Date: Sun, 8 Feb 2004 03:34:52 -0000 (GMT)
From: ok_uwater@merlads.net
Subject: Boy Daredevils in Speedos 5

Copyright by Speedyboy and UndrCGuy, Feb 2004.  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, speedyboy@merlads.net or
undrcguy@merlads.net.

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

The ten-year-old boy slept fitfully in the cage, jerking awake every few
minutes as every position in his prison was uncomfortable. He shivered all
night, the underground cavern, gave no hint of when dawn had come. Rob was
almost relieved when finally he heard of activity below. His team-mates,
eleven year old Peter and his nine-year-old brother Paul, were thrust
into the huge chamber by the tormentors, and ordered them to warm up. The
sight of the two pre-teens flexing and stretching their gorgeous bodies,
clad only in purple speedos, revived the dispirited boy in the cage a
little. He even found his hand reaching down to his small pair of speedos
as he watched, and he forgot some of his aches and pains for a moment.

Then, sooner than any of the three boys had expected, the cage rocketed
twenty five feet down into the pool, and was dragged right underwater by
a team of tormentors, wearing oxygen tanks, who secured it to the bottom
with chains within seconds.  They surfaced and motioned to Peter and Paul
to begin the rescue.  The two boys adjusted their goggles and dived in,
examining the cage, and the captive boy inside it, giving him thumbs-up
gestures to encourage him. There was no way into the steel cage, and the
door was locked with a huge padlock. The would-be rescuers looked around
wildly underwater.  Paul noticed one side of the pool looked different
from the others.  He swam to investigate, and discovered a tunnel leading
away from the side.  The end was dimly lit from above, revealing what
might have been a key.  The tunnel was only about eight inches wide -
too small for Peter.  Without waiting for discussion, Paul dolphined to
the surface, filled his lungs, and in arched into the tunnel.  Inch by
painful inch, he squeezed his slender frame sideways along the channel.
The rough stones abraded his chest and back, but he pushed on, determined
to rescue the boy who had saved him the day before. He worried that his
skinny rib cage might crack as he forced his way along, but the channel
was just wide enough for his small torso. He was overjoyed as his young
fingers closed around the key, and he made his way back eagerly, almost
returning to the main pool. Then the walls of the channel started to move
inwards. He thought he was imagining it at first, but soon he found it
impossible to move.

Panic gripped him, and his whole body went rigid. He couldn't even think -
his brain seemed paralyzed. Then, as if waking from a nightmare, he felt
his older brother's hands gripping his arms and legs, and the stronger
boy frantically began forcing his sibling from the trap. Both boys lungs
felt as though they were being folded up over and over again inside
them, but they persisted until the nine-year-old was free, just as the
walls of the temporary channel closed tight shut behind them. They burst
up to the surface, Paul jabbered a frantic explanation about the key,
Peter grabbed it, as he was faster and stronger, and swam down to the
cage. Peter's part in the rescue, while Paul was getting the key, had
been to swim down and breath of air into Rob's mouth through the bars,
which had sustained the weakened boy for several vital minutes. It was
the work of a moment to unlock the cage, throw off the padlock, and
allow Rob to shoot out the cage, past his rescuer, to the surface. All
the boys leapt out of the pool, and there was much boyish back slapping
and brotherly hugging. They were bonding into a great team.

Things got even better when the tormentors reluctantly led them off to
breakfast. Lord Wolf did not skimp on the food.  The boys tore through
the healthy food they'd been allocated: carefully-chosen cereal,
fruit, milk and orange juice, and even a small amount of chocolate.
Peter had to admonish his young brother not to stuff himself.  Rob was
particularly relieved at being able to sate his boyish appetite, having
been starved for nearly twenty-four hours.  Then, high on a balcony,
Lord Wolf appeared, and gave each boy detailed and specific instructions
for the day. Each boy memorized them well, knowing how much suffering
the slightest slip would cause, and Rob found he was no longer terrified
by the ordeals being outlined to him - he had already begun to master
fear and, to a limited extent, to conquer pain, and his first priority
was to work out ways to accomplish each task as safely as possible. For
the first time, he was starting to relax and even enjoy himself, and he
no longer felt like a new boy at school.

