Date: Sat, 18 Dec 2004 15:59:34 -0500 (EST)
From: ok_uwater@merlads.net
Subject: Boy Daredevils in Speedos 8

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Copyright by Speedyboy and UndrCGuy, December 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 ok_uwater at merlads dot net.

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When Rob woke up, he didn't know where he was. The ten-year-old tried to
get up, but found that he was tied face down, bound hand and foot, to a
doctor's black leather examination couch. It was then that the full
horror of his predicament hit him - he was in some secret chamber in
Wolf's castle, without Wolf's knowledge, at the mercy of the sadistic Dr
Jamboree.

The evil medic was at his side in an instant, gently stroking the boy's
thick mop of brown hair, and whispering softly into his ear that both
his spirit and body were about to be broken.

"What do you fear most, boy?" crowed the doctor.

"Nothing you can throw at me, that's for sure!" Rob shot back angrily.

The cub scout was furious that the doctor had broken every rule in the
book to get him into this position of utter helplessness.

"I don't think even your devious young mind could have prepared you for
this!" the doctor leered back at him. "You were talking in your sleep,
boy, and I know what horrifies you above everything else".

Rob told himself the doctor was bluffing, and, in the absence of any
better ideas, the boy began to yell for help. The cruel man watched the
youngster shouting, twisting and writhing in his tight bonds for several
minutes, with a smile on his thin lips, and then he gagged his captive,
saying "You'll need this, because I even I won't be able to stand the
volume of your screams over the next hour".

The doctor removed a scalpel from a collection of sterilised utensils on
the table next to the couch, placed deliberately within the captive
boy's field of vision.

"Now boy", he continued in his calm, kindly voice, "Remember this will
hurt me a lot more than it hurts you...."

Rob yelped in panic as he became aware that a careful vertical incision
being made down the back of his purple speedos. He relaxed slightly when
he realised that it was the silky material, and not his flesh, which was
being cut, but when he considered what might be coming next, the boy's
mind flipped, and began to throw all his weight around on the couch.

"You need not worry, little boy" purred the doctor, "I agreed after our
last session that I wouldn't touch you ever again. So instead, I have a
machine to do it for me..."

Rob's eyes widened in terror as the doctor wheeled the device into view.
It skated easily across the flagstone floor. The boy recognised one of
the arms from the fist machine, mounted onto a powerful motor. The
boxing glove had been removed, to reveal a clenched metal fist, smeared
with some kind of oily substance.

"I will start it up slowly, and then I will show you how fast it can
go", the doctor explained in a serene voice. "We will watch it together
for several minutes, then I will use it on you, and we will see how long
you last."

Rob was very, very focussed by now, thinking through his options with a
clarity that only comes at times of great adversity. But he slowly
realised that there was nothing he could do, and he watched, fascinated,
as the demonstration continued, with the fist pounding air just inches
from his face, getting harder and harder and faster and faster with
every blow. He finally concluded that the only thing he could do would
be to bear his unjust fate with bravery. He wasn't going to give the
doctor the satisfaction of watching him break down. He wasn't going to
cry - he was way beyond that now.

At least that's what he thought...but then he really did see something
that sent tears streaming down his face. But they weren't tears of
despair, they were tears of relief. He'd been looking at the grille that
pumped air into the chamber, and he'd seen it move slightly. And then he
caught sight of Paul's face behind the grille. The nine year old was
showing no trace of fear...just grim determination. The boys exchanged
fierce glances, and nodded together, very slightly.

Rob knew he had to distract the awful doctor, so he started making
sounds through his gag, trying to indicate that he wanted to speak. The
bloodthirsty medic couldn't resist, and pulled the gag off, eager to
hear what he assumed would be the boy's woeful pleas. Rob was a good
actor - he'd just played Jack in a ferocious production of "Lord of the
Flies" at school - and he gave what he hoped would be an Oscar-winning
performance. He begged, wept, used his safeword over and over again,
offered to do anything else - anything but that, while the excited
doctor looked on with a gleam of satisfaction in his soft eyes. He bent
closer to the boy to hear his every word, as the pounding grew louder.
Then everything changed very, very suddenly.

Wallop! The fist struck the dreadful doctor hard in the face, sending
him reeling backwards with a bloody nose. The medic looked up astonished
at the sight of a nine year old boy in purple speedos - who had
apparently appeared from nowhere - controlling the devastating force of
the machine.

