Randy was a powerfully built man who looked like football had been his sport in school. In fact, his nickname in high school had been "The Mighty Bear". His bearded face was surmounted by a tousled crown of dark brown hair, and the general impression he gave was one of slate-eyed violence. It was clear that he had already been drinking, but he ordered more potent potables and drank until he was ready to fight someone. As I sat not too far from the bar, I couldn't help staring at his feet. I knew that they were at least a size fourteen even without the workboots they were currently shod in.
And I was wondering how ticklish those big feet were as Darnel King and I sat over beers at our tiny shadow-shrouded table. Me and Darnel were as good at logging as any men in Vermont's Northeast Kingdom (better than most even) but neither he nor I had ever been accepted at the camp--me because the word had gotten around that I liked guys, and Darnel for another reason. In simple ways, the other loggers froze us out: we weren't included in the poker games or picked on by anyone to be a partner on a team . . . things like that. I bitched a lot about it, but Darnel always stayed quiet, though I could see the rage seething behind his dark eyes.
And Darnel, of course, was the most obvious target for Randy to focus his drunken anger on. And after he got stoked enough, he went right to work--shoving the alienated logger in his chest and demanding that they do battle.
Darnel looked rather hurt (but not really surprised) by the larger man's disposition. He even tried to walk away. But Randy took him by the arm and bluntly wheeled him around--telling the alienated logger that he simply wouldn't be allowed to leave the area until the two of them came to blows. Many of the mighty bear's friends stood behind Randy to give teeth to the irate man's edict.
So Darnel merely marched out to the lot behind the bar, stepped back a bit and put up his fists.
Randy bared his teeth and rushed at the alienated logger. He tried to use both of his meaty hands to shove Darnel in the chest again, but the alienated logger deftly caught his wrists and turned them outward with all his might. Randy screeched. Tears poured from his gray eyes and his big, pale hands were flopping about like dead fish because both of his wrists were now broken.
And while he was so was distracted by his useless hands, Darnel hauled back and plowed the mighty bear's jaw.
The onlooking rabble gazed at their humiliated companion in wonder. Randy collapsed boneless to the ground, gray eyes rolled up and with his hands still flopping.
For a moment the onlookers backed away, and Randy lay motionless. I myself was wondering if the mighty bear was dead. Darnel, however, was clearly trying to figure out a way to guard himself against retaliation--to keep these hateful men from taking him on like a mob tomorrow or the day after. He realized that, if he didn't end all future fights right then and there, things were only going to get worse for him. He already didn't fit into the Northeast Kingdom, and now that he flattened a popular local . . . .
This being the case, I didn't blame Darnel for what he did next. Didn't blame him one bit when he viciously the kicked the big man who lay helplessly before him. Randy moaned and rolled away from his attacker. Darnel walked around him and kicked him again, in the crotch and then again in the ribs. Randy was in so much pain that he couldn't make a peep: he only doubled up into a fetal position as tears streamed out of his scrunched-closed eyes.
Darnel kicked Randy in the head, and the irate man passed out. I stared at Randy's feet--wanting desperately to rip the workboots and socks off his big feet and take a gander at his bare doggies.
Darnel looked around at the onlookers coldly. Everything that needed to be said was written in his dark eyes then. He was letting everyone know that if they even dreamed about ganging up on him, they could expect an even worse beating than the one which felled the mighty bear. I wondered why they didn't all just rush him right then? Did they see what I saw right then--a man who was fully capable of murdering an entire mob? I dunno.
Anyway, once all the fearful onlookers began to flee the scene, Darnel looked as if he might vomit--as if his own actions had revolted him. "Y'all know I only meant to keep his punk ass from hurtin' me."
"No you didn't!" Jethro Cunningham, one of Randy's compatriots, accused. "I saw you plotting your moves before you and Randy started fighting. You contorted his wrists with all your might on purpose . . . you meant to hurt him that bad!"
And Darnel lowered his head--silently admitting to everyone that Jethro's words were true. The alienated logger may not have wanted to fight, but the injuries he'd administered during the battle had been deliberate. He felt good about putting Randy down, and yet he felt bad about how good it had felt to beat the irate bear senseless. It took me five minutes to convince him that what he'd done SHOULD have felt good . . . that maybe he had done what it took to convince Randy to stop being an ass.
