*** Close Call ***
There was an open bathroom opposite his position – a total of two gateways away. He needed water desperately. He was sweating and dizzy and probably on the verge of breakdown.
He kept prodding the barrier to do as little work as he could get away with. Ten leapfrogs, a short break, eight dips on a chair, a dizzy spell and a longer break, fifteen jumping jacks, a break sitting down.
He did thirty lunges but it was still better than squats. There, done.
He had taken too long and the barrier was re-hardening. He could feel it solidify. He imagined it would have a smug look on its face if it had one.
Ten more leapfrogs and he stumbled into the bedroom. He really wanted to take a nap on the shrill bed covers. But he had work to do.
"Hey," his earpiece said. "Are you inside?"
"Yeah... I'm trying to... get into the bathroom. I'm... doing... lunges... now."
"Good. I found out what they bought. It was a chandelier. The chain is probably part of it. Look at any chandelier you find."
"Okay... doing... fucking... dips now and... gonna get... some water... please... if you can... make this any easier..."
"I'm afraid that's how easy I can make the exercises. But if you hurry, the curse might not get any worse."
Ethan finished up and pulled himself through the barrier onto bathroom tiles. He dragged himself to the sink with his shaking, tortured thighs and drank until he felt ready to burst.
With a tummy full of liquid, he threw himself into his routine a fourth time in a row.
But the bathroom didn't let him exit without a fight. His thong was pulled off his crotch and he could barely drag it with him into the bedroom.
"Um, attorney guy? Something's weird. My `clothes' almost got stuck."
"I'm afraid the nipple clips aren't enough of a distraction for the curse anymore. You got too used to the pain. Reposition them. Alternatively, leave the thong behind. I recommend taking it, though. Oh, and never wear the thong without the clamps, remember?"
Ethan sighed and pulled the thong down. His semi hard-on sprang to attention. Then the boy took off the torture devices.
The influx of pain had him cringing and he suppressed a scream with rapid breathing. With trembling fingers, he reattached the clamps at a new angle.
The pain was exquisite. He wasn't chafed anymore, he was raw. If the curse didn't think it was enough it could go fuck itself.
Back in his thong, Ethan opened the bedroom door. There was a gallery overlooking the entry hall. Everything was as tacky as he had expected.
He couldn't pass the doorframe yet but he took a look left and right. The coast was clear so far.
Then his eyes fell on the chandelier hanging in the middle of the gallery, down into the hall.
The chain was holding it up.
Ethan was about to start the lunges to get into the gallery when a familiar sensation stopped him.
He was now wearing smooth metal shackles around his ankles.
"Fuck. I got more. On my feet."
"I told you to hurry."
"Yeah yeah. Fuck you. What do they want?"
"Up and down motion."
"I fucking know! What exercise?"
"Listen kid, I'm doing this pro bono. Be a little more grateful."
Ethan only grumbled. But he got his answer.
"As far as I can tell," then man said, "it's high knees. Get them up, ideally touching your torso."
The muscle teen was ready to punch a hole into a wall. Unfortunately, the anger wasn't enough to dull the pain of using his beefy thighs to slam his knees up.
And he still had to do lunges... and everything else.
Ethan discovered that screaming with every motion made it better. As long as he grunted forcefully, he took a tiny bit of psychological pressure off. By now the routine was elaborate enough to take up three minutes.
When he was done, his legs shook and didn't calm down. With his big but weak arms, he held onto the wooden rail of the gallery in the center of the mansion.
He couldn't reach the chandelier. He had to pull it down. His whole weight was probably going to be enough.
Ethan moved onto the stairs and discovered to his joy that they didn't count as a gateway. He was free to proceed down into the hall.
There was a little table in the center with a tacky vase on top. He put the object down and stepped onto the table, hoping it would support his considerable muscle mass.
He reached up, grabbed the chandelier, and pulled. Nothing, not even a sound.
Ethan hung his entire weight onto it. The chain gave way a little and he stumbled back, accidentally kicking the table out underneath him.
Hanging in the air, Ethan heard the ceiling break. He let go and jumped back as the chandelier came down with the chain slicing the air where the boy had just stood.
He stepped between the shards and fiddled with the mounting.
While he freed the chain from the tacky artwork, he saw the car return through the front door glass pane.
He pressed a curse from his lips and tugged hard on the chain. As it came loose, the car pulled up to the garage.
There was only one way to get out without having to go through multiple gateways. Ethan had to take the front door.
He swung the chain around his neck to keep it in place. It added more weight that he had expected.