Wallop! the device caught the man in the stomach, winding him and
sending him to the floor.  Finally, Paul redirected the fist downward
for one final blow between the man's legs, shouting gleefully "This is
what my Mom told me to do to strange men who try to grab me!"

Dr Jamboree lay whimpering, crouching tightly in a ball. "Yeah, I used
to curl up too", muttered Paul, contemptuously. The boy had him hogtied
in seconds - he was good at rope games, thanks to Peter's patient
tuition. Then he took out Rob's cub scout penknife, which he'd carried
folded up down the front of his speedos, and showed the man the sharpest
blade.

"Any more trouble from you, Doc, and I'm gonna try an operation on you
you'll never forget, got it?"

The beaten medic grunted, utterly diminished. He looked like no threat
at all.  Paul cut Rob free with care, and the ten year old sat up,
rubbing his wrists and ankles, before jumping joyfully onto Paul, and
the two rolled around together excitedly on the floor, squeaking in
triumph.

"How on earth did you find me?" Rob wanted to know, as they tied Dr
Jamboree to the heavy leather couch for extra safety.

"I've been all around these tunnels ever since you showed me how easily
the grilles came away", explained Paul. There's some really weird stuff
in this place, and I don't think Wolf knows about all of it. Some of it
might belong to the doctor, but not all of it".

"What kind of stuff?"

"You don't want to know, Rob, believe me! Anyway we've gotta get out of
here. You stay and make sure Jamboree doesn't slip away...here's your
knife back - I thought I was going to need it, but that machine was more
fun, wasn't it? Oh, and don't stand near the door, we may have to break
it down, OK?"

The imp darted back up the narrow tunnel, leaving Rob shaking his head
in wonder again at the younger boy's brilliance.  It was a long wait,
and Rob took the opportunity to tell his captive just what he thought of
him. He vented his anger first, but he ended up trying to tell the adult
how wrong it was to try to imprison and torture boys against their will.
He tried to explain the difference between what was fun and what was
simply evil. He talked about the importance of letting the boy stop the
action at any point with a safe word. Jamboree spat all sorts of foul
words back at the youngster, but Rob persisted until the doctor seemed
to give up and fall silent, beaten mentally as well as physically by the
boys he had sought to harm.  The philosophical mood was interrupted by a
loud crash as a battering ram flattened the wooden door, and a dozen
tormentors landed in the secret room, followed by Lord Wolf. The
aristocrat struggled to maintain his customary dignified composure as he
rushed towards the boy and - in an uncharacteristic gesture which amazed
the tormentors - hugged him warmly and asked him tenderly if he was
alright.

"It's like Peter said", replied Rob, "I knew I could count on you guys
to come and rescue me! I'm fine, but I wouldn't let the guy over there
take any more temperatures if I were you, sir!"

"I have another fate planned for him" boomed Lord Wolf, resuming his
usual gravitas.

Rob was allowed to sleep for a few hours, before resuming his swim
training. This time, the weights and other devices were simply left by
the narrow channel of water, so that he could choose what to wear. He
selected a couple of arm weights bearing a pirate's crest of skull and
crossbones, and a ball noose attached to a small treasure chest. As he
swam, he pretended he was a cabin boy on a pirate ship, who'd been
kidnapped by Blackbeard and forced to accompany the buccaneers on their
quest for booty. He'd escaped with the most valuable treasure chest in
the world, which would make his fortune. He swam faster and faster as he
imagined what the pirates would do to him if they caught him. He knew
boys were treated roughly on board ship, and fancied that he might enter
the navy as a cadet if he ever got out of Poseidon Manor. He was unaware
of time passing as the possibilities of this new choice of career
flooded into his head, and the boy was surprised when a dementor
indicated to him that the moment had come to stop swimming.

