Chapter 2/4
Clay swallowed hard. He immediately thought about giving up. His plan had been to hide at home for the duration of the game and take on all the gifts they gave him. But if the other player was seen by only one single person, he'd win this round and have one more ring than Clay. Assuming neither of them messed up for the rest of the game, Clay would lose.
He didn't know what the punishment for losing would be but he didn't want to find out.
The teen had to be seen. But if he was going to go through this intense humiliation, he had to go all out. No way was he going to degrade himself and still lose.
What could guarantee him a win?
Was there a public place with a lot of people? No, wait! Any location out there only had a limited number of eyes to see him, there was a better way.
Clay got himself pumped up, trying to think of the action as a fight more than a humiliation. He took pictures of himself in various poses in front of his full length mirror for five minutes.
The next twenty minutes were spent figuring out where to upload them. There were a lot of porn sites, but he wasn't guaranteed to be seen by many people in a short time. He submitted his images to various twitters, subreddits and forums where gays and creeps could lust after him.
Seeing the other pictures on those sites gave him ideas, so he posed in different ways. With his ass out; looking down to be intimidating; looking up to be cutesy; with his thong down, hiding his dick with one hand. Anything that did well on each site.
<There is half an hour left. Both players have chosen the online route. After some deliberation we have decided that pictures don't count. You have to be actually seen. In person.>
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.
Clay didn't have time to delete his images. If he wanted to win he had to do something now. This would definitely leave enough time for the homos on those sites to download his pics and spread them. He'd never get them off the internet.
<As an additional challenge, the players will not be allowed to speak.>
The teen wanted to know what that meant. Not speak to anyone or not speak at all, even if alone?
He couldn't ask. Nothing came out of his throat. There was no sound. Clay was mute.
With a groan of frustration, he tried to think through the anger. There was no way he'd get into a public place like a mall, looking the way he did. They'd kick him out. What else was in his vicinity?
He consulted the internet, growing evermore desperate as his time ticked down to twenty minutes. There were two locations and he could make it to both if he hurried.
Clay left the house, armed with nothing but his phone.
His dick was tugged into the thong's seam so it wasn't poking out. It was clearly visible, but only for someone who actually looked, instead of practically jumping into people's eyes.
Since his father had the car, he was left with no other option but to jog. One neighbor was watering his rose bushes. Another was fixing his mower in the driveway. Clay ignored both their stares. If player 1 had given up, Clay had won now but he couldn't rely on that.
His first destination was where the suburb met the city proper, mere five minutes running distance. The farmer's market was bustling with little old ladies, wholesome families, rugged agrarians and the occasional tourist.
There had to be a few dozen people, distributed across three lanes of stalls.
Clay jogged along the middle path. An amazing number of people were too preoccupied to notice him. Somehow he had to get the attention of everybody. With his voice `deactivated' he couldn't exactly shout at them.
The boy tugged his phone into his thong and rearranged his dick so that it pocked out like it had done before. Then he raised his middle fingers and flipped off anyone he saw.
It caused enough commotion to make people turn around and see him. Most looked away in disgust immediately, but once he was seen it didn't matter.
Clay's heart was racing as if trying to tear itself apart. He had never felt social anxiety – he was a supremely confident alpha jock, according to his own judgement – but right now he felt more shame than he had thought possible. It was almost surreal, as if he was dreaming and not really there.
After the middle lane, he entered the right one, ran along with his erection poking forward as usual and emerged on the other end just to enter the left lane.
Once he was done making everyone at the market think he was a pervert, he kept running into town. His phone told him there were less than ten minutes left.
The second destination was an open air concert. It was still early in the day, so it seemed weird that there would be a concert going on, but he wasn't going to question his luck.
Clay arrived at the address with only three minutes to spare. The place was less `open air' than he had expected. The venue was behind walls and Clay couldn't see the entrance. He jogged along the perimeter to figure out a way in.
Two minutes left. Should he leave it be and turn around? No. He had come this far, he was not going to concede to player 1.
Finally a metal gate. He pushed and slipped through the resulting slit. There was music coming from around a corner. He got there with sixty seconds left.
In his hurry he must have missed a few details. The `concert' was a commemoration for veterans. Tons of old men in uniform sat in garden chairs and watched a pianist do his job on a low stage. That's why it happened on pre-noon. Those men probably had to be in bed by 6pm.
Well, if Clay was really going `all out' as he had promised himself, why not defile this place? He was as nervous as his body could let him get. For a moment he wasn't sure if he was going to puke.
Thirty seconds. Now or never.
