His totally helpless predicament promised to be
challenging ... in fact unusually so.
He congratulated himself on
his achievement so far;
he could now stand immovably
fixed to the floor fully encased in his diving gear, gagged, sightless and trussed-up ... to savour the feeling for as long as he chose before starting the deliberately difficult routine for self-release.
As a final precaution ... mentally he re-checked details of his skilfully
predicament; ever the practical man. A disturbing thought then dawned. Careful as he had been, in his eagerness to get into his new wet-suit and play, he had omitted one important check before going down to his basement.
Had he locked the side door?
Before the navy, Callum had been brought up in an era when house doors were often left ‘on the latch’. After twenty-one years in the navy, society may have changed but, particularly in rural areas, locked doors were not so essential. Because he now lived in a really remote cottage, an unlocked door offered no real threat. Callum’s nearest neighbour was more than half a mile away and friends knew well enough to phone before dropping by.
the thought aside. Too complicated to release himself just to add that
extra precaution. He was too happy to have successfully arrived at his
desired degree of restraint without mishap. Totally geared up and ready
for a serious bout of struggling against his restraints for as long
as he chose, he was ready to throw himself into a tangible world of
simulated captivity. With his first violent wrenches at his wrists in
front, his elbows tightened behind him. The heaviweight boxing gloves
lashed together removed any possibility of using his fingers - and the
gloves were taped on under the strap which cinched them together - so
no escape there until he was ready to commence his elaborate and leangthy
shoulders threw the whole weight of his body against the solidly anchored
boots. Inside the confining groin-guard his cock was ready to burst.
He thrust his hips already frustrated that his imprisoned dick could
not get the stimulation it craved. He groaned as his pelvis pumped.
Inside the mask his immobilised mouth limited his breathing and he was
soon panting. All he could hear was his breathing and his thumping heart
which was beginning to speed up.
What he could not hear was the car drawing up in front of his house, or the determined knocking on his front door - and then at the back door. He was too well insulated to hear the continued calling of his name, eventually from inside his house. Because he could see nothing, he did not see the door to the basement open tentatively or the expression on the face of one of his closest mates. Locked into his own world, Callum just continued to writhe and tug about, enjoying his confinement and the skilfully contrived feeling of almost total helplessness - confident that even when he began his somewhat complicated process of self-release, it would take time and energy.
But, the first rule of self-applied restraint is to expect the unexpected.
For friend Iain, fellow rugby team mate and user of the same gym, it took no time to realise that this was not the basement work-out room Callum had described to him. The sight of this dive-gear encased and masked figure, standing strapped and apparently helpless at first made no sense. Who had done this to him? The unexpected caller’s slightly reeling mind gradually took in the thick sparring gloves, both (he noticed) securely laced on, the heavy ski boots evidently impossible to break free from the floor - if the determined struggling of powerful rubber-covered legs was anything to go by. For a long moment, all the intruder could do was stand and watch the wrenching and writhing, heavy-breathing figure. It took even more time before he realised that the masked apparition did not know that he was no longer alone. This encouraged the sturdy Scottish ex-army sergeant, Iain Bellman, to move further into the room and risk closer inspection of the webbing bindings which so efficiently pinioned elbows behind and held gloved hands firmly anchored downwards in front. He watched how the forceful tugging at the double webbing strap through the rubber covered crotch, bit into the rubber as powerful thighs continued to writhe and strain so determinedly.
Although these two men had shared many conversations about sports equipment and the adrenalin rush of challenging sports; had shared team tactics and even the same showers after muddy games, neither man had ever risked admitting to the other their more secret enthusiasms. In no neighbourly man-of-the-world to man-of-the-world late-night drinking session had the talk ever turned to fantasies of intense total restraint in inescapable bound-and-gagged situations - a passion long indulged secretly by both men.
The silent intruder stood for a few more breathless moments just watching. He breathed deeply to get a grip on his own rising excitement. The cock inside his cammo combat pants was painfully rigid, a result of both the visual stimulation and envy. Looking around at all the gear in the well-equipped basement did nothing to lower the visitor’s rising temperature. Treading lightly although he was wearing heavy-soled work boots, the stocky ex-guardsman risked moving forward silently to look more closely at the way his pal had so efficiently secured himself, mentally drinking in details of the sightless confinement - and the chair behind the standing figure.
