Suspended in Gaffa
punishment, kidnapping, ballbusting
A thug finds himself in a precarious situation.
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Suspended in Gaffa
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8pm. Saturday. Gary walked slowly towards his home keeping to the shadows and backstreets. He walked gingerly with his knees wide apart and the gait of a saddle-sore cowboy. He was naked and barefoot. His wrists were tied together with electrical wire and his hands were taped shut into two clenched fists, which he used to cover his naked, hairless groin. Although he couldn’t see it, most of the hair on his head was missing and what remained stuck up in small threadbare tufts. Anyone seeing him could be forgiven for thinking that he was suffering from mange or late stage radiation poisoning but they’d be wrong.
His troubles had started the night before. A spiked beer and then a deep sleep, and this morning he awoke somewhere he recognised. The abandoned factory, two miles outside town. He’d explored it as a kid, and smoked pot there in his mid-teens. But now he was going to add another activity to his list: now it was the place where he paid for a decade of bullying and terrorising that started just as he hit his teens.
10.23am. Saturday. Gary blinked blearily and opened his eyes. His wrists and ankles were securely tied and he hung five feet off the floor. He was hanging horizontally from a metal pipe, and he felt like the victim in the comic strips where a man gets captured by cannibals. But it was not cannibals he saw. It was his new friends from the bar. There were three of them.
“Where am I? What’s happening?” Gary asked blearily, still groggy from the drug that had been slipped into his drink.
“Hey Gary, glad you’re awake. We were starting to worry that you were going to sleep all day.”
Gary suddenly realised he was naked.
“Where’s my fucking clothes?!” he demanded lifting his head.
He was used to getting his own way.
“Watch your tone son. You’re not in charge here,” one of the men said, then he slapped him hard across the cheek.
“I’m gonna break that fucking arm when I get free!” Gary snarled.
“Sure you are big man,” the man answered, and slapped Gary again, twice as hard, rocking his head to the side.
“MotherFUCKER!” Gary spat, tasting blood in his mouth.
If looks could kill, his assailant would be dead. But he was totally powerless and his captors knew it.
The man who had hit him turned to one of his associates. They were all in their mid-twenties, and it had taken careful planning to get Gary here.
“You got that tape Pat?”
Patrick handed him a roll of shiny grey gaffa tape.
“Here you go Jacob.”
If Gary was smarter, he might have been concerned by the fact that they were not bothering to conceal their names, but the reality was not that they planned to kill him, but they were simply utterly unconcerned by any future threat he might pose.
Gary looked to see what Jacob was doing with the tape. Using a pocket knife, Jacob cut off a strip 6 inches long. It was the exceptionally sticky, rubberised tape favoured by plumbers for its waterproof characteristics. It would also stick tightly to human skin, no matter how sweaty the skin became.
Gary anticipated that Jacob was going to place the tape over his mouth but his assumption was incorrect. Jacob reached beneath him, pulled his left butt cheek as far left as it would go, then applied the tape, holding the cheek in place.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” Gary demanded.
Jacob ignored him, but instead repeated the operation, taping Gary’s right butt cheek open. Gary felt the cool November air on his exposed hole.
Jacob squatted and looked between Gary’s legs.
“You’re a hairy motherfucker,” he observed.
“Not for long!” the third man said, with a snicker.
Jacob peeled off a foot of tape but this time he didn’t tear it off the roll. Instead, affixed it to the middle of Gary’s back, pressing it tightly against the man’s skin. Holding it in place, he started unwind the roll, passing it between Gary’s spread ass cheeks then pressing the tape tightly up in between so that it stuck to his anal hair and ran along his perineum. Holding Gary’s genitals up, he taped his scrotum and penis to his stomach, with his testicles spread wide. Then he ran the tape side to side across Gary’s hairy scrotum.
Gary shouted profanities, demanded an explanation, and made more threats but Jacob ignored him and continued taping. He ran tape across Gary’s pubes, up his treasure trail, down the front of both legs, across his chest hair, over both nipples, and down the hair of his forearms. He wrapped the tape around Jacob’s head like a turban, cutting the end off and sticking it behind Gary’s head. Finally, to finish the taping, he wrapped a new piece of tape half a dozen times around the metal pole above Gary, then wrapped and taped the other end around the tape that passed over Gary’s belly.
