had no choice
but to dive and hold onto a rock with one hand as he massaged his over wrought
muscles with the other.  Finishing the ordeal took all of Rob's strength, and
he knew this was merely an introduction.  More advanced swimmers, such as Rob
hoped to be soon, were often encumbered to make the exercise more challenging.
For example, they were required to hold heavy iron weights in their hands
while swimming, or towed a crate behind them fastened at the balls.

After the gruelling swim training was over, Rob crawled onto a bench and
lay down for a short time.  He felt spent, but soon the resilience of youth
took over, and in a few minutes Rob was fidgeting and raring to the next
challenge.  As Rob stood, a gong sounded, signaling time to dive into the
tunnel that led to the Sparky Room.  He got the route slightly wrong, and
found himself at one stage running out of breath and staring down at a large
octopus.  He tumble turned away from the creature just before its eager
tentacles could wrap themselves around his ankles, and drag him down to a
crude cage just visible in the depths.  He was relieved when he found his
destination, even though he feared that the afternoon ordeal might be too
great for him - he was only ten, after all. The tormentors lost no time in
hurling him face up on a stone bench, spread eagled, and secured his slender
hands and feet with leather straps and rope. It was a position that Rob loved
to be in - but he knew from Wolf's description that the next ten minutes
would not be pleasant. The tormentors carefully reached under his speedos,
and attached electrodes to his young balls. Then, with great care, they
inserted a small metal rod right down the centre of his
penis, and tested it swiftly to make sure it was conducting electricity
efficiently. Rob's sudden yelp confirmed that it was. It was almost a
pleasant, tickly, tingly feeling at first, making the boy jump with
pleasure, but as the current increased, so did the brave boy's discomfort,
and after five minutes, he was sweating profusely, and yelling lustily. But
he was determined not to use his safe word ("Bagheera"), and so the charge
on the generator - an ancient, heavy piece of equipment - increased again.
Now the speedo-clad boy's body was arching incredibly, and then twisting into
positions unnatural for the human torso. Agony had set in, and the bold boy
furiously tried to shake away his tears, as he kept his young eyes on the
amazing sight of the wires entering his speedos to torment him. He'd gone
beyond ten minutes when the generator was switched off..and then only because
it seemed to be overheating. The disappointed tormentors removed their
trecherous devices and untied him, and examined the scorch marks their
electrodes had caused, but the triumphant boy looked at them with shining
eyes, knowing that they would have to start to treat him with respect. He
hoped that Wolf would appear and praise him, but this was not to be. He'd
have to undergo more ordeals before he'd see the aristocrat again.

(To be continued!)