The morning was spent, as always, in swim training.  Rob knew he was
assigned a lighter session than the other boys due to his lack of rest,
as he was allowed to swim without weights attached to any part of him. He
swam hard and imagined he was no longer a boy in the water, but just
part of the water, a strong current going against the flow. The thought
calmed him, and made the training more effective.

After a light lunch and a brief rest, Rob's favorite part of the day
began. He faced two tasks today, and he thought about them carefully as he
allowed his refreshed body to glide along underwater to the first ordeal.

He'd heard about the piranha tank from the other boys, and his tummy did
little somersaults, half in fear and half in pleasure, as he clambered
into the Piranha chamber. It was a devious test.  Tormentors slathered
Rob's body and speedos with chum.  Rob did not know exactly what it was,
only that it stank.  As the tormentors worked with ill concealed glee,
Rob memorized the underwater maze before him.  He would have one minute to
negotiate the maze before the piranhas would go free to follow the smelly
trail Rob would inevitably leave.  Rob's refuge would be a portcullis at
the far end that would slam shut just after the piranhas entered the maze.
Rob's only hope for retaining his flesh lay in getting past the grate
before it dropped.  The shaft to the surface lay just beyond.

Looking like the victim in a horror movie, Rob stood at the entrance and
filled flushed his lungs with fresh air.  At the signal, he dove in.
In the corner of his eye, he saw a burst of activity in the piranha
chamber as the fish caught his sent.  Rob traversed the maze easily,
and reached the portcullis in less than a minute.  He still had a
good chest full of air, so instead of breaking for the surface, he
decided to put on a little show.  Rob went halfway under the spikes
of the portcullis, and then arched his back and grabbed the bars with
his hands.  Then, summoning his remarkable contortion skills, he bent
his legs back around the other side of the grate until his heals hooked
the bar behind his head.  His buttocks bunched mere centimeters from the
razor sharp spikes, and his boy basket dangled into the opening below.
Rob writhed as if bound to the grate, treating the cameras he assumed
looked on from the gloom.  Sometimes he did not need to, as his chest
convulsed, protesting the lack of oxygen.  Rob held on, regarding the
convulsions as mere discomfort, not yet a danger sign.

Rob's self training in escape artistry included the cultivation of an
uncanny sense of time.  He knew, although he could not say exactly how,
when the minute had passed.  Rob released his heals and glided under the
spikes, which came crashing down just as his toes cleared the opening.
Rob turned and saw the blood crazed fish clamoring at the bars.
A couple had been impaled on the spikes as they drove into the floor.
Rob lingered a few seconds, then reached up and punched one of the
brutes as it struggled against the bars.  It bit him on the knuckle,
which promptly started bleeding.  Rob waved his bleeding fist in front
of the brutes, driving them into an even greater frenzy.

Rob's diaphragm crunched again, this time it was not just protesting.
Rob sprang for the surface two body lengths above, spouting as he broke
the surface like a small white whale.  His concsiousness faded in and
out as he panted.  He had cut it close - just the way he liked it.

Rob clambered onto the flagstones, bowing deeply to the cameras. He ripped
off his trunks as they'd become bloodstained, and snapped on another pair,
grinning boyishly. Without further pause, he dived back into the water.

As he swam through the tunnels, turning left, right, third on the right,
second on the left, past the treasure chests, which he wisely ignored,
and up through the wreckage of the pirate ship to the surface, he felt
as though he was at the height of his game. He was glad he had taken
the piranha game a bit further than anyone had expected. It gave him
confidence to think about how to deal with his other problems - notably
the sadistic medic who was supposed to be checking him over every night,
Dr Jamboree. The name, obviously connected with scouts and cubs, where
he'd met Lord Wolf, had a festive ring to it. But the man was quite
the opposite. It wasn't that he looked mean...if anything, he looked
extremely kind, with a soft face and caring eyes. It was the fact that he
maintained this friendly disposition while inflicting all sorts of evil
upon the boys that really worried Rob.  He worried that the man might be
mad, and Lord Wolf needed to know what was going on.  It was not fair.
That was not part of the game. But he was never allowed to speak to the
aristocrat, who always appeared briefly in a remote balcony, booming his
commands down at his schoolboy trainees. The ten-year-old would have to
work on this problem.