And because Jethro had fled the scene (disgusted and too drunk to recall the fact that he had left his buddy behind) Darnel and I decided to take the unconscious Randy home.
To MY home. You see, besides being outcasts in the logging camp, Darnel and I had something else in common.
One guess at what it was!
Anyway, when we reached my house, Darnel and I carried Randy into the living room and dumped him on a chaise lounge. Darnel then moved Randy's wrists behind the lounge and bound them to it, and then bound the unconscious man's legs to it as well. And after removing the mighty bear's humid workboots and sweaty socks, the two of us simply sat and waited for our sleeping bruised and battered captive to regain consciousness.
With me holding Randy down in case he should awaken, Darnel wrapped the rope around the man's wrists, tying them together. He then wrapped more around the mighty bear's ankles and finally tied a large knot that Randy would be completely unable reach with his bound meaty hands. I myself tightened all of the knots. While I blindfolded our knocked out big-footed boy, Darnel retrieved a pair of string shoelaces, and used one to tie the toes on Randy's left size fourteen foot together, then used the other to do the same to his right foot.
Finally, the mighty bear began to awaken
Randy immediately began to struggle against his ropes, trying to wrench his hands out from the cords that bound his hands tightly together, and trying to move his feet. All this was in vain, of course. In fact the ropes seemed actually to TIGHTEN. He wasn't even able to get the blindfold off no matter how cleverly he tried to move his shoulders to do so. Eventually the mighty bear reached the point where he attempted to scream through the gag, but only a muffled "mmmpphh!" could penetrate it. I took the gag off after a while.
Randy's laughter was incredible as Darnel and I began to tickle away at the sensitive skin on his big smelly, meaty soles.
"Hahahahahahahahaha!!!!!! Heeheeheeheeheeheehee heeee heeee heeee heeee heeee heeee heee!!!!! Hahahahahohohohoheheheheha ha ha ha!!!" The laughter seemed to just go on and on and on and on. His laughter and screams were so loud that we had to re-gag the mighty bear. And once that was done, the tickling Darnel and I were giving his big, pale feet continued. We fingered the sensitive arches of his size fourteen doggies, and tormented his toes. Despite the shoestrings, Randy's manly toes tried their best to wriggle all about, but only gained very limited movement.
Darnel and I were enjoying ourselves immensely as we raked our hands over Randy's twitching and flexing bare soles. We poked and prodded at every inch of each foot, and each poke created a response from the once mighty bear that included more muffled screaming, and more movement of his feet. Randy moved his feet around and his bound toes tried gamely to twitch and wiggle as he struggled to escape the torment. Eventually Darnel missed the sound of the mighty bear's unrestrained laughter, so we took the gag off once again.
"Hee-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-hahahahahaha-hehehehehehe!!!!" shrieked Randy as Darnel and I wreaked havoc on his vibrating, bound feet. "Heheheheheheheheheheheheheha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!! Please!!!!-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee- heese heee heese heese heese heese N-ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ha ha he he! N-No more!!!"
Once he fainted from our torment, Darnel and I had fun by tying the mighty bear to the hood of the alienated logger's Ford Explorer and speeding along the reasonably traveled back-roads--laughing and waving at gawking motorists.
After we had our fun with him, Darnel and I dumped Randy Ballard's naked unconscious body off in the lot behind the bar.
And there were times when--as we carried Randy to the lot--that the mighty bear seemed to cease breathing completely, and there were anxious moments when my own breath came laboriously. Randy Ballard was a hateful man, but did he deserve to die for being that way? Well, yes, he probably did . . . but I didn't want his death to be at MY hands. I'm not sure what Darnel felt at this time. However, I was sure that he had dealt with guys like Randy all his life. Perhaps he was of the "one less hater" mindset and wouldn't have cared at all if the mighty bear died. I dunno.
As far as that FIRST fight that Randy lost to Darnel . . . well, when I retold what happened to some relatives I had in Texas, I found myself confronted by folks who doubted that the onlooking rabble who had witnessed the fight would simply stand and watch while someone like Darnel beat one of their own senseless. Well, I had to inform these people that several of Randy's "friends" had their own personal animosities as much as Darnel did (I found this out days after the fight however) and felt the mighty bear needed to be taken down a notch.
