In
the opening chapter we get to meet Andy and his elder brother Dan.
Together they work a bleak Lancashire hill farm, but Dan has always been the "Master
of Top Ridge" and young Andy accepts that his brother
enjoys setting challenges and insisting they are faced up to.
In
the second chapter we meet their mother ...
In the big
old farm kitchen Meg listened as the sound of manly voices shouted and
whooped and hollered ... and laughed. Those boys are crazy, she thought.
Boys! They're men, damn it! They stopped being boys three years ago
... overnight, when their dad ... she forced the memory of her husband's
sudden death from her mind. Dan was 20 then and Andy only one year into
Agricultural college. They'd really surprised everybody. Even down in
the village where people had shaken their heads and told one another
that those two young hooligans could never take on the responsibility.
They'd lived to eat their words. Dan'l and young Andy had both proved
that, in spite of their reputation for larking around, they could handle
the work. The perpetual good-natured rough-housing between the brothers
hadn't stopped, but it never interfered with the smooth running of the
farm. Young Andy had had to make an even bigger leap to maturity; from
first year college student to equal-third partner in a profitable Yorkshire
hill-farm. He could hold his own with Dan'l ... not physically perhaps
... but he had a shrewd mind. He'd always been the brainy one and book
mad. But for all that, he was a born countryman.
The rain
still hadn't let up ... but there they were, happy as pigs ... roping
logs onto the tractor trailer. Young Andy was trying to rope Dan onto
the trailer with the wood. She smiled as Dan neatly escaped and chased
his brother threateningly before jumping onto the tractor and driving
off, leaving Andy to follow behind as best he could through the mud
...
Out in
the lashing rain Andy's wellington boots were almost being sucked
off his feet by the mud around the gate. Practically trapped up to
his knees in deep wet slime he struggled to keep moving. If Dan knew
he was practically helpless, God knows what devilment that evil mind
might be inspired to, thought Andy. Like the time when he slipped
on the loft ladder in the barn and was rash enough to call for help.
Finding his brother hooked-up by his overalls halfway between ground
and loft, Dan's help had consisted of lashing Andy's wrists to the
rung they were clinging to and then systematically lashing every part
of his body to the lower rungs until totally immobilised from fingers
to boots ... including his damned cock, which had been pulled out
and laced to a convenient rung! 'To save him from falling off' Dan
had said. He'd then given his butt a few playful whacks with an old
cart-horse harness leather strap ('To teach him to be more careful')
before leaving him tied there until supper time.
The deep
mud gave an almighty squelch as Andy's boot came free and, suddenly
off balance, he sat back flat in the mud. Luckily Dan had ordered
him to wear the big ex-army one-piece green waterproof suit. So ...
mud was no problem ... it would hose down. The sweat inside the suit
was no problem either because he'd included a shower unit in his design
for the new milking parlour which was finished last October.
"Get
your mucky ass in here! " a sharp voice snapped. Dan stood framed
in the doorway to the old barn where the dripping logs were already
unloaded from the trailer. His black oilskin suit was still running
with water but he'd pushed back the hood and face cover and was stripping
off the new heavy black industrial plastic gauntlets he'd bought at
the Cattle Market last week. Dan instinctively knew a good piece of
equipment when he saw one. His trips into local towns often produced
spectacular finds in the backstreet army surplus stores. For instance
the tall rubber waders they both used when sheep·dip time came
around were like no other waders Andy had ever seen or dreamed about.
He'd suggested getting some at the fishing shop ... but Dan had come
home triumphant with hobnailed, leather soled sewer-mans heavy duty
waders for both of them.
Then there was the Tank Suit made from heavy canvas with metal zips
from neck to ankles; something else Dan had picked up. It was thickly
padded and water repellent (to some extent). Andy had only learned
this when he'd been forced to spend the night out on the open fells
in it. His brother always liked to 'test the efficiency'' of any new
piece of gear that took his fancy. #
The first
time Andy had been in the Tank Suit started out as a brotherly trip
to the local cinema. Because he wasn't often allowed to ride with
Dan on his motorbike, the Tank Suit had been suggested as an economical
alternative to bike leathers like the ones Dan had bought himself
a few months before their father's death. But the night at the pictures
ended abruptly for Andy as soon as they'd ridden out of sight of the
farm house. Dan had turned onto a muddy lane and up onto the fells.