Callum, unaware of anything outside his sealed-in world, had at that moment reached a point where he needed a rest rather than end his ‘scene’. The strain which the clamping angle of the ski-boots imposed by keeping his knees slightly bent, was building up. Time to take a brief rest by sitting cautiously back onto the edge of the seat for a short while. The floor clamps had been positioned with precision, and he knew he could find the edge of the seat if he lowered his weight cautiously. His breath was coming quicker inside the confines of the mask, and his whole body was shaking slightly from his thoroughly enjoyable strenuous fighting against the bindings. Pleased with the situation so far, the rubber-covered figure carefully began to lower himself. He was ready to relax - but was not ready for what happened next.
Ex-Staff Sergeant “Donger” Bellman was experienced in combat, in hand-to-hand fighting - and weaving and ducking in a boxing ring. Soon as he saw the struggling stop and turn into a different movement, the alert figure watching him automatically froze, ready to dodge back. As he observed the rubbered figure’s intention to sit back and locate the chair - intuitively Bellman moved behind the chair - and at the last minute, edged the seat slightly further under the cautiously descending figure. A gentle tug on the elbow strap made sure that the cautious descent continued. Deep into the bucket seat the thickly padded figure dropped, powerless after a certain point to halt the process. Even without straps, the leather cushioning of the seat against the rubber of the suit combined to hold the seated figure fast. The clamped-to-the-floor boots were suddenly stretched slightly beyond their limits by the steeply back-ward sloping seat.
Beginning to struggle, and already helpless, the now disconcerted figure could not see his neighbour and regular sparring partner grinning down at him, just enjoying the body language. What had gone wrong? Did he fall or was he pushed? In his panic, Big Callum was not quite sure - until he felt (even through the thick rubber of his suit) the elaborate seat harness straps being clunked together one by one into the central metal connector block. Then, the systematic tightening of the six wide webbing straps, first over his shoulders, then around his waist and finally through his crotch ... confirmed for Callum that he was no longer alone.
The effect on him mentally was devastating. Physically, the seated figure started to jerk with whatever was not totally immobilised. Even the previously flexible connection between self-applied wrist and elbow restraints, the webbing strap through his crotch, was now stretched painfully tight. He could now not even move his shoulders let alone lift his weight out of the seat. His boots remained locked solid. His thickly padded hands could only tug uselessly, and this put even more pressure on the rigid groin guard, now so painfully pressurising his genitals in their cramped confines, intensified by the low chair. All he could move was his hooded and masked head, and even that was walled in by the deep head rest of the well designed car safety seat.
Who is Iain Bellman?:
“Ding-dong”, his nickname in the Regiment had become ‘Donger’ among friends. This was acceptable to him because of the sexual connotations, but nobody took any liberties with Bellman. He’d been drunk with Big Callum on several occasions since the ex-navy man had arrived in the area. Being ex-Scots Guards and determined to stay fit and active, these two had found that they had a lot in common. Bellman had been a sergeant instructor immediately before becoming a forester. He was now chief ganger in charge of a tough team of blokes, all out-doors men who were a law unto themselves in the community. ‘Donger’ knew how to handle this rowdy civilian squad. Their pranks and carryings-on were tolerated by locals as long as these were confined to the extensive woodlands outside the town.
Rumour of violent rough-housing between the forestry workers as they went about their business in remote places had intrigued Callum, but he’d been careful not to invite too many confidences. Even though ‘Donger’ was a member of the same rugby team and a challenging sparring partner, Cal had not pressed this army hard-nut on the circumstances of his discharge. ‘Ding-bat’ was an alternative nick-name for this notorious rough-neck, but only behind his back or as a challenge to him when he was in one of his more effervescent moods. Callum had admitted no interest in reputed testosterone-fuelled gut-punching competitions, or army-style toughening up exercises demanded of men before they were considered fit to be admitted to the local forestry workers fraternity. The two ex-service men were drinking mates more than anything. Two rugged individualists, both of whom preferred to get sex with local females on a casual basis rather than re-enter the marriage or even emotional entanglement stakes.
“Calm down, Cal.” said the intruder as the seated figure began to thrash his head from side to side in a determined effort to shake free of the rubber-framed glass visor.
