Date: Sat, 25 Oct 2003 04:09:19 -0000 (GMT)
From: ok_uwater@merlads.net
Subject: Rob and Gordon - Night One

Night One

Copyright by UndrCGuy, Sept 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 ok_uwater@merlads.net.

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

Rob's family was away on holiday, leaving Rob with my family, ostensibly to
study for exams under my tutelage.  I was halfway to being alone with him.
A small amount of scheming would dispatch the rest of the distractions.  I
staged a fight with my older brother, no big task given that it was part of
our daily routine.  I made sure it was "his fault," that my mother joined in,
inevitably adding to the hysteria, and that Rob looked on with his innocent
brown eyes.  When the shouting reached a certain crescendo, Robs eyes widened,
his hands went up to his face, and he scampered out of the room.  Such a
sensitive child!  He had hit his cue like a professional.  My parents were
scandalized.  Obviously, Rob was homesick, and desparately needed some peace,
quiet and privacy.  That was my cue.
"Could Rob and I spend the night at his place?", I offered.
I promised to be extra careful and mature, and I would take good care of Rob,
who probably just yearned for familiar surroundings.  My parents leapt at the
idea.  Predictably, my mother wanted to take us.  Then she remembered I had
gotten my clothes unusually muddy that day.  Such a clumsy child!  Now she had
to spend the evening doing laundry.  My father would stay home to deal with my
brother.  Such an unfortunate child!  The only sensible plan put Rob and me at
his house alone.

Half an hour later found us headed out the front door into the humid evening.
My folks must have wondered why Rob had such a big bag.  I'm sure they had no
clue about his taste in swim wear.  They may also have wondered my mine was so
heavy.  Neither would they have had a clue about my taste in hardware.  When we
got to Rob's place I phoned home and plied my mother with reassurances that
everything was all right.  I dragged out the conversation until I detected her
get-off-the-phone tone of voice.  Then I thoughtfully began my goodbyes, and
thanked her for reminding me that Rob should call his parents sometime.  I then
had Rob call his parents and talk their ear off for a while.  I made sure he
ended by saying I needed to use the phone.  When he hung up, I took the phone
off the hook.  If anyone tried to call, the busy signal would suggest someone
was talking to the other set of parents.  I was not in the mood for
interruption.

I'm sure Rob was ready for action, but we needed one more change of venue.
"You probably think you're spending the night tied to your warm, soft,
comfortable bed," I snorted.  "Guess again.  We're going out."
Rob gave me a bewildered look.  I gave him an impatient one.  The game was
starting.  Catching on, Rob straightened up and marched out.  I put a note on
the table: "Milk sour, gone to shops." I hefted my bag, and followed him out.

We went to the school yard, and thence to the pool house, our venue.  The doors
were locked shut with an admirable array of locks and chains.  They would
guarantee privacy, I surmised.  I led Rob to a window that I knew had a
malfunctioning latch.  A minute later we were in the pool area, and I locked
down the loose latch with one of my padlocks.  Rob was trapped.

The smell of chlorine stirred me as always.  I knew the pool had just been
emptied and refilled during maintenance.  The water was fresh and cold, since
the heaters had been left off to save money.  The first warm thing to touch
the water would be Rob's body.

"Lose the outer wear," I commanded, and went the office, which was next to
the deep end, separated from the pool area by a glass wall.  The breaker box
was on the far wall.  I did not want a lot of light attracting attention to the
building.  I disconnected most of the pool lights and shut the breaker.  The
underwater lights in the deep end came on.  The rest of the pool was ominous
shadow.  I decided the light from the office was sufficient for topside.  The
sparse lighting created a foreboding atmosphere.

Rob wandered into the glare of the office light.  As I had guessed, he had been
wearing speedos all day, a dark blue-gray set with a white stripe down the
side.  Perfect.  I admired his rangy, sinewy body beneath his small childish
face beneath his thick mop of brown hair.  His alabaster skin veritably glowed
in the subdued light.  He looked at me in anticipation as I approached him.
I could have spent the night just looking at him, but it was time to begin.
I pulled an electric cord out of my back pocket, mustered a surge of adrenilin,
and cut him a deep one across the shoulder blades.  Rob moaned and lurched
forward, but now I was in front of him.

"While awaiting instructions you will stand at the edge of the pool, facing the
wall.  You will not move or speak unless ordered or compelled to," I barked into
his face.  Rob complied with a single graceful step to the edge.  His breath
was irregular from the unexpected pain, but he stood at attention with his eyes
fixed ahead.  They bore a look of defiance.