Clay rushed ahead. The first startled shouts came immediately. Not everyone had been fixated on the pianist. The distance was shorter than the boy had thought, so he reached the stage in no time. He turned around to see every pair of eyes resting on him.
It was what he had wanted but he felt like he would have pissed himself with fear if the erection wouldn't prevent such a-
Clay realized he was pissing himself. The stream trickling from his thong made it become transparent.
Everyone had seen him in those few seconds. He could safely leave.
As he rushed down the middle again, toward the exit, two very, very big men approached him from that direction. Not every veteran at the meeting was old. These were soldiers, and they probably wouldn't ask questions before letting their fists speak.
Not that Clay would have been able to answer with his voice turned off.
While the thong was still dripping with piss, he slipped through a row of old men to escape along the side path. The much burlier soldiers weren't as quick to get through the rows. One of the old men even seemed to hinder them, while staring at Clay with a huge grin. Well, that was... nice of him.
The teen made it out of the crowd and got to the exit before the soldiers caught up. He ran for his life the way he had come and took a turn at the first opportunity to be out of sight.
For his way back home, he decided to avoid the farmer's market and took the scenic route – meaning back alleys all the way to the suburbs.
He was halfway there when the demon voice came back. <The first task has seen a decisive victory for Clay. Both players get their voices back and we'll see if anyone came close enough to guessing the exact amount of times the winner was seen.>
The teen stopped for a moment. He couldn't jog anymore, he could only walk. His throat was burning. When had he last had a sip of water?
<The tally adds up to... Player 1 – zero sighting. Player 2 – four hundred and nine sighting.>
"The fuck!" Clay said to no one in particular. The opponent had given up. It would have taken next to nothing to win. A quick parading around his street would have done the trick.
Clay would kill someone for this. The game master, or the people betting on him, or player 1, or the attorney. It didn't matter. Clay just wanted to rip someone's heart out.
There were now three ink lines on his forearm, but it didn't exactly feel like a victory.
Before he arrived at his house, the game continued.
<Player 1 has refused the gift, so it goes to you.>
Wait what? Really? The guy was behind in points and didn't take the next gift. Those gifts were definitely easier than the tasks, for sure.
Just as Clay bent down to grab the house key from under the doormat, a weight appeared around his neck. The boy almost face-planted the ground. He went inside as quickly as possible to inspect the damage.
There was a metal chain – rose gold, naturally – strapped quite tightly around his neck with a padlock between his collar bones, holding it together. It was a thick chain, and locked like it belonged on a slave. Another ten pounds to carry, and he didn't even get a ring for it.
Walking was already difficult. Following the exertion from the task, Clay could have used a nap to let his heavy limbs rest. He marched toward the sofa, unwilling to climb the stairs to his room.
<Now to your own gift. Accept or refuse?>
Clay was prepared to take more shackles, chains or piercings. "I acce- Uh!"
His `gift' was a shackle-like ring around his ball sack. It was, by itself, probably another ten pound, but a short chain hung from it and out of his thong. There was a shiny metal orb, which added enough mass to make tears shoot into the boy's eyes.
His balls were getting stretched and crushed with every motion. Again he felt like puking, and this time it would probably not subside. Should he accept anyway? He was ahead. He could afford to say no and let the other player feel what it meant to put a collar on Clay Tucker.
"I fucking refuse, asshole."
The ball pain vanished with the restrains. Knowing that the other guy was now subjected to this torture for the rest of the games almost made Clay want to pad out the experience a little.
His phone rang as he sat down.
"Hello?"
"Good news, Clay. I managed to sneak my way in. I know where player 1 is. Unfortunately he seems to be on the move right now. I'll try to figure out where he's going."
"Okay. What should I do?"
"Did you collect rings?"
"Three so far."
"Keep it up. Maybe you can win before we even need to get player 1 to cooperate."
There were certainly better uses of Clay's time but he couldn't stop feeling horny so he kept masturbating. Perhaps it was impossible for him to cum with his artificial erection. What a shame. He had never edged for so long. It was driving him nuts.
<Player 2! Your opponent has accepted his gift.>
"Well thank fuck for that. Hope he learned his lesson."
<Here is yours. Do you accept or will you give your opponent another punishment?>
Clay screamed as his virgin ass was brutally intruded. He instinctively reached under himself to get a hold of whatever was assaulting him and felt metal.
Something had been shoved up his anus and he was unable to move it out even the tiniest bit. In his mirror he could see the rose golden shimmering metal base of what had to be a sizeable butt plug.
It stretched him. Clay hadn't known there was so much gut inside of him. He tried to feel along his abdomen to see how deep the intrusion went. It sure felt like he had gotten impaled all the way to his brain, but in truth the metal dildo was about up to his belly button.