“It’s only me! Your secret’s safe,” he insisted reassuringly from behind the chair. But the confined man continued to thrash his head about. The stocky team mate moved around the chair and repeated his statement only louder. Still no effect. He leaned forward to look more closely at the mask, and then experimentally flicked the switch. The glass of the face piece cleared - and the look in Callum’s eyes was one of combined mortification and relief. ‘Donger’ Bellman, never one to do things by halves, bellowed with delighted laugher at the look on his mate’s face. Then, pulling himself together, he stood back but remained in Callum’s limited line of vision. The embarrassed man suddenly again began jerking against the seat harness, looking now part resentful, part pleading.
Miming with his hands and exaggerating his lip movements, Bellman indicated “Earplugs?”. The sweating man, giving up his futile struggle, nodded his head at the same time making a few grunting noises. These, Iain could hardly hear. “And a Gag?” he asked, indicating his own mouth and then covering it. The nod this received caused him to peer closer into the mask, and then look at his mate with some respect: and his cock got even harder.
Time to decide how to make the most of this unexpected opportunity, and ‘Donger’ although often volatile, could be dangerously calculating. To give himself time, he slowly stepped across the room, picked up a stool and came back to sit himself down within the captive man’s field of vision - and gloat.
The lengthy time the two men held one another’s eyes drove home the fact that this ex-army hard-nut was going to take full advantage of the situation he’d stumbled into. The rubber-clad player of imagined captivity games only gradually began to realise that he was suddenly inescapably in the position he’d fantasised about for so long - and he had no say in what might happen next. The sweating Callum stared helplessly across at the man now seated before him (who, he knew from experience, had a sometimes brutal sense of humour) and waited while options were considered and a decision reached.
Rising and walking behind the seated figure, Bellman began to release the straps of the heavy face-mask. The cool air hit the small area of skin his open-face hood left exposed. With relief Callum sucked noisily through the hole in the wedge of plastic which still clamped his jaw rigid. Sweat ran into his eyes but no matter, the intruder was behind him so there was nothing to see. Strong hands tugged at the tight rubbery hood, pulling it backwards. It was a struggle to stretch the small face-hole so the hood was eventually down round his neck. It was constricting - but Callum had no choice other than to deal with it. He was in no position to say anything. His close-cropped hair was wringing wet and the cold air came as a shock to his scalp - and still the powerful but powerless man sat totally helpless. Behind him, Bellman was taking his time.
Callum felt the ear-plugs being removed. The roaring in his ears distracted him - but when a grinning face appeared and strong fingers began to inspect the gag, Callum was relieved. His jaw was numb. The army guy’s stubby fingers continued to explore the strange device. Callum was in no position to explain how the mechanism worked. After quite lengthy investigation, fingers located the little latch that held the wedge so firmly in place ... but then they withdrew without releasing it. 'Donger' was intrigued. He tapped the gag hard to test it’s stability ... and then he grinned broadly and stepped back even further to survey the over-all effect of his rubber encased, trussed and helpless buddy so securely strapped to the solid chair.
The angry head began to shake from side to side, trying to dislodge the gag. As Callum expected, it remained in place despite determined efforts. The watcher, with a quizzical smile on his face, waited patiently for the futile attempts to subside. Eventually Callum gave up, and then the two men eyed one another, one slightly out-of-breath through his efforts, the other with a ramrod hard dick. In fact, ex-sergeant ‘Donger’ Bellman, to avoid perhaps even shooting his load in response to this amazing situation, dragged his mind back to the efficiency and potential of the gag.
“You ever played any breath control games, Cal ?” he asked. Callum’s brow wrinkled. He was an experienced diver. In the navy he’d trained divers. He knew a lot about lung power, conserving breath, dealing with the effects of air-loss. He’d teased and challenged lads he was training by manipulating their air supply on exercises, to emphasise the need for calm when experiencing temporary air loss situations. But “breath control games”? He looked into the eyes of the questioner. But with teeth and tongue totally immobilized, and strapped from ankles to neck to the chair, he was in no position to respond in any way. That is, until the rugged face leaned further forward and inspected the air-hole in the gag before tentatively applying a finger to close the hole.
Then Callum did all he could to resist - which was not enough to stop the finger from keeping the hole blocked. By jamming the head into the corner of the high-backed seat, the one-finger pressure could easily remain firm. Eventually, Callum stopped struggling and, breathing determinedly through his nose, stoically returned the gaze of his smiling oppressor. He knew this man was a tough and often ruthless opponent in the boxing or wrestling ring and on a rugby field. This ex-army nutter also had a dangerous sense of humour, many people had learned this the hard way.
