Jim stewart


On this site mutual enjoyment is the main aim -
whatever form it taks.
But in tough physical challenge game-playing, the borderline between physical challenge and physical abuse is easy to cross.
I've observed the natural competitive spirit between close buddies and also several pairs of brothers, where it might appear that the line has been crossed.

The extremes some men will go to prove that they can give as well as take when it comes to endurance competitiveness, can sometimes seem disturbing?
In this drawn from real life story, these two brothers really did relish pushing the boundaries.

In this story there is information and adventure for people who might rise to that kind of intensity.


EXCERPTS (2400 words) from a 16,000 word story
(The complete text can be dowloaded at PRINTER FRIENDLY)

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


The story continues for a further 8000 words, packed with imaginative physical challenge and restraint situations described in detail.
As the young brother gradually begins to retaliate, after some seriously challenging situation, a new balance of power with his elder brother is eventually hammered out - but the reader knows the games will continue.

To continue reading from this point in the story = MORE
For the complete text =


Return to STORYLINES for info on other fiction-based-on-fact

Return to HOME PAGE