Billy and the Goon - 13. Chapter 13

Billy was so busy loading his basement washing machine that he didn’t even hear the goon come down the stairs. Till the man grabbed his ass.

“May as well wash what you’re wearing,” he ordered, and Billy stripped. The goon stayed dressed, of course, in his jeans, T, work boots, and usual ski mask. Then, instead of requiring additional push-ups, he walked Billy into the main room, to his weights.

“Press,” he said, and Billy ran through a rep of twenty.

“Again.” And Billy did a second rep, expecting it to go on. Reps weren’t fun, but they were easy.

This time, the goon walked Billy across the room, turned him around, leaned him against a supporting post, and tied his hands behind it. By the overhead lights, Billy watched the goon disappear into his work room – he seemed to know the house well. When he returned, he was carrying a handful of tools Billy couldn’t see but heard him drop on the ping pong table behind him.

The next surprise was duct tape – across Billy’s mouth, around his head, across his mouth again, and back around his head. Billy could breath until the goon tightly held his nose between his fingers and started to count.

At 60, Billy’s lungs were starting to strain. At 80, he was trying to yell, “Stop! Stop!” but couldn’t be heard.

“Mfwmt!”

He figured he’d just pass out.

Meanwhile, he’d practically torn himself loose from the post, slightly roughening his wrists against the smooth cord. Finally, the goon let him twist his nose free.

Then he let him breathe for a minute, before covering his eyes with another strip of duct tape. Just one, and only across his eyes, but neatly sealing off his vision. Soon, Billy felt pliers – no, vise grips – on his right nipple. Which abruptly snapped.

“Yee – eee – eee – ow!” Billy tried to yell. Again, almost nothing came through the tape. The goon carefully turned back the screw until Billy’s near hyperventilating stopped but the grips still hung on his chest like a deadweight. Then Billy felt another grips on his left nipple and prayed it would start off loose.

It didn’t. Snap!

“Yeow! Yeow! Yeow!”

At least, that’s what he wanted to scream. Instead, his chest heaved up and down, his stomach in and out. The goon turned back that screw till those grips almost painlessly hung, just tugging downward.

Then his right ball.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

The pressure dialed back.

Then his left.

“Aawwwhhh! Aawwwhhh! Aawwwhhh! Aawwwhhh!”

Again, the pressure eased. The grips on his balls almost sent Billy to the floor, but the goon brought him back to full height, then edged Billy so gently that the writhing and twisting suddenly weren’t in pain.

Billy didn’t understand the man at all. He could be tender. He could be tough. He could be careless or polite. And sometimes, he was just a pain – like when he carefully peeled the tape off Billy’s eyes but then flipped off the lights, so that Billy had to work the rest of himself free in the dark.