Bellman, having accepted that the blocked gag was no serious challenge, the pressure was released. Again the two opponents regarded one another steadily for a while. But when the heavy rubber mask was picked up and it began to descend and start to cover his face, Cal started to struggle really fiercely. However, it was useless. Determined hands clamped his head back against the seat-back until the mask was firmly back in place. The angry objections were soon locked behind the glass visor and tough straps were effectively clamping the mask so no amount of head-shaking would dislodge it. The grinning opponent stood back and allowed the Big Feller (as he’d often called Callum) to do his worst. The mask was staying on.
Iain returned to his seat, well in the angry Callum’s line of sight.
“Now you can hear me, let’s talk. You can nod. Nod for ‘Yes’, shake for ‘No’. Right?”
The sweating seated man glared, considering his options. A look came into the other man’s eyes which gave a brief warning, and Callum nodded ‘OK’.
“Good!” said Iain.
“You hot in there?”
Again the nod.
“So, chummy,” said the experienced trainer of men, “let’s assess the situation. I can let you free any time, but let’s think about the alternatives. Looks like you manage to have quite a lot of fun doing things on your own. But - have you ever done them with anybody else - the bondage bit, I mean?”
The look in Callum’s eyes said ‘No’ before he admitted it with a shake of his head.
“What never?” insisted the ex-squaddie, and waited for a reluctant confirmation. “Well, is that because that’s the way you like it - or because you’re too chicken to admit what you’re into?”
It was neither of these things, so Callum didn’t know whether to nod or shake his head. The hesitation caused the interrogator to raise his eyebrows mischievously.
“We have ways of making you talk, chummy, I don’t know precisely where you’re at - but from what I’ve seen around here - and upstairs - we might find at least some common ground. I know when we’ve been sparring you’re something of a masochist - invite a good hammering. Are you into pain?”
Callum thought for a moment and then shook his head.
The other man didn’t seem to be totally convinced. He stood up slowly and approached. Leaning down, a strong hand explored the smooth surface around chest and upper arms on either side of the seat harness shoulder-straps. To get a better command of the situation, a booted foot was lifted astride Cal ’s bent knees. Then, deliberately and slowly, a spot was chosen and vice-like fingers and a thumb gripped a handful of the flesh between Cal ’s pecs and armpits. Even through the thick rubber the pressure was painful. A muffled roar was more of resentment than real agony - but a second squeeze produced a genuine expression of pain behind the glass. The grip was then released and two pairs of eyes held one another. Neither man was, at this point, giving anything away.
Slowly lifting his foot back across the well-strapped thighs, it hovered for a second before being lowered with deliberation onto the rubber-covered crotch. Eyes locked, the two men watched one another as the heavy boot ground first gently and then with increasing pressure onto the captive crotch. When no sign of reaction happened, the boot began to grind more forcefully. If anything, there was now a gleam in the oppressed man’s eyes. Unexpectedly, the boot did not make a more determined assault. Bellman lifted it off, before adjusting his position so that both hands could explore the protected crotch area. Hands roamed and Cal was in no position to either object or resist. Strong fingers drummed on the solid cup beneath the rubber. They explored it’s shape. A tentative fist banged on it while ‘Donger’ watched for any reaction in the seated man’s eyes. The fist suddenly thumped down hard followed swiftly by an even harder blow. This produced what was distinctly a roar of pain.
“Just checking,” said Donger Bellman as he stood back grinning. “Lot of things I need to find out - IF we’re going to enter this particular arena. Probably, some things you’re into wouldn’t exactly do anything for me. Maybe a few things that push my buttons, you could learn to like - or enjoy not liking. Or you could learn to do them for me, then in return I could do things for you. In my experience, very satisfactory games can be played by people tit-for-tat even when tastes differ. You humour me and I could learn to cater for your particular quirks. Think about it.”
The figure in the chair seemed unconvinced.
“I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours,” said the ex-squaddie with a grin, and he was pleased to see a reluctant twinkle appear briefly in Cal ’s eyes. He continued “Whichever way, mate, your secret’s safe with me. If you’d prefer that I just let you out of that chair, stand you back up and leave you to carry on where you left off when I so rudely interrupted, that’s OK, honestly. You can take my word for it, no mention of this little incident will ever be made to anybody else. Seriously. You can trust me on that. Not even mention it to you in future - in the hope that we can at least carry on where we left off before tonight. I only came round to ask if you’ve got any batteries for my vibrating butt plug.”
