I really just couldn’t do another five weeks in the penalty box. But, I couldn’t quit the game either. I really needed to win one but was afraid to play again. Soon, I did draw again. What else could I do? I was deadly determined to win a hand in this stupid game.
I drew five cards: 10<heart> Q<spade> 7<club> 10<spade> A<club>.
Not too bad. I was cool with at least three of them.
Ummpf: You love gags and muzzles, and I suspect you have a whole collection of favorite socks, deflated tennis balls, dog toys, bits, tapes, elastic bands, and tongue clamps. Pick a really good one.
Time-out: You need a tennis ball, baseball, basketball or something similar. Go to a corner of the room. Place the ball against the wall at the height of your forehead. Lean your head against the ball, holding the ball with your head against the wall. Grab your forearms behind your back. Put your feet and heels together. Stand up straight. Stay in position without letting the ball slip.
Sweat bag: Get into your thermally insulated sleeping bag. Zip it up all the way to hold in your heat. Cover your face and head. If permitted to wear clothes, put on multiple layers, sweats, gloves, and thermal socks.
OK. Cool. I can definitely gag myself and do a time-out and then hang out in a sweat bag. No problem there. But, what about this one?
Grind: You are too shy and don’t get out enough. Reactivate your Grindr and Recon accounts that you hardly ever look at. Update your old and incomplete profiles with candid and true information that describes you. You should mention in your profile that you are playing Indentured – the game of sex, humiliation, pain, bondage and tedious labor in 3,162,510 combinations, but you suck at it; so, you would appreciate any coaching to make you a better player. If anyone makes a credible, reasonable offer to coach you, then you must accept the offer and follow-up.
Check out some guys and chat. You must make a serious effort to talk to as many guys as there are cards in your hand. Be a good boy. I know I don’t have to tell you to be polite, respectful, and completely truthful.
Checking out guys online is another one of these things I am forbidden to do in the penalty box; so, I didn’t see how I could do that.
Well,… come to think of it, the rule is “hot guys” specifically. Maybe, it would be OK if I chat only with some not-so-hot guys and resolutely ignore the hot guys. Or, would that be too much of a slippery slope?
And, this one?
Mod yourself: Your task is to modify your body in a significant way that will last for at least longer than today. Here are some suggestions:
Shave a part of your body (other than your facial hair).
Wax a part of your body.
Get a tan.
Get a tattoo.
Do something about those teeth.
Dye yourself a new color.
Get some cosmetic surgery.
I got one brownie point that I won for my combination of punishment drills with a steam-generating punishment collar. So, I could toss the “Grind” card. However, body modification was another one that I just really, really don’t want to do at all. So, I discarded “Mod Yourself” and replaced it with a new card.
Oh fuck! No! Fuck, it’s a joker card. It had to come up eventually, but I was not going to think about that until forced to.
The guide has all these other rules for a joker:
All about Jokers
There are two jokers in the deck. There is one red & yellow joker. There is one blue & black joker. These are the special rules that apply whenever you draw a joker:
For each joker in your hand, you must draw four additional cards off the top of the deck; typically, you end up with a total of nine cards in your hand, instead of the usual five. Don’t freak out yet.
For each joker in your hand, you have the option to remove one other card. (But, you can’t discard the joker.) Pick whichever one you least want to do and replace it in the deck. Then, you have eight cards left. You are now left with the joker plus seven other cards that you must do, instead of the usual five – but at least you had some choice about how to shoulder the burden.
Why didn’t I just give in and get a tattoo? Now, I had to draw four more cards: K<heart> 9<heart> A<diamond> Q<club>:
Spatchcocked: Get on your hands and knees on the floor. Lower your chest and face onto the floor. Open your mouth and kiss the floor. Then, reach back with each hand and grab the heel of each foot. Then, spread out your knees and arch your back to push your hips toward the floor until you can feel your cock head touching the floor. Keep your chest and both tits flat on the floor. Keep widening and flattening out until you can also get your balls on the floor. If you are in the right position, your mouth, tits, cock and balls are all on the floor with your knees splayed out and your hands still gripping your heels.