Granted, Clay had a relatively high sitting navel, but it was still less deep than it felt.
The teen was getting split in half, but the pain was already dulling while he stared at his plugged asshole in the mirror.
Maybe it wouldn't be noticeable at all since the thong covered it mostly. If he stood upright, the base was hardly visible for anyone not specifically looking at his butt.
"I accept," he said and was promptly ahead with four versus three rings.
<Let's move onto the second task then. As a little call back to the first one, you need to be seen while doing it. The players will be informed what comprises the task once they are being watched continuously. The longer it takes them to find an appropriate location, the harder the task will become.>
As quickly as he could, he went over all local hot spots on the map. He needed to be seen, but he couldn't be in a place where people would be able to interfere.
With his stomach full of cool water, Clay jogged to the train yard. It was behind a station and he didn't want to risk alerting security by running through it, so the boy had to figure out a way around it.
As he walked through bushes toward the fence, he thought about whether he could afford to drop this task. If he put in only a tiny bit of effort, he could win if player 1 gave up again. How likely was that?
Wearing sneakers, it wasn't easy to climb the fence but he managed by the strength of his arms. He considered himself lucky that he was a gym-rat. Clay dropped to the dusty ground on the other side and walked along the tracks until he was sure people looking out the train station window were able to see him well.
Unless someone reported him, he should be watched without anyone being able to get close. Then he had to wait, standing around, trying not to be overwhelmed by the urge to jerk off.
Three trains left in the time it took player 1 to find a good spot wherever he was.
<Now that you are both ready, we can begin. Whoever can hold the following position for longer, wins this round. Significant deviation from the posture will cause a reminder to trigger.>
Silence followed and Clay was about to ask for clarification on the `position', when an invisible force kicked his knees and pushed his shoulders down.
The teen was maneuvered into a squatting position. Then his feet and knees were pulled apart, sliding across the dirt and gravel. They ended up spread far, pointing outward, forcing him even lower.
Next the force pulled on his hips until his ass poked back strongly. His heels were sharply pushed up so he balanced his weight only on the tips of his shoes.
His arms were raised spread eagle and the force vanished. Clay struggled not to fall over. Unsupported, except for the tips of his toes, it was hard enough to stay up at all. The weight from his shackles would make it impossible to retain the position for over a minute.
Clay's only hope was that the other guy gave up first. Already, the teen was shaking. Sweat formed under the blaze of the hot sun, which was approaching its zenith. Metal trains carts surrounding him threw sunlight at him as well, making the boy feel as if he was getting toasted.
Okay, he had picked a bad spot. How much longer would he have to stay?
With his head straight, he tried to glance at the phone in his hand. When he attempted to turn it toward him, it slipped from his grasp and hit the ground with an ugly cracking noise.
"Fuck. Uh."
His arms were threatening to fall off. He felt joint pain like he only had for seconds in his most intense gym sessions.
Of course, his posture slipped. Trembling, he lowered his arms a bit.
A strong itch spread across his back. He was desperate to scratch it. This was more than a normal itch, it was a vicious sensation as if he had been dowsed with some powder.
Clay twitched and brought his arms up again. The sensation stopped. Oh, so that was the `reminder'.
"Fuck," he said again, pressing the word through his teeth.
It was probably not a full minute, but he couldn't hold his arms up any longer. If they spasmed he might fall over and lose. Clay brought his arms inward a bit until he was able to keep them steady.
The itch spread from his back to his ass and up to his neck. After a few seconds it attacked his arm pits and crotch. Clay's eyes were watering and his breath was accompanied by whimpers every time he exhaled.
Realistically it was a full minute, tops. But it felt like a lifetime. He wasn't sure he could win this one.
His legs spasmed and his whole body was rocked as if he was bouncing on purpose.
Lowering his arms even more, the boy also straightened his legs a bit to decrease the pain and stress. The itch became more intense. Clay cried, tears flowing unhindered. A moment later he lost control of his bladder again and pissed what little piss had built up by now into his thong from where it ran down his thighs.
Clay screamed. He let out his pain with guttural growls. Everything was shaking. The urge to scratch himself was all-consuming.
One tremble was to strong and sent him backward on his ass. He caught himself clumsily, his tired limbs unresponsive.
<Player 2 wins with 2 minutes and 19 seconds versus player 1's 30 seconds.>
What? He had won over a minute ago and hadn't been told? Of course that was how they did it.
He was too weak to rise to his feet, but he managed to pick up his phone. The screen was harshly cracked but it still worked.
Five rings on his forearm. Halfway there. How much worse could it get?