After lunch, Lord Wolf gave Rob a late briefing on his ordeals for the
afternoon, explaining that he'd judged it unfair to expect the boy to
take in his instructions any earlier. The thrilled boy wriggled in
anticipation as the tests were described in great detail, saluted
smartly, and dived into the water eagerly, heading for the Circus Ring.
It was dark when he entered, but after he'd rubbed himself down with a
purple towel, a spotlight illuminated a large cannon, just big enough
for a boy to squeeze inside. Two tormentors appeared, one bearing a
helmet, which was placed carefully on the ten-year-old's head, and
secured firmly. The other tormentor carried a gaudy painted sign around
the ring, which read "The Amazing Cannonball Boy". Then the tormentors
indicated to Rob that it was his turn to act. He knew what he had to do.
He looked carefully at the safety net thirty feet away on the other side
of the ring. It was large enough to allow some margin of error, but he
could see that he'd have to think carefully about his trajectory to
avoid failure. Using a winch, he wound the angle of the cannon up and
down, trying to calculate the optimum angle. If it was too high, he'd
fly into the empty velvet seats around the ring. If it was too low, he'd
end up in the sandy ring with an uncomfortable thud. When he was
satisfied, he locked the cannon into place and nodded to the tormentors.
They bound his arms tightly by his sides, and tied his feet together,
giggling a little at the signs of excitement so evident in the ten year
old's speedos.

The thrill increased even further as every inch of the boy's body was
smeared with grease, so that he'd slide in and out of the cannon more
easily. He was inserted feet first, with just his head peeping out of
the top of the weapon. Then there was a drumroll, and one of the
tormentors gestured the countdown to the boy. The other released a
catapault device within the cannon, sending the cub scout shooting with
a tremendous force through the air, almost to the roof of the big top,
before he landed half on and half off the net. It broke his fall well,
so that he wasn't hurt, but he was angry at his undignified roll onto
the sand, and demaded another go. He knew that he'd have to pay a price
for his request. This time, clamps were snapped onto his boyish nipples,
attached to ropes leading to the top of the tent. They made the exit
from the cannon more painful, and the landing excruciating as they
weren't quite long enough to avoid him dangling for a few moments before
the tormentors released him, but he landed right on the net, and bowed
low to the invisible audience.

Then, to the sounds of circus music, Peter and Paul bounded into the
ring. A tormentor carried a sign around the ring which read "The
Death-Defying Speedo Trapeze Boys". All three boys shot up the ladders
to the flying trapezes, and the safety net was moved under them, and
extended so that it would catch any of the youngsters if they fell. They
started swinging, and eventally plucked up enough courage to leap off,
allowing their partners to catch them by the hands or feet. After a
while, they found this was quite easy, and began whooping with pleasure,
but then the music changed, and they looked grimly at each other. The
new sign being carried around by one of the tormentors read "The
Astounding Juggling Balls Trick". Peter went first, signalling to Rob
that he should catch him. Rob's hands readied themselves as the eleven
year old came hurtling towards him. Desperately, Rob's fingers closed
around Peter's purple speedos, so that the boy was safe, but hanging by
his balls. Rob couldn't hold the slightly older boy's weight, and Peter
did a dizzying dive into the safety net below. Now Paul's turn came, and
he was less afraid now that he'd see that it was just about physically
possible. He launched his young body at his friend, and again, Rob's
fingernails dug deep into his partner's brief silky trunks, and the
nine-year old hung there by his small testicles for a few seconds,
before crashing down to the net, where his brother was waiting and
applauding.

When Paul was safe, Peter scrambled back up, and whispered "It's
showtime, folks!" to his buddy. Rob flew elegantly towards his partner,
allowing himself to be caught ferociously. Then, as he hung there, he
shouted to Paul "It's OK...let's make it better...spin me round!".
Peter needed to second bidding, and soon the trapeze boy and his prey
were a blur of motion, whirling around in giddy unison. Rob felt waves
of pain shooting through his young body, and took strength from his
ability to endure them. After a minute or two, both boys were sweating
heavily, and Rob gasped for release. He sailed into the net like a
swallow, Peter followed, and the boys jumped smartly out of the net,
joined hands with Paul, and bowed for the cameras.  They swam off
together for their next test - the first time they'd been allowed to
navigate their way as a trio, which was just as well, as the route was
long and complicated. It involved much frantic signalling underwater, as
the boys' lungs grew tighter. Rob and Peter were grateful to Paul for
his unfailing sense of direction. They burst up to the surface, and lept
out. After they'd dried themselves off, they were each given a fresh
pair of red speedos for the ordeal ahead. This was because the test
involved fire. Its premise was extremly simple. Paul was tied to a chair
on the third storey of a burning house, and his speedos were drenched
with something extremly flammable. The tormentors were on standby with
fire hoses in case the blaze started doing any of the boys serious
damage, but otherwise they were on their own. Paul started yelling as
soon as he smelt the smoke. The two older boys charged through the
doorway and heard his cries, but were confronted by a blazing staircase,
stretching right up to the second storey.  Frantically, they looked
around - no ladders, no water, no breathing apparatus, and no protective
clothing apart from the red silky garments in which their young boy
organs nestled so beautifully.