Again a slight smile behind the mask, and some sort of unspoken agreement was reached for the two men to at least explore the situation further.
“So!”, continued the army man in a new and more authoritative voice, “These are the options, chummy. One: I leave you as I found you?” An immediate shake of the head dismissed this choice.
“Two: I let you loose, you get cleaned up and we go for a drink - say no more?”
This possibility was left hanging in the air. Only after some consideration did Cal again reject the option with a shake of his head.
Bellman was not sure if this was a submission - or a challenge. Whichever, his tone of voice now changed to that of somebody taking control, and able to make the most of the opportunity.
“Right on, matey! Then the next alternative on offer may take a bit more consideration. How does this grab you? I leave you sitting here totally helpless ... ,” the eyes behind the glass panel began to look as if this prospect would not be acceptable, but the speaker’s eyes warned not to make too hasty a choice.
“ ... I will leave you here for maybe half an hour - or maybe two-and-a-half, you will neither know or be able to do anything about it but wait. I’ll make sure you’re safe around the neck of that suit - perhaps feed you some water so you won’t dehydrate while I’m gone - perhaps move that mirror so you can watch yourself in your predicament - or black the mask out so you can’t see anything.” He then added quickly, “That last pair of options wasn’t a choice I was offering. I’ll decide whether you can see or not see at this stage of the game. I'll be away home to change into something ... less loose. I have some gear of my own which I like to wear while ‘indulging myself’ - and I think some of it might interest you, as an engineer that is. In fact, there’s a couple of chastity devices I’ve made that are more efficient than most of the stuff available commercially. If you’re lucky, I may lock myself into one of them - so when I come back here you’ll be perfectly safe if I get a bit ... er, over-excited. “ His grin did not, this time, reassure Callum.
“Even thinking about the liberties I can take while I’ve got you at my mercy makes me horny. But don’t worry, I won’t do anything sexual - just - er, provocative - challenging. By the time I get back here with a few of my own favourite things, who knows what fiendish plans I’ll have decided on for you tonight? Until I’ve jumped you through a few hoops; put you through a few tests ... asked you a few questions,” he added as an ominous afterthought. “I want to know where you’re ‘at’ - and where you might like to go, given the right encouragement. Who knows, some of your darkest fantasies could become realities if you play your cards right. So, first I’ll need some information - some honest answers, no bullshit, no evasions. Did I ever tell you that I was trained in interrogation techniques? Trained men how to apply them. We were supposed to be training men how to deal with torture, but to be honest, there are some things that even the toughest men can’t hold out against for very long. Believe me, I know from experience.”
This thought seemed to linger with the rugged
ex-army man, and Cal ’s head reeled at the implications. He watched the powerful ex-army man standing over him drag his mind back to the present - and then deliberately lighten the mood. Iain stooped so their eyes were level.
“Don’t look so worried, Cal. The games I play depend entirely on who I play them with. We know enough about each other to know there’s no need to go too gently - don’t we. Even sparring, we’ve got the measure of one another, right? Same can happen with these games - and they are games - and there are rules. Just a case of pitching it right to get a good match going. And I know you can give as good as you can take - and that’s what pushes all my buttons.”
The ex-guardsman warmed to his subject, and automatically slipped into training mode.
“All my life I’ve never been able to resist a challenge. What sort of challenge can you offer me, Buchanan? What will I have to do to you to make you angry enough to make you want to get your own back - give me a run for my money? Remember I once told you about ‘whacking’? Fellers who face up to one another and systematically smack each other in the face, back-hand and open-hand - turn and turn about - just to firm up their faces - get ‘the look’. Not everybody’s way of spending an evening in barracks - just stand there and take it - or dish it out. Some guys you have to tie down before you can persuade them to explore exactly how much what they can take and what they can’t. I’m not talking about you now, mate. I’m talking about me. But, I can learn to do for you what turns you on. Limits respected.”
Behind the gag, Cal held his breath. Mercifully he didn’t have to say anything at this point. He looked into the tough-as-an-old-boot face before him. Images of open-hand face-whacking competition between hyped-up squaddies was an extreme he’d never considered ... but ....
