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by TobyTickler
This story is a work of fiction, all characters and plot lines are fictional. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Rope Float remains the property of the author. The story or characters may not be reproduced or republished elsewhere without the expressed written consent of the author.
"One vanilla milkshake, coming up" I said as I stooped down into the cabin. We had been gone twenty-five minutes. Simon was where we left him - it would have been miraculous if he was anywhere else, as thoroughly tied as he was. But I could tell by the grimace on his face and the fact that his eyes were screwed shut that something was wrong. He had struggled while we were away, not much but enough to uncomfortably tighten the cord wrapped around his upper body. The fact that the cord was hard, unyielding nylon ski-rope didn't help. Simon groaned.
"Oh, shit, Si!" I said.
I put down the milkshake and started to work on untying the ski-rope. Simon winced as my fingers worked on unpicking the knots that held his arms to his body. I saw that a turn of cord was cruelly pinching his left triceps.
"Jason, give me your knife!" I yelled.
Jason poked his head into the cabin from up on deck, where he was making himself busy readying the boat to leave port. He summed up the situation and said:
"You can't cut the ski-rope. Your dad will kill you!"
"Then he'll kill me. Simon's in pain - give me your knife."
Jason shrugged and handed me his pocketknife. It was a long, sharp Spanish job that would have been illegal back in the U.K. I opened it and made a single, careful cut in the ski-rope, well away from Simon's flesh.. Then I gently unwound it from Simon's upper body and legs. As it came away I saw that it had left rope marks all over, which were especially raw and red around the upper arms and chest. I massaged those areas, tenderly. Simon gave an appreciative moan.
"Sorry, Simon. I didn't mean it to get so tight!" I said.
"It's okay," he said. "I shouldn't have struggled. At first I did like you said and just lay there, letting my mind go, thinking about stuff. It was amazing how clear my thoughts became. Then I heard a noise like some guy from the fuel station was about to board the boat and I panicked. I didn't want to be found all tied up like this. I started to struggle. The noise went away, but the ropes had already got too tight."
"We shouldn't have left you," I said.
"Well, at least you brought me the milkshake!" Simon said, cheerily. I was reminded what a basically good-natured kid he was. I helped him sit up on the edge of the bunk. I had left the original bonds on his wrists and ankles in place. I didn't want to free him completely in case he got mad and lashed out. Now it was clear that wasn't going to happen, but he didn't seem in any hurry to be totally free, so I was in no hurry to untie him!
"Here," I said, holding the milkshake for him. He took several long pulls through the straw.
"It's thirsty work being a helpless prisoner!" Simon said and we both laughed.
The boat was now picking up speed as it left the port of Marbella.
"Want to go up on deck for a while?" I asked.
"Oh, please yes!" Simon replied. He had been tied up in the sweaty cabin for forty-five minutes in total, and was ready for some frsh air.
"Okay."
I knelt down and untied his feet. Then I stood, grasped his upper arm in my hand and helped him to his feet. He turned his back to me, expecting me to free his hands.
I laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Sorry, Si. Your hands need to stay tied for now."
"Oh. I see. Can you at least re-do them in front of me?" Simon asked.
I smiled and shook my head.
"Worth a try!" Simon said with a shrug of his bare shoulders. Then I helped him up on to deck.
"Look at the rope marks!" Jason exclaimed.
"They'll fade," Simon said defensively. He sat down on the rear passenger seat. He slid down in the seat, obviously self-conscious about his bound hands.
We pottered about for another fifteen minutes or so, and talked about our plans for that evening. We decided we'd play the machines for a while in a bar in Banus once we got in. Then we'd go home and change before going out to eat. We had a very free and easy life, on those summer days. Simon joined in the conversation. Nobody made any reference to the fact that his hands were still tied. Then Simon casually asked:
"Can I drive?"
Jason, who was driving, grinned.
"I dunno," he said. "Do you think you can drive a speedboat with your hands tied behind your back?"
"Sure can!" Simon said, jumping to his feet. "Move!"
Jason moved aside. Simon stood at the wheel, leaned his groin against it and steered left then right by swivelling his hips.
Jason and me cracked up.
"You're a talented guy, Si!" I said.
Then we saw a large white sail ahead.
"Is that what I think it is?" I said.
Yup," said Simon "It's 'DRUM'!"
DRUM was Simon Le Bon's yacht, which was often to be found plying the waters off Marbella in those days. This was the hey-day of Duran Duran - "A View To A Kill" was in the cinemas and in the charts - so of course we hated Simon Le Bon with a passion. We made a point of buzzing DRUM whenever we encountered it.
Jason pushed Simon aside.
"This a a job for a man whose hands are free!" he said, as he took the wheel and steered the speedboat towards DRUM and gunned the engine to the max.
Maybe it was because they shared a name, but our Simon professed to especially hate Simon Le Bon. As we circled Drum, we slowed down to let loose a barrage of insults. Simon seemed to have lost any inhibitions he may have had about being seen with his hands tied, as he stood and yelled:
"Simon Le Bon's a wanker!" at the top of voice.
Then he turned his back, presenting his tied hands to DRUM and somehow managed to give the finger to the sleek yacht.
When we had yelled our little hearts out at the bemused crew members on Drum's deck (Le Bon himself was nowhere to be seen that day) we sped off towards Banus.
Once we were clear away, I told Jason to stop. Simon was sitting on the rear passenger seat again. He moved his shoulders in a way that made it clear they were starting to ache. He was young and supple, but his arms had been pulled behind him for well over an hour now.
"Okay, Simon," I said. "Turn around."
Simon turned and knelt up on the passenger seat. He looked hopefully back at me over his shoulder. I reached out and started to work on the knots holding his wrists together.
"For conspicious gallantry in the face of wanker Le Bon," I said. "I hereby grant you, our Simon, the use of your hands!"
I pulled the rope off with a flourish. Simon froze for a second, holding his breath, his hands still behind his body, as if he was unsure that he was really free. Then he sighed and brought his hands in front. He turned around in the seat, rubbing the deep welts on his wrists.
"So how did you enjoy your first time being tied up?" Jason asked him.
Simon grinned. His teeth flashed white.
"It was really tough," he said. "But kind of fun!"
"Fun, really?" I said. "So what was it you said earlier about people who liked to get tied up?"
Jason and I exchanged a glance. Then we pointed at Simon and in unison yelled:
"PERVERT!"
© Copyright TobyTickler 2007
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