The chamber in which he surfaced contained another device which the other
boys had warned him about - the fist machine. He had to escape getting a
real beating. The brave youngster was spreadeagled face up in the center
of a boxing ring, his arms and feet secured to its corner posts with a
boxer's skipping ropes, normally used for exercise. The device descended
from the ceiling - twenty-six mechanical arms, each ending in a boxing
glove, attached to a board six feet square - easily enough to reach every
part of the helpless youngster's body. There were four rows of six gloves,
but the row near his feet only contained two gloves, as if the final four
in that row might be missing. The black leather gloves stopped four feet
above him, and then began to whirl into action, pounding the air with
frightening force. Rob had to work out the pattern in which the arms
were beating, before he got pulped, or used his safe word ("Bagheera")
to stop the ordeal. The board inched downwards, and the boy in the ring
writhed desperately in frustration as he struggled to define any logical
sequence. He had five minutes to work it out before the first pounding -
which would be a light one, and ten minutes before the second strike,
which would be a full beating. As he looked up, the second from the left
on the top row came down first. He felt a whistling of wind as it was
still too high to hit him. Then the glove next to it, in the top left
hand corner, descended, followed by the one below it, to the extreme left
of the second row down. Then the glove to the right of that one punched,
then the second from the right in the top row thrashed out twice, then
the far right one on the third down down, then back to the top left hand
corner again. The sequence of eight blows repeated itself, over and over
again, the same eight gloves in the same pattern. There was no logic to
it, as far as Rob could see. He didn't really have a mathematical mind,
and he cursed his stupidity. The gloves were close now, and he tried to
concentrate all his efforts on the problem. Nothing. Nothing came into
his head, and he steeled himself for the first pounding. For this, the
pattern ceased and all hell broke loose as twenty-six arms swung into
action. The device swung away from his head to prevent serious injury,
but his stomach and chest took a beating - and so did his balls and
penis, protected only by a thin layer of silky purple material. But
it was, as promised, only a light assault.  Rob grimaced and grunted,
but never came near needing his safe word.  . The pounding would come
five minutes later. The device was raised again so that it hung several
feet above him. He had time to think. He was beginning to see the clue
- six rows of four, plus two odd ones, with the other four in that row
missing. Why? Twenty six gloves, not the thirty that would have filled
up the board fully. Why? Then, at last, an idea hit him - almost with
the force of one of the gloves themselves. It was an alphabet grid. So
starting from the top left, the sequence began with a B. Then an A. Then
a G, an H, two Es, an R and an A.

He'd cracked it! But just as he was about to shout the word aloud, he
saw the trap. If he shouted out "Bagheera", he'd have been tricked into
failure. So he yelled out "My safe word...it spells out my safe word!"

He was instantly released, and a tormentor stood him in the ring and
reluctantly raised the boy's right arm in triumph, like a young champion,
for the camera. Rob glowed all over - maybe he wasn't so stupid after
all...

The three boys convened in an ante-chamber, and the forbidding aristocrat
appeared high above them. Paul's knees buckled under him as he was told
that his performance in the Scorpion Coffin had been unsatisfactory. His
older brother's offers to take his place in the cage were rejected firmly
by Lord Wolf. The nine-year-old was led away, and Rob put a gentle
arm around Peter, reassuring him fiercely that they'd rescue the lad
next morning in double-quick time. Then they were led off to separate
cells, and the doors slammed shut on another day of pain and pleasure
at Poseidon Manor.

(ENDS)(copyright by Speedyboy, Sept 2003)

(NOTE TO MEMBERS: What happens to Paul next day? What further trials
and tribulations await the plucky trio?

How can Rob get to talk to Lord Wolf in private? Why not post a new
chapter, or just some ideas or comments!

Best wishes to all members,

Speedyboy