Producing heavy gloves, a balaclava and the inevitable supply of good
solid rope, Dan had lashed Andy to a metal five barred gate. Feet
apart lashed at ankles, knees, thighs, waist and chest; arms pulled
back over the top bar and wrists and ankles lashed to the back of
the bars. There are knots that can't be worked free, and a field gate
high on an exposed hillside on a stormy night doesn't get many casual
passers-by, so Andy was there until his brother decided to let him
loose ... #
Chapter
Three
After three days of gales and rain Top Ridge Farm looked fresh
and green, and because the sun was out the lads decided they should
take a look at the damage in the woods behind the top meadow. Although
the ground was a bit soft Dan was wearing his high lace-up Combat
boots, cammo pants with all the pockets and a plain green vest under
his open Combat jacket. The jaunty cammo field cap topped off the
complete picture Andy saw as he trudged behind his brother up the
steep muddy sheep track. The going was heavier for the younger man
who was sweltering inside two layers of thermal underwear and hobnailed
rubber thigh boots, which were in turn underneath a two-piece industrial
protective over-suit buttoned right up to the neck. This gear was
only part of the price of having lost his battle of wills with his
brother on the previous day.
On top
of the heavily padded clothing a canvas back-pack weighed heavily
on his brawny shoulders and underneath everything a solid eight inch
butt plug shifted uneasily at every false step the heavy soled boots
made on the slippery climb. Dan looked back and grinned as his brother
sweated and panted to keep up the pace he was setting.
"Still
feeling horny, randy little sod? Soon be there. Then you can have
a nice rest while I look around the wood to see what needs to be done."
As he said this Dan teasingly showed Andy that there was rope coiled
neatly in all four pockets of his cammos. Then like a conjurer he
produced a thick black rubber gag from his chest pocket.
"Got
something for you to chew on while I'm eating all the food your Mummy
packed for her baby's dinner."
Andy
refused to be provoked. Today promised to be enough of a challenge
without inviting extra penalties. He knew their mother was planning
to make a three day visit to her sister at the weekend. This would
allow Dan unusual freedom for one of his more elaborate and lengthy
'experiments.' This was no time to invite trouble.
At the
top of the top meadow the solid old dry stone wall shielded them from
the wind and from direct view from any angle. It had been a favourite
play spot for the lads since early days.
"OK,
back-pack off." Andy struggled to free his aching shoulders from
the heavy load. The carefully prepared lunches took up only one pocket
of the big canvas haversack. In addition to the two wood saws and
a ten pound axe, at least half the sack was filled with big rocks.
All part of the punishment for 'getting his rocks off' without permission
.
"Face
down" commanded Dan in a friendly tone. The hesitation was only
fractional but enough to make the older mans thick eyebrows arch questioningly.
Worried about getting your nice new suit dirty? The Farmers Weekly
says it'll keep out rain, wind, piss and cow shit. We may have to
put that to the test."
Andy
eased himself to his knees. The tightness of two pairs of long johns
inside thigh high rubber boots inside the dark green PVC bib-and-brace
over trouser with a heavy buttoned up matching coat over the top resulted
in pulling and stretching of the different tough fabrics in many directions.
"What about gloves?" the victim asked as he knelt on the
soft soggy earth in front of his brother's bulging army pants. "No
gloves. I want you to feel the ankles and hobnail soles of your waders.
Y'know they're really for people who work in sewers. Maybe there's
still shit tucked away in the deep cleats. On your face, sucker!"
