<!East side girls>

<! By Jed Venture, jedventurer@yahoo.com>

<! By Jed Venture, jedventurer@yahoo.com>

Author's note: this is a work of fiction. The characters, the situation, and especially the physics of it all are made up. Do not try this at home! Anyone attempting to recreate this scenario deserves whatever awful thing happens to them.

Part I: Lured In

So I walked into it. Even knowing what they were like, and suspecting their capacity for poor judgment, still I walked right into the middle of them and gave them the first shot. But I'm a guy, you know? I've been a truant officer on the tough east side for a long time, and girls don't phase me.

The girl's name is Stacey. She's a senior, or would be if she ever attended classes. I knew her older sister Jennifer when she was in school, and Stacey is definitely following in her sibling's slacker footsteps.

I pull up in front of the post-war aluminum sided house. The lawn is uncut, the place looks as if it hasn't seen a paint brush since it was built. No surprise ' a young single mom, two late-teenaged daughters, no male influence around the house. I push open the screen door and walk in, no knocking. I know mom's at work, and I don't want to warn my quarry that I'm here.

I walk into a small living room. To my left is a doorway into an equally small kitchen, separated from the living room by swinging western-style barroom doors. To my surprise, mom is in the kitchen, washing up. Not to my surprise, Stacey is in the living room watching TV. So is her older sister Jennifer.

Time to go through the motions. "Stacey, this is the fifth time this month you haven't shown up in school." Stacey keeps her eyes glued to the TV, her jaw working on a wad of gum. Jennifer, sprawled out on the couch with her long legs splayed out in front of her, rolls her eyes.

Stacey is tall ' already the same height as I am, and probably still growing. She's blonde, but a color of blonde that nobody was born with. She's wearing low-slung faded jeans and a low cut, high midriff knit top. She's got a nice figure, and she likes to show a lot of skin. I steal a glance away from my clipboard ' confirmed, no bra. Jennifer snorts, rolling her eyes again.

Jennifer is just a little taller than I am. While her sister is slender and curved, Jennifer is athletic ' or would be, if she ever got off the couch. She has broad shoulders and hips, but with her height and long legs she's avoided ungainliness. She's wearing faded jeans, a loose sweatshirt, and lots of makeup in garish colors. Her hair, dyed a bright orange, is pulled back tight from her face.

Mom comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hands. She's young, bottle-blonde, and overweight. "I'm sure the problem is in your records," she says. "My girls are good girls and good students."

"Your girl is failing every class," I say. "She's going to end up either a perpetual senior, or a dropout like her over-achieving sister here." Which gets more rolled eyes from Jennifer.

"I don't like your tone of voice," mom says. "Maybe if you spoke with a little more respect to the children, you'd ' "

"Mom, forget it," Jennifer says. "We can handle this."

"I just don't like this man coming in here and ' "

"Mom. I said, forget it." Jennifer works her gum hard, glaring wide-eyed at her mother. "Go back in the kitchen." Not to my surprise, mom turns on her heel and disappears into the kitchen, muttering under her breath.

Jennifer looks at me with the expression of someone who's too-cool-for-school, addressing a hopeless loser. "Listen. Mr. Truancy man, or whatever you are. Make it easier on all of us, get in your beater car and go back to that dump you call a high school. We'll all be a lot happier." Stacey keeps her eyes glued on the TV ' old Looney Tunes cartoons, Bugs Bunny making a fool of a bald hunter with a lisp.

Without a word, I step in front of the TV, reach down and switch it off.

"Hey!" Stacey shoots to her feet, for the first time showing signs of life. "I was watching that." She tries to brush past me, fails, and reaches around me to get at the TV set. I stand my ground, swatting her hand away from the switch. She reaches again, trying with her body to push me back against the TV. Her breasts press against my chest, her legs push against mine. Finally I grab her wrist, yanking it away from the set. For a moment ' just an instant, really ' she falls against me. Then she pushes off against my chest and retreats to her chair, rubbing her wrist.

"Mr. Truancy man, you've got yourself a boner," Stacey says. She smirks at me, hands at her crotch.

"God, what a pervert. What are you ' thirty?" Jennifer says.

