“What a friggin’ ripoff. I was such a dumbass to fall for this.” I’d ordered the game online. When it came and I opened it up, it was an ordinary Poker deck with some typed instructions on paper stuffed in the bottom of the box. I was expecting something more like a disc I could play on my console, not a card game. This was not even a good card game. I wonder if anyone else was stupid enough to pay 50 bucks online for a Poker deck.
I didn’t even look at the instructions that go with it. I got online to the Indentured site and dashed off a flaming email to them about how this was a ripoff, and I wanted my money back. There was no immediate response, and I didn’t really think there would be. I might just have to eat this mistake.
I decided to also post these lame game instructions up on this bulletin board so that other people would be wise to it. Be warned!
There was an introduction letter:
I am pleased to present to you this non-refundable one-of-a-kind copy of Indentured - the game of sex, humiliation, pain, bondage and tedious labor in 3,162,510 combinations. Every individual copy of Indentured is unique, having been designed specifically for you by my game development team based upon a personality profile that you submitted combined with my own internal research about you. Your presences on all social media have been reviewed, including the ones where you use an alias. I also purchased and analyzed the records of all your recent search terms from Google. A tremendous amount of time and resources were devoted upfront to get an intimate picture of you before I delivered your game. So, please understand that’s why I can’t offer refunds. Realize that you hold in your hands a unique crafted item, which will not only entertain you with its practically endless variations in gameplay, but it will also relentlessly challenge you and expand your mind, if you follow along and let it.
In your specific instance, Jason, your game incorporates thematic elements of some of your favorite sexual fantasies.
Good luck on your journey,
“No. That’s not creepy,” I thought.
Instructions: To begin your game simply shuffle and cut the deck. Then draw five cards. This is your first hand of Indenture. Each of your cards represents a task that you must perform today. You have until the end of the day or until sunrise tomorrow at the very latest – if you want to stay awake and pull an all-nighter.
This is your quick start guide:
You can only play one hand per day. Start whenever you like, but you must complete the hand before sunrise the next day. You must always draw at least five cards.
Each card represents a task you must complete. Consult your play manual to identify what your tasks are.
There are no do-overs. Play the hand that you drew.
There is no pause button. Play your hand now or don’t play. You may not put it away and resume at a more convenient time.
You must always combine two or more tasks simultaneously. No credit will be given for a single task completed by itself.
If you fail to complete a task, then you will be consigned to the penalty box.
If you combine two or more tasks in a creative non-obvious way, then you may be entitled to receive a brownie point – more on that later.
If you draw a joker, then some additional rules come into effect – more on that also later.
If you draw four of a kind in one hand (for instance 6<diamond> 6<heart> 6<club> 6<spade> 2<spade>) or a run of five cards all in one suit (like 6 7 8 9 10<diamond>) , then some additional rules come into effect – more on that also later.
If you have difficulty interpreting the rules in a particular instance, consult the Helpdesk.
Note about fair play: I rely upon on your sense of honor, personal integrity, and fair play when you open a hand of Indenture. Do your best to complete each task that you draw truly in the spirit of the game. Some tasks will turn you on. Some tasks might not. Some tasks you will think you could never do. Give them all a chance. You will ultimately not enjoy this game if you do the bare minimum possible to complete and are half-assed and uncommitted to its outcome. You will discover no higher meaning in it. You will discard it. You will likely remain unchanged, uninspired, with your dick less hard, having extinguished the spark that ignites within you. It makes me sad to think you would bail on it like that, Jason. I want more for you.
Weird, again creepy, personal appeal to find my soul and keep my dick hard. I didn’t know what to make of this.
My inbox chimed with a reply from Indentured to my “This is a ripoff.” complaint:
Thank you for writing to tell me your first impression of the game that I designed for you. But, don’t be such a whiny little bitch, immediately complaining that it’s not what you thought.
I’ve read your profile. Nothing’s ever just right for you. I bet you haven’t even tried it yet. You bought this game for a reason; so may I suggest that you should give it a chance and actually play it at least once before flaming out like that.