Exposed: Find an acceptable way to have a stranger see you naked. Suggestions: attend a nudist gathering; get a physical; go camping; get a massage; hang out in a locker room. Remember, you must combine this task simultaneously with at least one other one.
Garbage boy: Do a service to your community. Go out with a trash bag and collect garbage until you’ve filled it up. When done, empty it out and sort the recyclables. Strip and wear only the empty trash bag for the rest of the day. If you found any clothes while you were dumpster diving, you may wear them too.
Rolled and Wrapped: Make a cocoon for yourself out of plastic wrap or bungie cords or carpeting or anything that can bind you up tightly head to toe.
OK. I can spatchcock myself, and I can wrap myself up in a cocoon. Those are both fun. But, I don’t want to be naked in public or collect trash around the neighborhood. I can discard only one; so, I am again confronting a sadistic forced choice. Think. Which one is even more awful than the other one?
I discarded “Garbage Boy.” What it comes down to is – I could just flash somebody for an instant to be seen naked, but I don’t know how long it would take me to fill a bag with trash from the street. Also, I might get in a fight with one of those old Chinese bottle collector ladies. Who needs that?
But, that’s not all. There are still more joker rules. Continuing:
- ... done
- ... done
You must figure out a way to perform at least one of your tasks while wearing a clown costume and simultaneously doing an entertaining clown performance. Think about prat falls, juggling, slapstick, and madcap physical comedy.
If you drew the red & yellow joker, then you are filthy raunchy sex clown. You will need to learn to work blue in your comedic clown act. Your performance ought to be bawdy, off-color, risqué, indecent, profane, and largely about sex.
If you drew the blue & black joker, then you are a schadenfreude clown. You have to die a little inside to become a really great comic; so, find a way to recreate a deeply humiliating painful experience in the form of a hilarious clown skit. Punish yourself and make us laugh through your tears.
Do your best with your clown costume. Really put some thought into that. Consult the Clown Guide for more information.
I had drawn the blue & black joker. I would need to come up with something humiliating and painful to do as a performance in addition to all the other stuff. It was too much. I had no idea.
So, I decided to deal with it by not dealing with it. I gagged myself using my deflated tennis ball with a leg of a nylon stocking drawn through it. It ties around the back of my head, and then the open end of the leg stretches up over my head. It’s one of my favorites. I went online and updated my profiles on Grindr and Recon the way I was told to. I said in my profiles that I was playing Indentured and that I would appreciate coaching and advice how to play better.
I got some responses. Most guys didn’t know what it was though. Some of the guys that responded looked a little on the hot side. On the one hand, I said I was only going to chat with the non-hot guys; on the other hand it’s rude not to respond, and the card says to be polite and respectful. So, I responded to anyone that contacted me and just tried not to look at them much. I explained what it was.
I said, “I’ve got these cards, and they tell me to do things that I have to finish by the end of the day; so, today I have to gag myself, be naked in front of a stranger, sweat in a thermally insulated sleeping bag, do a time-out, wrap myself in a cocoon, spatchcock myself, and chat with unattractive guys on Grindr.”
Maybe, I should have said that differently. Anyway, no one offered to coach me, which was a relief. I never meet anyone for real on these things. I just cruise, chat, jerk-off, and go away. That’s just how I roll. I don’t want to have to accept any offers that could possibly end up with some scary awkward real time encounter.
Anyway, I lurked around there for a while more because I still needed at least one more chat with a guy to meet my quota. I clicked on the active profile of a somewhat goofy-looking Asian guy. Asian guys are just not my type; so, no one can say I’m breaking the rules.
He said to me, “You should forward me a picture of you naked.”
I said, “Why?”