"It's a natural physical reaction," I say. The truth is, my heart is pounding; that moment of body contact with the slim blonde has just dumped a load of adrenals into my system. "Stacey, you're on the wrong road. Straighten up or you'll end up just like your sister ' or your mother."

"Don't you go there," Jennifer says, rising lazily to her feet. "You keep our mother out of this." She heads toward the kitchen.

When she is one step past me, she reaches back behind me and switches the TV set back on. Daffy Duck's voice fills the room, telling someone how "dethpicable" they are. Jennifer stands there, mocking me with an smugly insolent, vacuous smile.

I turn toward the TV, reach down and shut it off. When I turn back, Stacey is standing behind me.

"I think you should apologize for what you said about our mother," Stacey says.

"I'm sorry your mother is a waitress," I say. I know it's mean-spirited the moment I say it, but these girls have got the better of me. They're reacting to me like I was one of their peers, rather than an adult, a better.

Jennifer puts her hand on my shoulder and pushes me. She's strong ' I have to take a step to regain balance. "Apologize for real," she says.

"Putting your hands on an officer of the school system is the same as assault," I say.

"Then what's this?" Stacey says, shoving me hard from behind, hands on my shoulder blades. I stumble forward; Jennifer grabs my suit jacket with both hands, pulling me against her like a dockside tough.

"And this?" she says.

I'm about to grasp her wrists with both hands and rescue the fabric of my suit when my arms are pulled behind my back. "If that was assault, this must really be bad," Stacey says, levering my arms up behind my back. For a moment I'm on my toes and off-balance, and in that moment Jennifer pulls me forward, locking my head under her arm. Suddenly I'm in a very untenable position, bent over at the waist with Stacey on my back and my head in a tightening headlock.

"Girls ' what are you doing?" It's the mom, back into the living room.

"He got fresh, mom. Go back in the kitchen."

"I don't want anything broken. Take it outside."

I cannot believe my ears. Her daughters have attacked an officer of the school system, and all she can think to say is "take it outside?"

Enough of this. I jerk an arm free from Stacey's half-assed half-nelson and grasp Jennifer's arm. Stacey, reaching over me to recapture my arm, stumbles into me; I stumble into Jennifer; and down we go. Jennifer falls backward with me on top of her and Stacey on top of me. As we land, Jennifer's legs wrap around me and she rolls to her side. I'm on my stomach, one arm pinned in the circle of Jennifer's legs. Stacey is sitting on top of me, has recaptured my free arm and is pulling it up between my shoulder blades.

"Squeeze, Jennifer," Stacey says. "Just like Big Hair Lady."

"Big Hair Lady is a TV character," I say. "She's not real." Big Hair Lady is a fictional super villain who uses her powerful legs to dispatch her victims with vicious crushing constriction. I never watch her show.

But Jennifer is real, and I feel it when she locks her ankles together and applies pressure with her thighs. Her legs are locked across my stomach, with my arm trapped between my side and her crotch. When she squeezes, taking a breath suddenly requires work.

I need to get to my feet. I pull my legs up, hard work with Stacey's weight on my back and Jennifer's legs grinding away at my midsection. After some grunting work with my face smashed into the carpet, I get my knees underneath me. Jennifer's squeezing is having an effect ' I'm short of breath, and I can't fill my lungs with her pressing in on me. But I can tell she's weakening.

"Big Hair Lady is so a real person," Stacey says. "It's reality TV."

"Maybe so," I say, trying to rise to my feet, "but your sister is no Big Hair Lady. She's now a future felon." I'm surprised at how hard it is just to talk, with the girl's legs still locked around me. As I rise slowly to my feet, Jennifer takes a long, deep breath, sets her legs, and squeezes. Hard.

She catches me on an exhale, and the air rushes from my lungs faster than I had intended. I sink back to my knees, momentarily whoozy. I'm bent over with Jennifer's legs, suddenly python-strong, wrapped around my body and squeezing for all they're worth. I can tell she's not strong enough to do to me what Big Hair Lady does to her prey on TV; what's more, she's weakening quickly. But she's slowed me down a bit.

"I'll see you in jail," I say. Weakly.

Stacey leaps to her feet and runs into the kitchen. Smart girl, I think; put a stop to this before you're in too much trouble.