I don’t give refunds, because I make bespoke individually crafted games, as explained in my product literature. However, if it will ease your mind and make you feel better about your purchase, I am willing to extend to you as a one-time offer one free brownie point that you can spend in the game.
Good luck with your game. Signed, Indentured
“Well, I never.…”
I shuffled the deck and drew five cards: 6<diamond> Q<heart> 6<heart> 4<spade> 2<club>
I looked up the entry in the crib sheet for the first one. OK. What does 6<diamond> mean?
Ding dong: I’ve found a new and better use for your weenie. We will repurpose it as a bell ringer to alert any normal guys around about your wild homo urges. It will act like a little weenie lighthouse warning them away from the rocks. Find some type of good loud, clangy bell with some weight to it. Hang it off the base of your knob. Keep it swinging free outside of any clothing, and just keep ringing that bell.
I was not expecting that.
I saw now what this was. I think I read something like to this in a story. This Indentured guy got hold of my search history, and maybe he saw I searched on something like, maybe, for instance, related to penis bells. (OK. I admit it was “penis bells.”) And, then I read this really hot story that came up. Clever. A little generic though – I’m sure it’s a pretty common search term.
Face Fuck Ergonomics: Discover some way to attach handle bars to your head. Stretch out your jaw and devote some time and effort to improving your talents as deep-throating face hole.
“Pfhw… What? I’m not doing that!”
Pongo: Hump like a dog until you cum with no hands on a leg or some furniture. I expect you to pant, stick your tongue out, and slobber.
“Hmm…. I could do that one.”
Make Your Weight: You have a hard-on for UFC mixed martial arts fighter Clay “The Carpenter” Guida. Tomorrow is your weigh-in for the big fight with him in The Octagon. You need to get down to 145 pounds or under in time so you qualify to compete in the featherweight division. Spend some time practicing at least one of the four MMA disciplines to prepare: wrestling; kickboxing; striking; or Brazilian jiu jitzu.
“Uhmm.” Wow! They really did research me.
Ball buster: You’ve gotten enough enjoyment out of your nutsack. Give it a new purpose today as stress-relieving squeeze toy or a paddle ball. Set up a regular schedule of ball busting sessions throughout the day. Get them out and whack away. Go for breaking a sweat and feeling a little dizzy and nauseated each session.
“Ehh. No, definitely not.”
I mean, a couple of these looked interesting. But, I wasn’t going to read all this stuff. What if I just do the ones I like and forget the others?
I think I just assumed this was a kind of Poker game where you only need to be better than the next guy and can bluff if you don’t have a very good hand. I fired off another email to Indentured:
Hey Helpdesk: I am playing my first hand of Indentured, and I actually like some of these tasks. Thanks! I’ve got two out of five. How good of a hand is that?
Meanwhile, I went over to the hardware store to see if they have any bells. I went around the corner to the store in my neighborhood and looked through the window. There were some people in there. That’s good. Every time I go in a hardware store and think that I can browse for something in peace, a helpful hardware man will materialize spontaneously out of the air wanting to guide me in finding my item. I don’t want help! I don’t want to explain what I am looking for. I want to be left alone. The hardware guy will be too busy following the other shoppers around to notice me.
I started in a far back corner nowhere near anyone else. Plumbing supplies, duct tape, screws and screwdrivers, step stools, auto parts, … , oh here, doorbells! But, no. I could immediately see these were electric push button jobs. None were suitable to hang off my penis. This was going to be more difficult than I thought.
And then, the helpful hardware man materialized behind me with a slight shimmer and a puff of air. “Are you looking for a doorbell?”
“Umm, no. I was actually looking for something more of an old-fashioned bell with a ringer inside of it that you can hang from something and knock the ringer against the bell part to make noise.”