He said, “Because you need to expose yourself naked to a stranger. You said so.”
Oh. That was actually not a bad suggestion. I made a selfie of me naked and gagged with a nylon stocking leg stretched over my head, and I sent it to him. Mission accomplished! Now, I will just confirm he got it and then go away and never talk to him again.
But then he said, “Hey, nice pic. I accept your request for coaching, and I offer to help you improve your game. I think we should start today.”
Bastard! It was a credible reasonable offer to coach me. I had to accept the offer, and he obviously knew that, because he understood the game.
He expected me to use the locator function on Grindr to come find him now. I started a process of quietly freaking out. OK…. It’s OK. Meet the guy. He’ll give you a few pointers. Say “thank you” and go. Satisfy the requirement. I’ve got four more tasks and a clown performance yet to do. I don’t have time. I don’t have time. I just want to be able to jerk-off again someday.
“Bring your sleeping bag and card deck,” he said. “I’ve got all the other gear we will need.”
OK. I’m going. All the other…. How much other gear are we likely to need though, really?
I tracked his locator into a laundromat off of 23rd Street. There was a guy sitting there reading a comic book while his laundry tumbled dry.
“Hi, I’m Jason.”
He grinned and said, “I’m Hung. Great to meet you with your clothes on.”
I squirmed and failed at replying to that, and the lady by the washing machine looked at me funny.
“So, I guess I am your new Indenture coach. Did anybody coach you before?”
“No. I’ve just been going solo on it.”
“How is your game going?” I showed him what I was playing in my hand today, and I told him how I got in the penalty box five weeks and that I badly want to get out. I asked “Do you know any shortcuts getting out?”
He said yes he did know, but it was the wrong question to ask.
“Jason, you are in the penalty box because you want to punish yourself, and you want to be in there. It’s an imaginary box, right?”
Now, he was talking at me like I’m stupid, and I resented it.
“Of course I don’t want to be there. I’m trying to beat the game. Can you help me or not?”
“That depends. Can you help me out?”
I defensively said, “I’m not allowed to have any sex with guys when I’m in the penalty box.”
Hung said, “That’s not exactly the truth, is it? You’re not allowed to gratify yourself with enjoyable sexual experiences of any kind, but you could accept requests to gratify me – just as long as it’s all about me. We would only need to be scrupulous making sure you can’t get off on it.”
Hung and I finished folding and stacking up his laundry while he talked to me about what my new training regimen might be. I piled two of his sacks stuffed with laundry on top of my left and right shoulders and hung my own sleeping bag roll from the belt at my waist. Carrying them all down the street back to his house, he was walking beside me continuing to suggest how I might be able pay his coaching fees by, for instance, licking out his asshole and drinking his piss before and after each training session. He wanted to make sure that servicing him wouldn’t turn me on much.
I said, “no, that’s disgusting, but my little betrayer stiffened up on me all of the sudden.
I told him about fucking myself reading Donald Trump’s speech and how it made my dick shrink down to a peanut.
Hung said, “That’s beautiful! I’ll finger your ass while you lick my hole and gulp down my piss, and you can pay my fee that way.”
This day was really going off in a different direction. He had a loft, and the space inside was wide open with mannequins and cloth everywhere.
“I make cheap knock-offs of expensive designer fashion clothing so it can be sold at lower-end stores like Zara and H&M,” he said.
I dropped the laundry and my sleeping bag and pulled my pants down because he wanted to finger my hole. He had me bend over a work bench and pull my ass cheeks apart while he rubbed and applied pressure on my anus gently with his finger. It didn’t want to open for him. It took maybe fifteen minutes just rubbing and pushing to get the finger in. That’s me. I’m a very reluctant bottom. My penis shrunk to a peanut again. I just can’t get off on being penetrated. It’s icky and scares me. When I got down between his legs and put his cock in my mouth, he sat on a bar stool and reached his hand over down my back to the cleft of my ass and got his finger back in again right away.