Then Stacey returns, with a handful of black plastic garbage bags ' the thirty-gallon variety with built-in ties. Jennifer and I watch as Stacey stuffs one bag into the other, then the third inside the second. She thrusts her hand inside, opening up an improvised three-ply black plastic bag.

Suddenly I have a very bad feeling about this.

Stacey kneels in front of me, holding the bag upside down. Like a hood.

With all the strength in my back and legs, I lever myself to an upright position, dragging my still constricting attacker with me. I get one foot beneath me, rising to a half crouch and backing away from the slim blonde and her unconventional weapon. She rises to her feet and darts around behind me. Darkness descends with the industrial smell of plastic as she pulls the triple-thick bag over my head from behind. I feel her hands on my shoulders and then I'm falling backward, Jennifer losing her grip on me then quickly regaining it as she rolls to keep up with the action.

I land on my back in moist darkness and with Jennifer's legs again coiled around me. I try to sit up, to get my head within reach of my hands so I can remove the bag, already stale with exhaled air. Then a soft vise clamps on either side of my head, and presses the slick plastic down against my face. I try to sit up, and can't. I try to roll, but I'm held firmly in place. My heart starts to pound triple-time as my next breath of air doesn't fill my lungs ' I'm breathing in my own exhale.

With my free hand I claw at my head. My hand runs into a denim barrier; the vise-like pressure around my head is Stacey's thighs, on either side of my head. The smooth surface pressing down is her firm, denim-covered butt. She's bagged me, and is smothering me with her ass. All while her sister does her best to squeeze the life from me between her legs.

With the weight of two healthy young women locked onto me, I can not move. The plastic against my face is wet with the moisture from my breath, and the air I can barely suck in is stale and thin. My lungs are burning, caving in on themselves for lack of oxygen. I kick against the carpet, my fingers scrabble ineffectually at the blue jeaned legs wrapped just tightly enough around me, my face is mashed against the sensuously curved contours of Stacey's perfectly deadly ass. I'm fading away, and I am incredibly aroused.

God, they had it planned, I think. I walked into a perfectly executed trap. That's the only explanation that makes sense to me as a darkness deeper than the inside of a plastic bag rushes in with a thunderous muffling roar.

Part II: Deathtrap

I'm surprised to wake up. My head is killing me, and my body hurts. My arms are aching. And I'm cold

But I'm alive.

I try to get up, and find I cannot. Experimental moving around reveals that my hands are tied behind my back, almost up between my shoulder blades. That explains the aching arms.

I open my eyes. I'm lying on a concrete floor. All around me are cement-block walls, bare light bulbs. I'm in the basement. That explains the general overall soreness ' "those bitches must have dragged me down the stairs', I think.

I'm naked.

"You're awake. Get up." There's a sharp jerk on my hands, pulling me roughly to my knees. I look up ' a rope descends from behind me, loops over a ceiling joist, and then back down to a chair several feet from me where Jennifer sits, holding the loose end. She pulls in more rope and I scramble to my feet to keep my shoulders from being pulled from their sockets.

"I'm up," I say. "Go easy on the rope."

Another sharp upward jerk. "You don't tell me what to do. You've already put me through enough. My legs are going to hurt tomorrow, because of you."

"You attacked me, missy. And now you've added kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment to your rap sheet."

She mimics me silently, her face contorting as if she were complaining like a small child. "Boo hoo. You know you came in your pants upstairs."

She snorts, almost a laugh, at my expression. "Yeah. Sometime while I was grinding away at you and my sister was sitting on your face? You spewed inside your sansabelts. And you didn't even know it." She snorts again.

A touch against the back of my knee. I look behind me ' it's Stacey, pushing a giant black donut against me. It's a truck tire inner tube, a great black torus two to three feet high and five feet across. The hole in the center is no more than a foot or so across. "Get up."

"What?"

A sharp upward tug on my arms. "Get up on the tube. Jeez, what are you, deaf?"

I put one knee on top of the tube and shift my weight forward. There's very little give; it's over-inflated. The balancing part is tricky as I attain a kneeling position on the unstable surface with no arms to use in balancing myself. Kneeling, I turn and look over my shoulder at Jennifer. Another tug ' my shoulders are burning already. "On your feet."