I walked back and forth in front of Rob.  "This is our space.  I intend to keep
it that way, which means not attracting attention.  There will be no screaming
and yelling.  If ordered to speak, you will use your normal voice, but you will
make it short and sharp.  Understood?"

"Yessir!" Rob snapped.  He made it sound curt.  He was taunting me.  I
continued.

"You are here tonight to perform exercises and tasks that will demonstrate
your ability to withstand physical pain and stress.  The pain and stress
will be extreme, but will not cause permanent physical injury or risk of
death.  If you disagree, which is to say if you decide you are in danger of
permanent injury or death, you can stop any exercise or task at any time by
any of three signals.  First, you can say your safety word, which is 'Bagheera'.
Second, if you are unable to speak, you can signal it by extending both your
index fingers.  Third, you can disobey any of my instructions, at any time, to
any extent, in any detail.  If you present any of these circumstances, the
exercises and tasks end instantly.  Then I will take you home, tuck you in,
read you a story, and we spend the rest of your holiday drilling in maths."
Rob maintained his gaze, but his face looked pained.  I did not have to guess
what he would not allow to happen.

Rob was starting to slouch.  I was sure the welt on his back was broadcasting
pain throughout his body.
"Attention!" I commanded.  "Do not flinch."  Rob stiffened.  I hefted the
electric cord and put another welt across his pec's.  Rob let out half a grunt
and tightened his jaw, but stood fast.

I fetched my bag.  I shackled his ankles with a short chain.  He could still
awkwardly walk and swim.  I did the same with his wrists.  Then I wrapped two
heavy chains around his waist and secured them with padlocks.  Each weighed
about fifteen pounds.

"You always have permission to breath deeply", I said.  "In fact it would be a
good idea."

Rob realized what was coming.  He started deep breathing, in the manner I had
taught him during our freediving sessions at the baths.  I allowed myself a
moment to admire his chest.  Although he was ten, the kid had the chest of a
thirteen year old.  His smooth skin stretched over his rib cage as he gulped
air.  Before he could feel complimented, I returned to my task.

Down came the blue-gray speedos.  I tied a loop of nylon fishing cord around
his ball sack.  It was not tight enough to stop any circulation, but neither
would it slip off.  His cocklet warmed and stiffened as I handled it.  I
melted the nylon knot with a cigarette lighter to keep him from
untying it.  The flame caressed his skin a few times.  Rob continued not
flinching.  I restored his speedo, taking the line through the leg hole.
I tied the other end to both heavy chains, again melting the knot, again not
being too careful with his skin.

Rob's deep breathing was disciplined and regular.  It was time for him to get
wet.  I stood before him.  "You'll need these to get the chains off."
I held out the two keys to the padlocks in the palm of my hand.  I tossed them
over Rob's head into the deep end.  "Have a nice swim," I said, and pushed him
backwards.  Our eyes met as he slammed the water, his mouth making a circle
as he took one last big gulp of air before disappearing beneath the surface.
The chains pulled him down by the waist.  He landed on the bottom on his butt,
facing up.  It took some thrashing and rolling to get on all fours.  He struck
out across the bottom to where he guessed the keys were.  After some zig
zagging he found them.  The water had calmed, so I had a good view of him
working the locks.  There was nothing to indicate which key went with which
lock, and he obviously guessed wrong the first time.  Eventually, the chains
fell away from him.  I checked my watch.  The quest had only taken about forty
seconds.  Rob kicked hard off the bottom.  He blew like a whale as his body
surged through the surface.  The snort became a moan of agony when he
discovered his mistake.  The chains were still attached by the fishing line,
and he was lifting them off the bottom with his balls.  He clasped his hands
over his mouth and nose as the weight yanked him back under.  He did not have
time to inhale, and sank to the bottom.  He kicked off more gently this time.
He did his whale impersonation again as his head broke the surface a second
time.

The chains allowed Rob an awkward frog kick with his feet and a dog paddle
with his hands.  The stroke was awkward, but at least he was on the surface.
Rob set out for the side.  He winced as the fishing line went taut and his
balls started dragging the chains across the bottom.  He went a couple of feet
and gave up, treading water again.  He tried holding the line with his hands,
but his feet were too constrained to propel him.  He tried wrapping the
line around his foot, but his hands alone were also inadequate.  He tried
holding the line in his teeth, but it was too short, and his head submerged.
Finally, Rob took some breaths on the surface and dove to the chains.  He
draped them over his shoulders and started walking across the bottom.
Progress was slow, but at least it was progress.  He had to surface a couple
of times for air, but finally he reached the side of the pool.  He clung to
the gutter below me, wheezing and shivering.