He was erect, and his cock head was really wide. I wrapped my lips around it. He warned me first and then urinated a little bit to see what I would do. It was disgusting, but I swallowed it and didn’t gag. Then, he started a stream and told me he wanted to hear me gulping and feel me sucking it out. I kept up for about half a minute and started waving my hands, because I was going to have to let go and spew it out. He stopped. I sputtered and tried not to throw up. It was warm and bitter and going up my nose and I wanted it out of me. It was gross. I looked up at him. He put his other hand through my hair and rubbed the lobe of my ear while he kept fingering me steadily.
He grinned and said, “You’re not supposed to be staring at hot guys.”
I breathed through my nose. He waited until I could continue. I didn’t want to continue, but a deal is a deal. I nodded my head.
“Gulp louder this time.”
He had as much or more still coming, but he delivered it slower seeing my limitations as a human urinal. My stomach felt uncomfortable, but I kept it down. I didn’t come anywhere even close to being turned on. The thought of it had turned me on, but the act of piss drinking was just awful. Ick!
He had me lie on my back on the floor with my legs in the air so that he could sit on my face and still finger my hole at the same time.
“I think you should be able to stick your tongue out and lick my hole from there, Jason.”
He adjusted back and forth until his anus was right at my lips, and my nose was flattened out into the crack of his ass. Again, this was really so not my scene. I could taste him on my tongue. I was inhaling his ass with every breath. Long black hairs growing around his anus were in my mouth. He said to lick it like an ice cream cone up and down through the crack.
“Also, spread your legs wider and try to thrust your ass up into my finger in time with your licking.”
“Awpf!” I tried to indicate a negative on that that - just way too much to think about all at once.
“Oh well, it’s aspirational. Just keep it in mind as a target for improvement.”
I could feel the rhythm of him starting to jack himself off on top of me, and he stopped fingering my asshole. Not long after that he suddenly lifted off my face and gasped. I felt his cum splattering on my chest. I had now paid my admission fee for Hung’s coaching.
“There are a number of things I want to discuss with you about your training program overall, but in view of the lateness of the hour, I think we should get to work right away on your clown performance. Do you have any thoughts on what kind of clown you want to be?”
“I want to be the kind that jerks-off and watches porn when he wants to.”
“OK. I’ve got some ideas. I want you to put these goggles on and try to picture a painful and humiliating event from your past.”
He had me stand with my hands above my head in some kind of alcove. When I put the goggles on, I couldn’t see anything because they were blacked out. “I want you to focus without any distractions on finding the story we will use for your skit.” While I was thinking, he started spraying me with something. It wasn’t water. It had a slight ammonia smell. When he was done spraying me,
Hung asked “Did you picture anything?”
I recalled something that happened to me -well, something bad that I did when I first came out as gay and whatever else and was trying to hook up with guys. They didn’t have internet then. They had this 900 phone sex line called Tops & Bottoms. Tops call one number. Bottoms call another number, and the phone line connects to the voicemail profiles of the type you are looking for. I called it, and there was a voicemail from a guy with a hot sounding voice saying he’d meet me. We arranged a time for me to come to his house. I went there. He didn’t look like his voice. He was fat, maybe obese, much older.
I thought, “I can handle this.”
He sat me down in his kitchen and made me a dinner with pasta and wine and all. He told me how good-looking I was and was interested in my school. He was a musician in an orchestra and knew all about cultural things. He said all the right things that one is supposed to say on a date. I went along with it and realized he was a very nice man, and if I were not such a pervert I might be able to respond and think he was great. He wanted us to get into his bathtub together.
I thought, “I can handle this.”
We got naked sitting in his bathtub in warm water with me between his legs. He pulled me backward leaning into his massive chest and stomach and petted me. He didn’t do anything to me, but I started spontaneously to cry, just outright sobbing, saying I don’t want to do this. Then, he got upset too. Then, angry that I was shutting it down. I got out of the tub, got my clothes on, ran out the door, never saw him again, never called that phone line again. I felt so awful even at the time for freaking out like that and making him feel bad. I should have handled it better. I’m not meant for nice people and culture, because I’m really not nice. I’m meant for punishment.