I rise to my feet and turn to face her, straddling the center hole and shifting my weight from foot to foot. Jennifer reels in the slack in the rope ' if I slip into the center hole or fall off the inner tube, my arms will be pulled from their sockets.

"Very ingenious," I admit.

A snort from Jennifer. She stands up and approaches, always keeping tension in the rope so I cannot move from the center of the donut. She comes right up to the edge of the tube, holding the rope taut. The rope rises straight up from between my shoulder blades, over the strut directly over my head, and then almost straight down in front of me. I don't know what's coming next, but I'm getting another bad feeling about all this.

Stacey comes around the tube, grasps the rope at the level of my waist. Jennifer release a little slack and Stacey does a quick manipulation with both hands. When she is done, a small noose has appeared in the middle of the rope. Right about waist level.

Stacey leaps gracefully onto the tube, steadying herself with a hand against my stomach. I can't help myself ' my member stirs, and Jennifer smirks. "If you make a move, I'll pull your arms out of their sockets," she says, and grabs the rope high up, maintaining tension. With her arms extended over her head, her breasts are thrust outward against the fabric of her sweatshirt. They are magnificent. My organ stirs again.

Stacey grabs the small noose in her left hand and guides it over my erect member. Mindful of Jennifer's warning, I watch in silence. She deftly slips the lower edge of the noose under my balls; at the touch of her hand, my over-stimulated organ almost thrums with tension. A dull ache radiates from my balls with frustrated arousal.

With my genitals completely encompassed by the noose, she gently pulls the knot snug against the base of my organ and hops down. The surface of the tire shifts with her weight gone, and I shift with it, stepping about the center hole; as my hands move in an attempt to maintain my balance, the motion transmits to a gentle tug around my manhood.

I look up ' there's almost no slack in the rope attaching my bound hands and my captive organs.

So I'm standing naked on top of a giant black donut, with a noose around my manhood, the rope extending from it up over my head, over a ceiling strut and down again to my bound wrists. One rope, two knots, one very uncomfortable situation.

Everything I've tried so far has worked out wrong. It's time to take a different tack.

"Okay," I say. "You have my undivided attention."

Stacey peers between my feet into the well at the center of the donut. "I recommend you stay very, very still," she says. She leans against the side of the tube, looking up at me. She bounces her weight on the tube, at first gently, then with more vigor. Two, three times she throws herself against it, hinging at the waist and with her arms outstretched. At the third bounce, the whole tube flexes beneath me; my feet slip into the funnel shape of the central hole and the noose tightens around my balls. My heart leaps into my throat. Before I can fall, I brace my feet against the side and quickstep myself up to the surface of the tube.

I stand very still, trying to calm my pounding heart and get my breathing under control. If I had fallen . . . it's about three feet to the floor, and I don't have three feet of slack in the rope. I think of all my body weight plunging down against the nooses. . . around my wrists and testicles. . . and shudder.

Stacey raises herself up again, arms outstretched. . . I start to shout ' and she subsides slowly, with a sly smile. She walks back to her sister with a very seductive sway in her slim hips and a knowing smile to me over her shoulder.

Jennifer sits down in her chair again, legs stretched out, arms crossed under her breasts. "Cold down here," she remarks, looking at my crotch.

I don't need to look down: "very," I say.

I clear my throat. "You guys have made your point, whatever it is. I'm . . . sorry . . . for the way I came in here and gave you attitude. I'm sorry for dissing your mother ' and you. That kind of thing won't happen again."

"You can say that again," Jennifer says, picking at lint on her sweatshirt.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said: "you can say that again'".

"What more do you want from me? Do you want me to change your record? Excuse your sister from classes? There's only so much I can do."

"What I want you to do," Jennifer says, eyeing me from beneath industrial-strength polymer eyelashes, "is to fall. Slowly."

I look at her. Stacey looks at her sneakers, smiling a secret smile. Then she looks up at me sidelong, still smiling.

Jennifer leans forward. She looks at her sister.

Stacey sways up to the tube again, her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, her hips thrust forward and her shoulders rolling. She leans over the tube, still looking up at me and smiling. She reaches between my feet, into the funnel at the center of the tube.