"Get those chains up here," I commanded.  He gave me an incredulous look.
"You have thirty seconds to obey," I admonished.

Rob tried to lift himself out.  He screamed hoarsely before his torso was half
out.  The weight on his balls was too much.

"Quiet!" I ordered, and kicked him in the chest with my boot.  He fell back,
and scrambled back to the edge.  "Twenty seconds," I announced.

Rob went under and coiled the line a few times around his foot.  He did not
need it for swimming now right now.  Then he regained his grip on the gutter
and pulled himself up.  I watched from above.  I admired his muscles as he
lifted his own weight and that of the weights.  I also wanted to make sure the
line on his foot did not become unravelled and drop the chains.  His body
plopped on the cement.  He rolled, sat up, and pulled the chains the rest of
the way by hand.  Time was up just as he passed them to me.  "Good enough,"
I said.  I looked annoyed.  Rob quickly resumed his post at the edge of the
pool.  The effort had strained him.  He slouched and looked glazed.

"Had enough?" I asked.  "I know some nice gentle bed time stories."

Rob snapped to attention and fixed his gaze on the wall, although he was still
breathing heavily and shivering.  I reattached the chains and tossed the keys -
farther this time.  In went Rob.  He got on all fours more quickly than the
first time and made a more efficient search pattern.  He did not waste time
experimenting on the transit back, and two minutes later he stood before me
again.  The kid was adaptable.  I reapplied the chains, and then another around
his waste.  Now he had more weight, and another key to find and sort out on
the bottom.  He struggled the first time with the new configuration.  The
second time was noticably quicker, but I had plenty more chains.  So went the
first phase.  As Rob adapted, I added more weight, around his waist, in figure
eights around his ankles, around his wrists, and finally around his shoulders.
I usually pushed him into the pool, although several times I put my shoulder
against his chest to keep him from doubling over as I launched him with a good
scrotum punch.  The final chains went over each shoulder and under the
opposite arm pit.  I used the five pounders there so as to not hinder his
breathing and also to avoid driving his head into the bottom of the pool.  I
compensated for this apparent consideration by running barbed wire through the
chain.  The barbs were short, but I had filed them to needle sharpness, and
then pounded the ends so they terminated in tiny hooks that would snag the
skin.  I also treated the barbs with disinfectant.  I did not want to expose
Rob to life threatening infections.  I also knew that disinfectant hurts like
hell when it gets under the skin.  Rob winced as I added the last chains.
Eventually Rob was carrying almost his weight in metal, and searching for seven
keys spread over the bottom.  He always came back up and regained his post
next to the pool.  I was extremely impressed with his strength, stamina, and
resilience, but did not say anything.  Pats on the head were not part of the
curriculum.  After twenty two dives, Rob was becoming hypothermic.  He was
shivering uncontrollably.  His fair skin was becoming ghost like, and his
normally cherry lips were pale gray.  It was time to end the first phase.
"Satisfactory," I said curtly, as I cut the nylon line and cast the chains
aside.  "You have thirty seconds to change speedos,"  I said.  Instantly Rob
was quick and graceful, as he jumped out of his blue gray speedos and into
a sky blue number.  The soft, dry fabric apparently energized him.  He was
starting to regain his gleam as I reattached the wrist and ankle shackles.  I
gave him a quick rub down as he stood before me in chains.  I could feel the
fabric tense as I rubbed the front of his fresh speedo.

Before the reprive could become enjoyable, I shoved Rob back into the pool.
"Meet me at the diving board," I ordered.  Rob made an awkward dolphin kick
to the location as I walked to the end of the platform with my bag.  I lifted
Rob by the arms, and then turned him over and hung him upside down off the end
of the platform.  I secured his ankles with a rope around the board, so that
he was hanging at the knees.  Rob's height left his head dangling just under
the water.  To breath, Rob had to bend his body and curl his chest, raising
his head above the surface to get a labored breath.  The first time he did so
he saw me standing far above him, wielding a long rubber hose over my head.
His eyes widened as he realized it was just the right length to reach a
certain part of his anatomy.  Rob gulped a minimal breath and straightened.
As his head went below the surface, the hose came down with a vicious "Whoosh!"
The end quivered as it rebounded from the front of his speedos.  Rob screamed
underwater.  He pulled his head above the water, gasping and sobbing.
"Spread your shoulder blades and stretch your back.  That will get more air
in," I offered, as I raised the hose again.  Rob breathed hard a few times and
went down again.  His body tensed for the blow, making a beautiful relief of
young musculature below me as I brought the hose down again.  The second blow
was harder, but Rob held his breath this time.  Rob lasted about ten seconds,
then came up again.  As his head dropped below the surface he again paid the
price for taking air.  He was beginning to understand.