Well, anyway, Darnel and I dumped the unconscious Randy behind the bar.
Randy Ballard eventually recovered and went back to logging, but he was never quite the same after his experience with Darnel and me. Perhaps it wasn't the beating that did him harm, but the feeling that here in the Northeast Kingdom--where he had been such a big shot and local hero--he had become nothing but a demeaned joke. He had lost his heart and the fire went out of him. When others shied away from choosing him as his logging partner he continued working at the camp, but the old Randy was gone.
But even though he was humbled, Darnel and I wouldn't let up with him. Hey, why show mercy to the guy who had shown us none? Why show compassion to the lout who'd called us both the most vile, inflammatory names and urged others to do so as well?
So we decided to make him our plaything again.
Randy was alone and staggering to his motel from the bar weeks later, and Darnel and I pulled up beside him in the Ford Explorer. Gleaning his attention, we leaped out and pounced upon the once mighty bear. Randy tried to fight us off, but Darnel knocked him cold with an uppercut to the point of his chin, and then we loaded his unconscious frame into the vehicle and drove back to my place. Then, tingling with anxiousness, we dumped our captive on the mattress in my bedroom and relieved him of his malodorous workboots and socks.
Immediately our fingers scraped up and down his exceedingly sensitive bare soles, then we used a hairbrush to attack the undersides of his toes. Randy desperately wriggled his toes and tried to refract his feet, but we had bound them too securely. Darnel and I alternated between using a feather and a hairbrush and our own fingers. We inserted the brush's bristles between the mighty bear's manly bare toes . . . and used the brush to graze over each toe individually. Randy's screams made our ears ring, but they were a joy to hear for both me and Darnel.
"Hahahahahahahahaha!!!!!! Heeheeheeheeheeheehee heeee heeee heeee heeee heeee heeee heee!!!!! Hahahahahohohohoheheheheha ha ha ha!!!" Randy shrieked.
"Daaaaaaaaaaamn!" Darnel said, staring down at our captive. "This big- footed-loud-ass-screamin'-punk-mutha-fucka is even more ticklish than the last time!"
The mighty bear's face, chest, armpits and crotch were sweaty. And, surprisingly, his cock was engorged and throbbing in his trousers. So much so that this must have been causing him considerable discomfort as well. Darnel and I put the feathers and brush aside and attacked Randy's size fourteen feet with our fingers again. We moved our fingers in circles around his soles, then in zigzag patterns. The mighty bear screamed . . . and his cock throbbed and pulsated. There was clearly fire in his loins, and this fire grew hotter with each stroke of the hairbrush and each scrape of our fingers against the bottoms of his feet.
"Hee-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-hahahahahaha-hehehehehehe!!!!" shrieked Randy as Darnel and I attacked his bound feet with more vigor than ever before. "Please!!!!-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-heese heee heese heese heese heese N-ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ha ha he he! N-No more!!! Heheheheheheheheheheheheheha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!! Please!!!!-hee-hee- hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-heese heee heese heese heese heese N-ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ha ha he he! N-No more!!!"
"Daaaaaaaaaamn!" Darnel said, clamping a hand to his ear to protect it from Randy's high-decibel screaming laughter.
Darnel then retrieved the hairbrush once again and began to scrape it between Randy's toes, then all over his feet--from his slightly rough heels, up his soles, down through his rather high arches and across the balls of his feet. Then he and I both began the whole torture process all over again. Randy arched his back, screamed and ejaculated in his pants at the very moment Darnel used the bristles of the hairbrush to sketch an intensely hypersensitive path from the sole to the heel on the mighty bear's right foot . . . while I, simultaneously, plunged my hot, wet tongue into our captive's ear.
After rendering the mighty bear unconscious with a velvet cloth soaked with ether, we loaded him into the Ford.
We moved quickly. Darnel drove to a basically uninhabited area known as a 'gore'. Then he and I dragged the mighty bear's unconscious body to the edge of this gore and rolled him into the dense undergrowth. Then we re-started the Ford Explorer and drove away.
I can hardly wait for next season.