I look down, into the hole over which I am standing. Halfway down the side, the inner tube's filler valve sticks out into the hole. Stacey's hand makes four twisting motions, then she straightens up, holding a bit of shiny brass between her fingers and thumb: the valve.

A faint but urgent hissing sound issues from the inner tube beneath my feet.

She's pulled the plug. My support is deflating out from underneath me. As it deflates, I'll be lowered toward the floor, stopping my descent when I reach the end of the rope.

Then, I'll dangle.

"Fall. Slowly." Jennifer pronounces.

The air rushes from the narrow fill-tube like a tiny fury, screaming its high pitched rage. It's coming out under great pressure, but it's a narrow opening. I look up at the rope. I guess I have about six inches worth of slack before my body weight starts to pull on the noose. I hope it will take a long time for the tube to deflate enough to lower me to that point. But already the surface beneath my feet feels mushy; I shift my weight, trying to find equilibrium.

"How far are you going to let this go?" I ask.

"All the way," she answers.

I swallow hard; my throat is suddenly very dry. "It'll kill me."

She shrugs. "No it won't. You may wish it killed you. But it'll probably just maim you."

"People know where I am."

"Nobody's coming to rescue you. There's no TV superheroes on this side of town to come in and save the day." She's staring at me hard, mouth slack, eyes wide. "And we're going to stay here the whole time, so you're not going to save yourself."

"Okay if I try anyway? It gives me something to do."

She shrugs, looks away. "Suit yourself."

The hissing continues. I can definitely feel a slight upwelling of black rubber around my feet ' I'm sinking into the tube as it loses tension. I can also feel a slight upward pressure against the bottom of my balls as I sink down against the noose.

The mom comes in with a basket of laundry. She averts her eyes, sidling along the perimeter of the room. She doesn't want to see this, but she's not adverse enough, or brave enough, to stop it.

So it's just me and her hard-eyed painted teenaged daughters.

"What happens after I reach the end of the rope?"

"You hang there." Inspecting her sweatshirt again.

"I guessed that much. Then what?"

She shrugs. "I dunno. You hang for a while. We may leave you there all day. I haven't thought about it."

I look at Stacey, silently following Jennifer's lead. Despite my present extremis, I think about Stacey's thighs, clasped tightly around my head, her ass pressed against my face. And amazingly, I'm aroused again. Jennifer rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue as if gagging. Stacey stands there, hips forward, eyeing me. She hooks her thumbs in the waist of her low-slung jeans, pulling downward. She rocks on her heels, head cocked to one side. "I think he likes me," she says.

Jennifer snorts. "He sure likes something."

"What are we going to do with him when it's over?"

"Jeez." Heavy sigh. "I don't know, okay? Let him hang for a while. He won't be much use to anyone by the time he's done."

"I dunno." Stacey eyes me critically. "I bet I could figure something out."

With an explosive sigh, the mom weighs in on the conversation. She gathers up her laundry basket and hustles past her two ruthless daughters, her head down and her eyes fixed on the clean clothes in her arms.

I'm watching Stacey, but I'm very aware of the noose at the base of my member. I feel it slip a little more snugly around me. I sway for a moment, almost losing my balance; I have to step quick a couple times around the perimeter of the funnel. The surface of the tube is mushy, clinging to my feet. I panic for an instant, but regain my feet. I'm lower now, much lower, noticeably farther from the ceiling joist. And the upward pressure from the noose is real against my balls. Infuriatingly, it's a pleasurable sensation, like slender fingers caressing them. Jennifer, not missing anything, smirks.

"I'm not so stupid, you know," Stacey says. "I came up with the idea of the bags." Jennifer silently rolls her eyes.

Now I can feel the pressure from the noose pressing in on all sides of me, gently still like a friendly hand. Like Stacey's hand would feel. I look up ' there's no slack left in the rope. I look down ' my feet are disappearing into the surface of the inner tube; it's black rubber quicksand, sucking me down. A moment of panic sends my heart leaping wildly, and I have to fight down the urge to jump, to push against the tube. I'm afraid now to try even to shift my feet; lifting one foot may just drive the other deeper into the tube, hastening the time when I'm supported only by my balls. I watch in sick silence as my legs are slowly swallowed by the rising tide of black, and the small noose tightens smoothly and efficiently around my manhood.