“I’ve got this reproduction of a vintage brass pub bell.” He showed me a bell that had a base rim diameter of about 5 inches and about 4 inches high. It was artificially weathered metal made to look like an old antique brass bell. It had a length of chain hanging out of the bell attached to the ringer. It was of a type that would hang on the wall in a saloon and would be rung late at night to announce last call for liquor. I got a hard-on just looking at it, but when I picked it up, it was way too heavy.
“No. It’s too heavy. It’ll stretch my wiener down to the floor.”
Reluctantly, I left the helpful hardware man with the pub bell. I was certain that I could find something better if I looked around more. But, when I went to the K-mart at Astor place they had nothing but Martha Stewart crap. When I went to Crate & Barrel, they had scented candles and tea cozies everywhere, but incredibly, no light-weight brass bells that you can swing from your penis. I’d wasted almost two hours on this now, and I was getting increasingly frustrated.
“All I want is to go home and hump like a dog with a bell on penis. Why is this so difficult to accomplish?”
I finally went back to the hardware store where I started, determined to somehow find a way to make the giant pub bell work for me. It was so late now in the afternoon that they were closing up the store, and I barely, breathlessly got in the door to buy the thing before they turned off the lights to go home. They’d never seen anyone so anxious for a bell.
Finally at home, I turned my full attention to the problem of how to hang my pub bell. After some experimenting, I figured out that I could loop some phone cord around each of my thighs above the knee and pass about an 8 inch length of it through the brass ring on the top of the bell. If I spread my legs apart, then the length of cord would be pulled taught. The heavy bell would be supported by the cord between my legs with the chain at the end of the ringer dangling below my knees. So, then I looped a shoelace around head of my cock and tied it also onto the brass ring so that the bell was mostly supported by my legs but also undeniably pulling my cock head down so it stretched out pointing at the floor. I swayed my hips gently to make the bell ring between my legs. It was louder than I thought it would be.
“Super! Now all I need to do is hump like a dog.” I had in mind to put a towel down over the arm of the sofa and just bend over the edge of it and hump. I hobbled over to it wide-legged, realizing that as soon as I start to close my legs, the cord goes slack, and the whole weight of the bell starts yanking on my cock head.
I bent myself over the sofa arm, then realized the problem that I couldn’t aim my hard-on out over the top of the arm squeezed between the sofa and my stomach as I’d planned. The heavy bell kept it pointed down at the floor out of contact. I could lie across the sofa arm and just about thrust my hips into the end of the sofa to make my cock head brush up against the edge of it when I swung the big bell enough, but it would only contact for an instant before the bell clanged against the sofa and then swung back pulling my cock head back between my legs with it. I was plenty hard and determined to make this work; so, I thrusted at the sofa and clanged the bell repeatedly to try and accumulate enough contact between my head and the sofa to cum.
It was way harder than I thought it would be, because the bell yanked on my cock head and it was a strain to stay bent over with my legs spread to minimize that. But, I like humping like a dog. I concentrated and let my mouth open. I stuck my tongue out and panted. I drooled like a horny dog and got off on being a dumb pet animal that can’t be satisfied any other way. I couldn’t get to a really satisfying climax this way, but I did manage to squirt some juice down onto the bell. It took like an hour of sustained effort to get there, but I did it!
With some sense of accomplishment and relief, I got the bell off of my sore wiener. Maybe, this game is OK. I think I’m still in good enough shape that I could have a totally satisfying jerk-off session later tonight replaying that in my mind.
There was a reply in my email from the Helpdesk. I’d forgotten about that.
Your reward for doing two tasks out of five will be three weeks in the penalty box, one for each task that you failed. I assume you’ve read the game’s directions carefully and that you completely understand all about the penalty box.
If you are comfortable with that outcome, then I congratulate you for being a fuck-up and getting the punishment that you deserve and apparently want for playing the game half-assed with so little commitment to it.
You still have some time left today, if you change your mind.
Way to kill the mood. Ok…. Penalty box. What is this? I read further on into the game guide.