"We'll have to climb!" yelled Peter, dragging Rob back out of the house.

He made Rob stand against the wall, and scrambled up him, to a ledge
above the front door. Then he grabbed a handful of the strange seaweed
that seemed to be growing over parts of the facade. It held his weight.
So he picked his way up to the second storey. He managed to prize one of
the sash windows open, and hurled himself into the house, laying down on
the floor to avoid the smoke. Like a snake, he wriggled to the staircase
which led to the third storey. As he reached the room in which his
younger brother was being held captive, the stairs collapsed behind him,
engulfed by fire. He untied the boy, and ran to the window, shouting
down to Rob to do something.

Rob knew there must be some way to rescue them, or the test would be
pointless. He'd been looking around all the time while Peter had been
making his way up to Paul, and something about the flagstones in front
of the house had caught his attention. An area fifteen feet square was a
different colour and texture to the flooring around it. Rob was getting
to know the way Lord Wolf's mind worked, and he began to inch his way
across the stones, looking for clues. The more he examined them, the
more strange they appeared. Something about them just didn't feel
right...it was almost as though they were hollow. Then he started
scratching at them with his fingernails, and found that a thin layer of
something like paint was coming away. To his excitement, he found that
beneath the coating, he was revealing a wooden floor carved to look like
stone.

That was the moment when Peter shouted down to him, so he was able to
yell back "Hang on...I think this will work...just trust me!" He flung
himself into the dangerous house, and came out wielding a huge plank of
wood, bigger than himself, flaming at one end. He crashed it down onto
the wooden flagstones, and doused it with the highly flammable liquid
which had been used to drench Paul's trunks so cruellly.

"Rob!" cried Peter, "what are you doing? You've gotta help us!"

"I am" the boy screeched back, above the noise of the collapsing house.

"Look!"

Sure enough, as the false wooden flagstones burned away swiftly, right
in front of the house, a deep pool was becoming slowly visible
underneath. Rob dipped a hairless arm into the water, and was satisfied
to find it was suitably icy.

"Hey guys", he called back, "this'll be a bit cold, but I guess you
won't mind that!"

The overjoyed boys could see their means of escape, and they jumped just
before the flames could reach the nine-year-old's red garment. They
surfaced with rueful grins on their faces, and Rob jumped in too just to
cool off, while the dementors hosed down the ruined wooden house,
extinguishing the flames.

They suveyed the wreckage left behind.

"Wow! A few more minutes and we'd have been toast", piped Paul,
shuddering and flicking his blond hair from his eyes.

"You think I'd let my brother get his balls fried? No way!" rejoined
Peter, wrestling playfully in the water with the other two boys.  They
redonned their purple speedos, and swam back, following Paul's lead.
Lord Wolf appeared, high on a balcony above them, and praised them for
their efforts.

"No boy was weak today", he boomed, "and so there will be no cage
punishment tonight...but I have to warn you that tomorrow you will all
face your final tests jointly. If you succeed, you will be allowed to
graduate and become full members of the Daredevil Boys Aquatic Club, but
if you fail, you will have to leave hanging your head in shame, or
choose to undergo more rigorous training than you have yet experienced."
"Lord Wolf!" Rob's confident voice rang out as he met his master's gaze.
"May we know something of what we will face, so that we can prepare
ourselves for it?"

"You may not, boy!" the aristocrat chided, "Save to say" he added with
the hint of a smile as he gazed at Rob, "that many gladiators and
chariot racers are dragged from the ring begging for a place of safety!"

The man and the boy stared right into each other, and the boy began to
grin, and offered a final tribute to Wolf before he retired for the
night; "O great Lord Wolf! All those you are about to try salute you!"
The slightly-altered classical reference was not lost on his
well-educated master, and the aristocrat was chuckling a little after
he'd turned his back on the boys. The trio of youngsters shook hands
solemnly, and allowed the tormentors to crash shut the doors of their
cells for one last time.