Hung was totally thrilled. “That’s perfect. I see how we could turn that into a hilarious clown skit that you can perform!”
Great. I took the goggles off. “What the fuck is this?”
I was blue! He’d gone over me with a spray gun all the way up from my blue feet, my hairy blue legs, big blue ass, blue chest, blue armpits, all the way to my face.
He gave me a kind of opaque white nylon stocking and a white knit cap from one of his fashion collections. I squeezed into the stocking that went all the way up both legs to my waist, and I put the hat on.
“There was not a lot of time to think through your costume, Jason, but at some point today I just flashed on an image of you turned into a smurf, and I decided to go all the way with it!”
No kidding. I was bare chested and deep dark blue from the waist up. My whole lower half was in a stocking that really didn’t hide anything. You could totally see every detail of my cock and balls under the nylon. Hung handed me my tail, which was a fluffy blue ball attached to the end of a butt plug. I didn’t know what to say.
“Uhmm…. Thanks coach?”
He said I needed a name. “All the smurfs have names. There’s Handy Smurf, Jokey Smurf, Brainy Smurf, Papa Smurf…. I think you should be Butt-Licker Piss-Drinker Smurf The Clown.”
“It’s a long name.”
“I think it’s a great name! ‘Butt-licker piss-drinker’ is one of the most humiliating put-downs you can say to someone in Vietnamese. It means a lot to me.”
I said, “OK.”
I posed for some photographs so that Hung could register my clown name and costume in the clown college on Indentured’s website.
“So, let’s review the tasks you still need to complete today. You’ve already gagged yourself while meeting me on Grindr. So the gagging is done, and you will also pass your Grind task provided that you continue to obey me as your new coach and start a training program.”
“Continue to obey you until the end of the day, you mean.”
“No. When you accept an offer for coaching in Indentured and then pay the coach’s fee, it becomes a binding contract that can only be voided if both parties agree. And, I don’t agree. You have to obey me today, tomorrow, and every day. It’s in the guide.”
“You’re saying even if I do everything you want today but don’t come back tomorrow, I get another week in the penalty box?”
Hung smirked, “Just so you completely understand, as your Indentured coach I can adjust up or down your penalty box time and can modify the conditions of your penalty whenever I want to. You will only have privileges restored to the extent that you have earned them in my eyes.”
My mind told me to protest that I hadn’t seen that anywhere in the rules, but my penis expanded like a balloon animal inside my tights; so, I didn’t say anything.
“What else? You need to wrap yourself up tightly head-to-toe. You need to get your mouth, tits, cock and balls all flat on the floor splayed out like a flattened roasted bird. You need to stand at attention in a corner holding a ball to the wall with your forehead. You need to cook yourself in your sleeping bag. You have to combine those things some way and perform your clown skit with at least one of them. What are your thoughts on how to combine?”
“The hard one is spatchcocking myself, because I don’t see how I can be wrapped head-to-toe or standing in a corner at the same time. I might be able to do it inside the sleeping bag, but it’s probably too narrow for me to splay my legs zipped up inside.”
“Right. So, we’ll incorporate spatchcocking into your clown performance and combine it that way. After that, you just combine the other three together and you’re done. Simple!”