Actually the hose had two missions.  I counted twelve seconds, and then lowered
the hose and gently glanced it off Rob's speedo.  I felt around with the end,
exploring the folds of the fabric.  I identified the protrusions made by his
balls and deftly tucked the material around them, and then rode the hose
between them and started stroking his shaft.  The fabric shifted and rose as
Rob's apparatus inevitably responded.  I was starting to make out his pulse
in the growing bulge, but then his head came up, and I poised again to
administer the kiss of pain.  In spite of the awkwardness and impending agony,
Rob had a slight smirk as he gulped air below me.  As his head went back in
I brought the hose down as violently as ever, although I took care not to hit
his shaft directly.  This time I waited fifteen seconds before letting the
hose resume its friendly and stimulating caress.  Rob's dwindling
erection sprang back instantly.  He pressed his hand against the back of his
speedos and arched his back to present his package.  The hose stroked his
shaft slowly but rhythmically.  Rob's body trembled.  I knew it was not from
fear or cold.  After almost a minute Rob surrendered to hunger for oxygen and
raised his head.  The hose transformed back into an instrument of punishment.
A longer interval passed between the ruthless blow and the resumption of the
friendlier, more stimulating treatment.  The game continued, with Rob having
to hold his breath longer and longer before he could enjoy the thrilling
ministrations, punctuated by savage waves of pain when his outraged lungs took
control and forced him to again incur the hose's wrath.

After about twenty minutes I checked my watch.  It was 10:30.  The news would
be ending, time for a pre-emptive call.  I walked heavily off the diving
board into the pool office.  I could see Rob through the window, although he
could not see me.  I phoned home.  "Hi Mummy, just calling to say everything
is all right.  How are things with you? ... That's good... Rob?  He's in the
bath.  I think he's washing his hair."  Rob lifted his head out of the water
and twisted around, trying in vain to find me.  "I think he's getting out now.
Do you want to talk to him?  ...  I know it's late.  We've been busy.  Don't
worry.  I'll chase him up very next thing.  Bye."

I tip toed to the end of the board.  Next time Rob came up, there I was again.
"I saw you take air three times while I was gone," I said, and administered
three blows with the evil hose.  Rob dropped, screamed underwater, and came
up again.  The hose mercilessly continued striking him.  Rob managed to get a
breath and go back in, although I was sure he was at his limit.  Rob had
acquited himself admirably.  It was time for a real reward.

I reached into my bag and took out the treasure.  I made sure it sank to the
bottom, then freed Rob's hands and feet.  I lifted him by the ankles and drove
him into the deep end.  As he turned at the bottom, he spied the treasure, and
instantly knew what it was.  He put it on before springing off the bottom.
He broke the surface and grabbed the diving board.  I pulled him up by the
wrists, and the victor stood before me, strained and panting, but proud
and triumphant in his new speedos.  I'd almost gone broke over those ones.
They were metallic gray, with a glossy shine like aluminum.  In spite of the
metallic look, they were as soft and silky as the boy's skin.

"Your performance has been satisfactory.  Eminently satisfactory," I reported,
sounding official and business like.  Songs of praise were not needed.  Rob
stuck his chest out and strutted of the diving board, enraptured with his
new finery.  I followed him to his bag and gave him a proper rub down.  After
drying his body I carefully smoothed and stretched his speedo until there
were no rolls or wrinkles.  It clung to his smooth damp body like a second skin.
His tireless boy basket stirred again as I adjusted the front.

Rob pulled on his shirt and some sandals.  We gathered our stuff.  I dimmed the
lights and we decamped into the night.  On the way out we passed the boiler
room.  I had been there on previous reconnaissance missions.  There were lots
of hot pipes in there, and dangerous tools.  The doors were heavy to suppress
the sound of machinery, and screams.  Soon Rob would find adversity down there.
He was going to need that strength of his.  And that attitude.  And some luck.
But that would be another day.

To be continued.