He stood back and surveyed his work. Gary was covered in tape: not exactly mummified, but most of the hair on his body, as well as his penis, scrotum, nipples and asshole, were all taped.
Jacob grinned, admiring his handiwork.
“Don’t forget his hands,” Pat said. “Don’t want him undoing it.”
“Yeah good point,” Jacob agreed.
He started to wrap tape around Gary’s palm. Thinking he was being awkward, Gary’s clenched his hands into fists, but Jacob simply wrapped tape around them instead. Then he taped the fists together.
“Even better,” he said.
“Maybe that’ll teach the motherfucker not to be such an asshole,” Pat said.
“Yeah,” the third man said, taking photos on his phone. “And if not, at least he’s gonna be REAL sore for a while.”
“What the fuck does that mean?!” Gary said, his aggression undiminished.
Jacob approached and started to untie the cable that secured Gary’s legs to the pole.
“If I was you, I’d wrap your legs around the pole.”
“What?” Gary said, confused.
As the cable came away, his weight started to fall onto the gaffa tape and it tore at the hairs of his belly. He finally realised why he’d been taped so bizarrely. Jacob clarified.
“The bar you’re hanging from is in a groove in the wall. With your feet on the ground, you’ll be able to stand on those blocks beside you and lift the pole out of its groove, then you’ll be free.”
He indicated four cinder blocks, stacked on top of each other. They were two feet to Gary’s side.
“I’d be REAL careful not to knock them if you get free. All that tape is holding you to the pole. It won’t tear or come off in sweat. You’re gonna have to rip it off. I’m 99 percent sure it’s gonna rip every single bit of hair off you when it comes off, and I’m pretty sure it won’t take your skin with it too, although I have no idea what it will do to your ball-sack or dick skin. I DO know, the longer you leave it, the stronger the glue will bond, so if I was you, I’d make a decision sooner rather than later. You can last without water somewhere between a few days and a week, but I doubt you can stay awake much past a day or two if you can keep holding the pole with your legs that long, and then there’s hypothermia to worry about… Of course, you can take your chances and shout for help, but I wouldn’t bet your life on it. It’s wet, and dark early. I don’t expect there will be many people way out here at this time of year.”
Gary glowered at Jacob.
“What the fuck have I done to deserve this?”
“Where do I begin? Let’s start with years of bullying the kids of this town. Beating them up, making their lives a misery at every opportunity. Then there’s the crime; the vandalization, all the girls you’ve hurt. You’ve been an utter prick, and people are sick of it. Consider this payback, and a warning. If we ever get word that you so much as say another harsh word to anyone in this town, let alone commit any more crimes, we’ll be back, and what we do to you will make this seem like a fun day at the park.”
Gary looked at the three men with undisguised hatred, but he knew that he was outmatched. He was a bully, but he was a big fish in a small pond. He wasn’t even the most dangerous person who lived in his part of town; not but a good margin, but the really dangerous ones kept a low profile. He knew that more insults would only bring him more pain, so he simply continued glaring at the men as they turned and walked towards the exit. Just as they were about to pass through the rundown shutter door, he called to them.
“Hey, where’s my clothes?”
“We got rid of them on the way over here. You can enjoy the wind on your ass as you walk home!”
“Motherfucker!” Gary hissed under his breath.
“I heard that,” Jacob said.
He returned to Gary’s side. Gary expected another slap, but instead the man tore off another short piece of tape. This time, he DID place it over Gary’s mouth.
“Guess you won’t be calling for help after all,” Jacob said smiling, and gave Gary’s cheek a couple of light taps with his cupped hand.
Gary’s eyes widened as he realised the implications. Now he was left with only a single, painful choice.
10pm. Saturday. The factory lay empty, silent now that the sound of Gary’s muffled screaming was in the past. On the ground near the old production line lay a sturdy steel pole that had recently supported the 23-year-old man. Still attached to it was one end of the gaffa tape and the rest lay in a tangled puddle on the floor. Although Gary had been unable to see it after he’d finally managed to shake himself free of the tape, the tape was coated in hair, ripped by the roots from every part of his body that it had come into contact with. And near one end, there was a shredded teardrop of wrinkled skin.