Here is my clown performance that we worked on and rehearsed together. Hung directed me how to act and pantomime it. I am a cute young smurf clown, alone in the big city, calling the phone sex line. You know that because there are two phones mounted on opposite sides of a post under a sign the says “Phone Sex Line.” One phone said “Tops” and the other says “Bottoms” in goofy cartoon letters. I scratch my head and then choose the Bottom phone. I listen to the phone with interest while pulling out my big blue cock and stroking it. I pull a small bouquet of daisies out of my ass and knock on the door of the Top’s house. You know that because there is a sign on the door that says “TOP” in huge giant oversize letters. Then, I am sitting at a table. There is a vase with my little daisies. I am holding a glass of wine and hiding my face bashfully with a fan. I flutter the fan and hide my face with my hands and puff out my chest and wiggle my ass with my fluffy smurf tail accepting compliments from the top, who is represented by a mannequin on the other side of the table dressed in elegant clothes with a big fat belly. I poke at the fat belly looking doubtful. The fat mannequin has a piece of paper in its hand. I take the paper and unfold it to reveal a schematic diagram with a stick figure of me splayed out on the floor in a deeply humiliating, sexy, uncomfortable position. I shake my head like “Oh no I couldn’t …” and change it slowly into “Oh yes I can.” I put the diagram on the floor and pull my nylon stockings down and then work laboriously to match the diagram. I eventually get my cock, balls, both tits, and mouth on the floor while grabbing the bottoms of my own feet. I wiggle my smurf tail and push my stretched out hips more into the floor to grind my cock head over it until my dick gets hard. Then I feel ashamed and hide my hands with my face and run away naked with my fuzzy blue boner in the air.
OK, it probably loses something transcribed into text, but it was hilarious physical comedy. Or, at least it was good enough to meet the requirement. It took hours putting that together and rehearsing, a portion of time devoted to stretching and straining to even get in the required position. I felt exhausted and drained when done.
Seeing how tired I was, Hung helped me get into bondage for the last part. He wrapped me up in plastic wrap from head to toe and then rolled me into a rug with my blue feet out of one end and my head out the other. Then he rolled me into my sleeping bag and zipped it up for me. He put a really cool sensory deprivation hood over my head that laced up in the back and then buckled over top of the laces. He left me that way. I got very warm and wet. I couldn’t really move at all. This was much more confining than what I could have done for myself. I felt relief to be immobile with nothing to do and just drifted out of awareness for a while.
Later, I was coherent again. I remembered I just had the one task left to do which I needed to stand up for. I was slow to realize that I was actually stuck now unable to get out. See, I only ever do self-bondage, and I always know exactly how to get out of whatever I got into. I couldn’t get out of the plastic wrap inside the tightly rolled rug inside the zipped up sleeping bag. I also couldn’t see or orient myself to figure out why it was so intractable. I tried to roll myself back and forth to loosen the roll, but I couldn’t get any leverage to even roll it a little.
I called out to Hung because I was sure he would want us to finish the one last thing. I wasn’t gagged, but there was only a small mouth hole to breathe through. I couldn’t project very loudly through that, but was I really so muffled that he couldn’t hear me? If there were any response from him, I could not hear it through the padding over my ears. Struggling inside was causing me to build up more heat and sweat to a point where I felt so overheated I had to stop. I thought that a long amount of time was passing, but I couldn’t gauge it. I wanted to relieve the heat or just shift my position a little but couldn’t at all. I drifted out again….
“So sorry about that, Jason. It was such a busy day for me. I just fell right to sleep after I zipped you up in the bag.”
When he finally let me out it was well after sunrise. Again, I had lost and accumulated another week in the penalty box instead of subtracting one. My throat was dry. I needed water and electrolytes to replace all I’d lost.
“So Hung, Couldn’t you maybe use your magic coach powers to reduce my penalty, seeing how it was all your fault that I lost again?”
He looked annoyed.
I probably could have said that better. After some discussion, we agreed that I really deserve two additional weeks for being, first of all ungrateful, second of all too lazy to set up my own bondage instead of making him do all the work.
“Thanks for the lesson, coach.” That’s really more what I meant to say.
I know it seems like I’m going in the wrong direction, but I could still turn it all around with a little luck.
I’m gonna beat this game…
…right after I fill up on more piss and lick Hung’s butthole again.