I have to make some effort. Stacey -- if I can separate Stacey from her sister, I may be able to convince her to help me.

"Stacey," I say. "Why do you let her put you down like that? You came up with the way to capture me; that took quick thinking. You have a head on your shoulders. You're better than her. Look at her ' out of High School two years and still living at home. You could be something ' another Big Hair Lady, the real deal. Not a low-rent slacker wannabee, a poseur, like your sister. She thinks she's a badass, but she's just a loser on the way down. Do you want to let her drag you down with her?"

"Maybe I am a slacker," Jennifer says. "But your ass is up there, and my ass is down here. You're a few seconds from being hung by your balls; you got beat up by a couple of slacker poser teenagers. So I guess that makes me badder than you."

Stacey examines my feet, which are steadily disappearing into the envelopment of the inner tube. There's almost no support beneath me now, and I'm constantly shifting my weight in an effort to stay upright. The noose is tight around my organ and my balls; it's pulling the whole package upward toward my stomach as I sink at a stately pace into the tube. My organ is engorged, throbbing from the nearly constant stimulation it has undergone. But it's also being choked by the tightening noose. The dull ache of frustrated arousal hits me, hard; if I were standing, I would be doubled over. But all I can do is groan.

Jennifer's eyes are riveted on my face. I return her gaze, trying to keep my gorge from rising. I realize that this is probably the first real thing she's ever done in her life. For a moment, I feel like saying "you're welcome" for providing her first accomplishment.

The rope is rod-straight, no slack left at all. My member, tumescent, is choked nearly black. The cold air moving against it is maddening. My testicles are crushed up against it on either side, trapped by the rope just like my arm had been trapped against my sides by Jennifer's strong legs. Pain, red-hot and throbbing, radiates from my groin throughout my body; the ache is spreading from my loins into my gut. I think I am about to throw up from the pain when suddenly I realize I have lost contact with the inner tube and I am dangling. I'm surprised ' I had expected a lurch, or at the least to be set swinging, but the transition is too gradual, too gentle, for that; one moment I am in contact with the sticky black rubber, the next my feet have cold air beneath them. The knowledge that all my weight is suspended from my arms and my tortured balls sends a thrill down my spine, and new paroxysms of pain rushing through my body.

"Mr. Truant Officer, you're hanging," Stacey says softly. She pulls the remains of the inner tube out from under me, sending me swaying, my feet several inches from the floor. Without the pressure of the rubber beneath my feet, my legs bicycle involuntarily, seeking support that no longer exists. I cannot help staring down at my organ, distended, almost pinched off at the base, my balls flattened up against it, everything purple and black.

"Besides," Jennifer says, "we're sisters. Nobody comes between sisters." She stands and walks around me slowly, examining me as I hang there, twitching in humiliated agony. My insides have turned to water; I can barely hear over the rush of blood in my ears; my entire being is centered around the solid throbbing mass of pain camped in my gut. My legs extend downward, thigh muscles straining, my toes reaching for the support of the cold concrete below, inches away but forever out of reach.

Kill me now, I think. I cannot speak the words, my jaw is clenched so tightly my face muscles have locked.

"No mercy for you," Stacey whispers into my ear. She nudges me playfully with her shoulder, sending me spinning slowly first one way then the other. She saunters toward the stairs, watching me over her shoulder. Jennifer follows, walking backward, her hard eyes fastened on me to the last. She reaches for the light switch; for a moment she is silhouetted in the doorway by the light coming down the stairs. Then the door closes.

I am alone in the cold damp and the dark. My feet dangle inches from the floor, I sway gently in whatever eddies of air come in through the leaky windows. I am immersed in tides of pain washing over me from my ruined manhood. Whatever it is that made me a man has been crushed, both by the rope knotted so tightly around my genitals it may not be removable, and by the casual ease with which I was lured in, bested and beaten by my young captors. Suspended between my past and my ruined future, between who I was and what will become of me, I wait in timeless agony for them to return and spell my fate.

I fear they intend to let me live.