Instructions: If you fail to complete a task, then you will be consigned to the penalty box. For each task that you fail to complete, you will spend one week (that’s seven 24 hour cycles) in the penalty box. Here are the rules you must follow at all times when you are consigned to the penalty box:
Your masturbation privileges are revoked. There is no jerking off in the penalty box.
Any and all other forms of sexual gratification are off-limits. You agree not to seek out any enjoyable sexual experiences of any kind while in the penalty box.
No porn allowed.
No checking out hot guys or day-dreaming about hot guys.
All of your other non-penis related entertainment privileges are also revoked: no TV, movies, Youtube, Netflix, or video games. Exception: You may watch children’s educational shows or G-rated family programming. You may read newspapers and non-fiction texts if they don’t have pictures of hot guys.
I got a lump in my throat, realizing that penalty box means three weeks with “no privileges,” which is way longer than I’d ever held out before. I can’t do that! This game is so unfair. I worked hard on the two that I finished. I should get something for that, but all I’m getting is a penalty box.
And besides, I’m not a fuck-up. I’m very conscientious. He doesn’t know anything about me.
It was by now about 8 pm. The day was practically over. Reluctantly, I looked again at these remaining cards that I said I wouldn’t do: 2<club>: I really don’t want to hit my own balls on a schedule, but it’s getting late. What if I could do it maybe once every hour until midnight – would that be enough to pass? If I just grit my teeth and get through it, then that would at least shave off a week.
OK, I committed to at least do that one. I didn’t have time to overthink this; so, I picked up one of the flip-flops that I wear in the locker room at my gym, deciding I’d use the sole of my flip-flop to whack on my balls. I pulled my dick up with one hand and experimented with the other hand smacking the sole onto them – not too hard – at a moderate pace – but making at least a solid “whack” sound on them. I counted up to 100 whacks and felt satisfied with that. It hurt a little but wasn’t too bad.
However, when I reread the instruction I had to be honest with myself that I hadn’t broken a sweat and wasn’t dizzy or nauseated. I was determined to at least do this one thing right; so, I tried again and changed it up a little. First of all, I decided I’d run in place while smacking my balls so that I would definitely get up a sweat one way or another. Secondly, I could see the necessity to grab my dick in my fist while running and pull it way up higher to get my balls up and out more for a more solid hit on the sweet spot of them. Thirdly – as much as it made me cringe to think about it – I could see I needed to start my swing higher up so that the flip flop would impact with more momentum.
It took me some additional time to get together both courage and coordination to commence ball busting round two. By the time I reach 100 whacks this time (more slowly, because I couldn’t stand it any faster) I was running in place full out, sweating, starting my swing way up above my head, following through, and yanking my dick up with the other hand to help my balls connect at the end of the swing. I was seeing little explosions and red veins in my eyes. This was way more intense. I had to sit down now.
After my head had cleared, I realized I’d made a bad mistake. I had needed to combine whacking away with something else at the same time to get any credit. I’d assaulted my testicles for nothing. What else can I combine? Handlebars on my head?
I definitely remembered the story I’d read where the guy’s own father sells him into slavery to pay a debt, and then his former best friend buys him and permanently mounts handlebars on his head and then face-fucks him and totally degrades him. Hot story. I’m not appalled by the handlebar idea or dead-set opposed to it. I just don’t see how I could possibly do it. That’s why it’s a fantasy.
9 pm: Desperation prompts me to dig deep for an inspiration.
“Do I have anything at all with handles?”
My former roommate had left a pair of old wooden badminton rackets in the closet. I now considered a new use for them. I found a pair of scissors. I would need to cut out all of the string from around the rim of the rackets to make each of them into a hollow wooden opening. The unstrung racket fit over my head, and if I just wrapped something around my head to make a turban or a thick wide headband, the two rackets could fit snugly over it. The two racket handles stuck out like antlers to either side above my ears. I wrapped some duct tape around the whole turban-spacer-racket assembly on my head to secure it in place. I had to go sideways through the doorway to the bathroom mirror to look at it, because the racket ends stuck out so far. “Hey, I did it! I’ve got handlebars on my head!”