He had no time for the simple exercise. He needed the effective ones.
Three one legged squats left, three one legged squats right. He kept tumbling and wobbling but he made it. Down and doing push-ups next. The chains slammed onto the floor over and over until he had counted fifteen.
The adrenaline was giving him the power he needed. Pull-ups? Yes, there was the gallery. He jumped up at the bottom of the rail and held on.
Ethan had underestimated the problem the chains' weight would pose but he screamed his way to victory.
By that point he was heavily sweating and thirsty all over again.
Jumping jacks were next. Ten, eleven, twelve. Shout, shout, shout.
He stumbled and held still. There was sound further inside the house. If his clattering chains gave him away...
Ethan held the chains down, while doing high knees. He wasn't sure how many, he was panicking too much to count, but it was more than ten, for sure.
Just as steps came closer through the corridor, he opened the front door and bailed. The thong slipped down his junk and to his knees.
Ethan almost fell. He stopped, in the middle of the barrier, shoved the thong down, tore the clamps off his nipples, grabbed the thong and ran.
With his dick free and slapping around wildly, it hardened fully before he had reached the end of the road.
There was – of all things – a bridge.
He couldn't do exercise on it, or he was guaranteed to be spotted.
The boy retreated into the bushes along the riverside. He wasn't well hidden and had to keep moving. Was there a way out of the gated community?
Yes, the river broke the fence. He could go under it.
Ethan's nipples hurt a great deal, as expected, but suddenly there was a sharp pain as well.
"Um, what the fuck? My nipple rings are like, twice as big now?"
The attorney responded. "The curse is onto you, in a manner of speaking. The easier experiences won't trick it much longer. Dips are not an option anymore. Push-ups from here on out."
Ethan sighed but he kept going. "Any good news?"
"Yes. The third chain is not far away. And there's a surprise at your bike if the delivery worked."
The boy made his way along the shore to the fence. He couldn't slip under, there was no hole anywhere. But he could climb past the side.
Ethan held onto the fencepost and swung on leg to the other side, hanging over the running water.
He slammed into a barrier. Unfortunately, he had used too much force probing the blockade and his weakened limbs lost their grip. Ethan fell.
It wasn't a deep drop and the river merely went up to his knees, but he landed on his back and sank fully.
When he made it into a standing position, he realized he had thrown the nipple clips.
He wasn't even sure where they were.
"Uh, Mister? Is there a way to wear the thong without the clips? Coz I kinda lost those."
"No. Just drop the thong."
"Ugh. Fucking fine. The mask is enough. No one will know... oh fuck, my taint ring has grown, too."
Ethan could clearly feel the increase. Did that mean he had to do squats?
"Fuck no," the boy said. "I can't squat. I absolutely can't. My thighs won't cooperate."
"Maybe," the attorney said, "your thick ass won't block the marker if you spread your cheeks. You can do two legged ones. Just remember: if the plug ever slides out, take off the mask. Otherwise you'll be stuck forever and I can't help you then."
Ethan put the earpiece down at the shore and felt the barrier there. He wasn't going to get out of the river without struggle.
He dropped to the flooded ground. He did push-ups with his face getting dunked into the river.
He moved below the surface with every push-up, which turned his mask heavy as it became wet. Then he did two legged squats. Of course his thighs (metaphorically) screamed for mercy and Ethan (literally) screamed with them.
It was a hell of a lot easier than one legged ones, though.
Keeping his plug in was surprisingly difficult. With his cheeks pulled apart, it threatened to slide out with every few squats and Ethan had to clench muscles he never knew he had.
Doing leapfrogs was extra painful. Breaking the knee high water's surface wasn't the worst thing in the world but he would have noticed a hair's weight in his condition. The two chains happily chimed along.
His fully hard dick – painfully hard, in fact – made the whole thing surreal.
He put the earpiece back in.
"Okay, I got to do jumping jacks next. But then... high knees in the water? That's going to fucking hurt like hell. My thighs can't anymore."
"Well..."
"I know I know. You'll tell me to hurry or things get worse."
"I was going to say you could try simple calve raises. You'll just have to do a lot of them."
Ethan put one hand in the shore barrier and started his calve raises. At first he wasn't even sure they were working.
It took over sixty calve raises until the barrier weakened no further. By that point his lower legs were on fire just like his upper ones.
Ethan climbed onto dry grass and made his way around the fenced area with stiff legs. He held both hands in front of his junk. He dearly hoped the mask was enough to veil his identity.
Next time: a third chain awaits but our muscle teen can't go on like that. Something got to change.