The ex-Navy man remembered times when he’d got into fights he knew he couldn’t win - deliberately put himself at risk of taking a good thumping. The eyes behind the glass panel looked puzzled enough for the other man to offer more reassurance.
“Just for the record I don’t fuck-or-get-fucked, suck-or-get-sucked. That’s just my personal choice - other guys can do as they please. But, of course, there have been times when I was in no position to either chose or object - like you’re in at the moment, chummy. In deep shit - and I’m going to enjoy digging you deeper into it.”
The man in charge of the moment then again grinned a reassuring grin. “But the real name-of-the-game is communication. That’s very important, Cal . And - I’m going to help you learn how to communicate with me. And first that will involve you identifying precisely for yourself and then for me - what it is you might enjoy getting out of the opportunity we’ve both stumbled into. Signals and stop signs are all very well. Recognising when ‘no’ doesn’t always mean ‘no’ and ‘stop’ means ‘slow down’ rather than stop. Subtle distinctions can make the difference between turn-on and total turn-off. Believe me, transmitting information so there’s no misunderstanding is essential. No more secrets between us, right?" But Callum realised that this was not a question, but a confident statement.
Bellman continued firmly, "Think of the time we’ve already wasted because both of us were treading too careful. Some of the guys I work with had speculated as to whether you had some pervy secrets hidden away. And, a couple of lads I work with have, er ... some very unusual preferences that they manage to find outlets for - occasionally with a little help from their friends. There’s a whole world of alternatives out there that some people never get a chance to hear about, let alone try. It’s healthy to at least know what opportunities might be available. Whole lot of opportunities for you in this area - if you learn how to communicate a little better than you’ve risked doing so far, mate. Yes, I know there are risks involved - but better to take a few risks rather than end your life unfulfilled. OK, I’m talking calculated risks based on carefully absorbed information - and then controlled experimentation ... as one of the kinkiest of my early tutors would describe the situation as he pushed, dragged and chivvied me through some hairy training routine or other. Amazing how much more you can achieve than you thought you could, when there’s an electric cattle-prod behind you to motivate you.”
Again the worried eyes behind the glass saw a mischievous grin break out across the face before him.
“I’m talking about me again,” said Bellman, “not you ... necessarily,” he added, leaving a lingering question mark. “I’m offering you an opportunity to explore what makes you tick. Set your own limits ... or at least, control your own learning-trajectory. What’d’ya say, Big Man? What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
The infuriating, mocking grin caused the eyes behind the glass to narrow and refuse to rise to the provocation. The army man recognised the signs and laughed aloud before he stood up. “I think we’re going to have some fun together, matey. And your insurance is that anything I might do to you, you’ll get opportunity to get your own back one way or another, I promise.”
But as Callum began to consider that possibility, the reassuring tone suddenly evaporated again, and a more authoritative manner signalled yet another abrupt change of mood.
“So, sunshine - mirror or black-out? Drink or no drink? Half an hour or two and a half before the fun starts? I get to chose - right?”
The grinning Bellman watched his captive, and invited a response. None came. At first, the impassive eyes of the powerful but powerless seated man held those of the taunter, and firmly refused to respond. Then, deliberately, the broad chest and shoulders so tightly strapped back against the chair managed to make what was obviously meant to be a casual a shrug.
“Are you telling me that you accept that you have no choice in the matter?”
One deliberate and determined nod.
“And, are you telling me that you are completely in my power, so you have no say in what I decide to do to you (with you) next?” Bellman, although maintaining his aggressive, challenging expression, was again deliberately made to wait before receiving another nod.
The mood now changed subtly yet again, as the interrogator invited ...
“And - are you agreeing that ... whatever I do to you, you can pay me back in whatever way you choose? ... even to the extent that you can do things I’ve specifically said I don’t enjoy?”
The look in the navy man’s eyes clearly questioned the advisability of this - and silently the army man nodded deliberately to confirm that he knew the risk he might be taking. After another pause, Callum accepted the offer with a slow firm nod of his head. It was a moment of serious commitment for both men - but eventually the more experienced player again switched on his most reassuring smile, and any confidence Callum had drained away.
“But, for tonight - and who knows for how long - until I decide otherwise - the ball is in my court - right? - matey!”
SUGGESTIONS FOR WHAT MIGHT HAPPEN NEXT ARE ALWAYS WELCOME
E-mail Jim Stewart