This
was, by now, a familiar routine. The hog-tie was one of Dan's favourites,
perhaps because Andy didn't much like it ... but more because it was
good to watch his brother's strong arms and legs pulled back together,
straining but helpless with wrists and heavy boots firmly lashed and
finished with unreachable knots. Perhaps he'd piss on his head and
leave him face down looking into a puddle as it dripped off his tousled
hair. That butt plug was an inspiration ... specially for a hog-tie
session, thought Dan as he watched Andy ease himself painfully onto
his stomach and dutifully placed his hands along his sides ... which
was as close as the thick clothing would allow him to get them behind
his back. Although this had become a well drilled routine, Dan liked
to prolong the suspense. He moved his heavy boots slowly closer to
Andy's head. They must seem huge from that worm's·eye·view,
thought Dan.
Towering
over the bundled up, brawny but submissive piece of manhood, the tormentor
subtly shifted first one boot and then the other closer to his brother's
face. The result was two small mounds of wet earth which rose before
the cleated boot soles and travelled slowly towards the unprotected
face. The mounds stopped moving abruptly and the oppressive boots
disappeared from Andy's view as his brother stepped over his back
and roped first one wrist and then the other into a simple but totally
efficient square lash. Then came the moment Andy dreaded, as a second
rope, having lashed the ankles in a similar fashion began to slowly
haul the tight-legged boot skyward: The pressure of the plug forcing
it's way further and further up into his arse.
Even
in his agony Andy pictured his brother's smiling, weather-beaten face
as he gently drew the feet not only up towards the lashed wrists but
firmly in between them so it spread the hands on either side of the
thick rubber ankles. A couple of deft turns of rope rendered the tie
totally escape-proof. Andy knew from long experience that his brother
not only knew how to make ties effective ... but also not tight enough
to actually cut off the circulation. As Andy lay adjusting his tortured
body to the situation he knew he'd be there for several hours. Dan's
games seldom held up their farm work.
Andy's
fingers explore the surface of his boots. Dan was right about him
being able to feel the smooth surface, explore the wrinkles caused
by the skilful rope lashings ... even reach up onto the metal studded
thick leather soles.
"Feeling
for the shit and mud?" Without warning a fist full of sticky
cold slime was dumped on Andy's captive fingers, and smeared around
the rubber ankles and leather soles.
"Might
as well make you feel at home. Momma's leaving tomorrow night and
I've made plans for a long l-o-ong weekend. But I need time to work
out a few of the details. Won't you join me for lunch while I figure
them out?"
Andy
watched Dan's boot retreat towards the wall were he pulled an old
army waterproof groundsheet out of the haversack and spread it near
the wall to sit on while he ate the food. Two neatly wrapped packages
of sandwiches and two thermos flasks ('So's there'll be no squabbling'
their mother always said) were produced and shown to the helpless
man who lay tense and motionless face down in the mud.
The well-worn
boots again approached coming menacingly close to Andy's head, and
then two powerful hands suddenly gripped the shoulders of Andy's jacket
and dragged the inert body up the boots until his face was walled
in by the tough mud-stained leather. The towering walls gradually
clamped in on the sides of his head, making his ears sting.
He was
held firmly in a vice of leather. The pressure was soon released and
a ham-like hand dragged the trussed body closer to where the food
waited. Dan settled his bulk and opened his packet of sandwiches.
"Look,
cheese and onion." A man-sized sandwich hovered tantalisingly
over Andy's nose as his brother gripped Andy's chin. Angrily, the
younger man tried to shake his chin free of the grip - and then when
the hand was removed without warning, his face almost buried itself
into the thick leaf-mould which dragging his body had gathered directly
beneath him.
"Ho
ho, a struggle. Wait till I put my sandwich down." Powerful fingers
grabbed Andy's ears and began systematically to rock his face from
side to side in the pile of wet earth. Scoops of wet leaves were lifted
and rubbed into the thick chestnut curls and round onto the strong
weather·beaten face. Brawny hands then lifted the dazed head
up to survey the effect.
"That's
the way I like to see you look. In fact little brother I'll tell you,
looking down on all that PVC, those boot soles, that 'interesting'
piece of rope work and those helpless mucky fingers ... I could get
horny as a jack·rabbit. I shall just sit here and finish my
sandwiches (our sandwiches) and toss off my big dick all over your
waterproof back and maybe your head. Makes good hair conditioner,
you know." ...
END OF EXCERPT