So now, I’m supposed to stretch out my jaw and somehow face-fuck myself. No problem. Of course, I own a dildo; so, I just wiped it off and stuck it in my mouth. I looked at the clock and saw that I was on schedule now for my next hourly ball beating session.
So, now I started to run in place with my dick in one hand and my flip-flop ball whacker in the other, but now I also had the handlebars and a dildo in my mouth. I was going to nail it this time. However, it troubled me that I was not really, truly getting face-fucked. I was, to be honest, only holding the dildo end in my teeth while the base of it flopped around in front of my face as I jogged. If I had a hand free, then I could work the dildo in and out with that, but both my hands were occupied. How could I face-fuck myself better?
I’d come too far to be defeated on this technicality now. I wrapped some bungee cord around the base of the dildo in my mouth and then I nailed an eye bolt to the wall behind me at the level of my head. I passed the two ends of the bungee over my shoulders behind me and hooked the ends of the bungee cord to the eye bolt behind me so that I was hitched to the wall with sort-of dildo bit and a bungee cord bridle. Now, if I stood facing away from the wall about two feet or so, the bungee cord would stretch taunt, and the dildo would get pulled into my mouth deeper as I continued moving away from the wall. I found a place where I could release my teeth and relax my mouth, but the pull of the bungee cord on the dildo going around either side of my head would hold it there. If I walked out too far from the wall, it would pull in so far I’d start to gag myself, but with practice I could lean toward or away from the wall to slide it in or out to face-fuck myself. It was an elegant solution.
So, I started running in place while pulling away from the wall. I tried my best to keep my jaw wide and not clench my teeth on it. My jaw started to hurt. I still gagged sometimes. I slobbered and my eyes watered up. My handle bars were waggling on my head. I raised my flip-flop high over my head to count the first of another hundred solid hits with full follow-through aimed square into my juice bag.
The nerve endings in my nuts were already on edge this time; so, I wasn’t even half way through before I started to feel pains shoot up into my abdomen and down into my legs. The pain sensation delocalized and started radiating out through my body. I started feeling queasy. When I’d finished 100 hits, I was shaking all over with nervous aftershocks. Had to lie down on the floor for a while until it subsided.
That was my first ball busting session that counted. I would need to repeat this every hour for at least a few more hours to say I’d completed the task. I did the whole thing again at 11 pm, 12 am, 1am, and 2 am. I just couldn’t handle any more after that. I was totally exhausted.
So, I woke up the next morning with sore balls, a sore jaw, and facing the fact that I was now in the penalty box for the next seven days. At least, I had minimized the damage. Training for a fight with Clay Guida is a cool fantasy, but no way could I have gotten down to a weight of 145 lbs in the time I had. I don’t even have a scale to weigh myself. This game is too fucking hard. I said this in my next complaint email to Indentured.
This game is way too fucking hard. I really busted my ass to finish four out of five cards in my hand. The fifth one was totally impossible. I’m totally wasted and exhausted from for all that, and I’m in the penalty box for a week. –Jason.
I got this reply in my box already by the time I was out of shower:
I think the only explanation could be that you are the stupidest, most inept player ever. If you knew you couldn’t do the fifth one, then why didn’t you spend a brownie point to get rid of that card? I even gave you a free one to spend. Did you even bother to read the directions in your game guide at all?
In all future correspondence with Indentured, I expect you to write with a more respectful and polite tone. I also expect you to refer to yourself as Dumbass in all future correspondence and to end all correspondences in the following way: “Respectfully, Dumbass”.
I am doubling your penalty to two weeks for being a disrespectful irritating stupid whiny bitch.
Read your game guide. It is non-fiction with no pictures of hot guys inside; so, it is something you are still allowed to look at.
He… He doubled my penalty on a whim. Can he even do that?
I’m not a whiny bitch.