Matt lay on his back, naked, his wrists still crossed and securely tied behind his back. Mindy's last comment didn't seem to register. She climbed off him, grabbed a small cloth she had handy and wiped herself off, then wiped off his genitals. He looked up finally, spent, his stiffy subsiding. Mindy once again looked over his 13 year old body: slim, some lean shapely boy-muscle from exercise. No body hair at all. Slim hips. Pretty chest. She liked his chest and bent over and started kissing it, her little breasts rubbing on his flat tummy.

Mindy's slim body lay across his. He opened his eyes, expecting, and getting, a brief kiss. Mindy repeated: "Now comes the hard part".

"What do you mean?" Matt wanted to put his arms around the girl but, of course, as her prisoner, he was unable to. He felt her fingers go around his balls, in preparation for some demand or other, or perhaps just a reminder of how helpless he was.

"It's getting close to time for Irene's mom to come home," Mindy said. Matt had almost forgotten that they were at Irene's house, where he had been tricked first into taking off his shirt, then into having his hands tied behind him, and then stripped and given, as some kind of gift, to 12 year old Mindy by the relatively sleezy Irene. Matt did not want Irene to come home with him still like this; he was afraid of her, especially in his current condition.

"You gotta untie my hands and let me get dressed . . . "

Mindy tightened her grip. "Not so fast, captive-boy. First I gotta tell you the rules. Remember, I can still hurt your balls."

Matt nodded as she twisted just a bit, painfully, to drive home her point. Perhaps too painfully; Matt nearly doubled up. Mindy just smiled, enjoying the situation. She explained that she was going to take Matt somewhere, that he was still her prisoner, and that if he didn't cooperate, he'd get hurt. Moreover, Irene or her mother would soon be there and Matt certainly didn't want that, did he? Matt agreed, once again asking for his hands to be untied. Of course, Mindy was not about to give up her greatest control over him.

Mindy got up, warning him to stay there. He turned onto his side, not really able to hide anything. Mindy put on her clothes, her hip-hugger pants and her little top and her shoes and socks, leaving poor Matt naked.

Amid his protests, and one brief episode of almost-resistance, Mindy got from her bag a long cord, like a bootlace. She carefully but snugly tied around the base of Matt's hairless scrotum, tying it underneath, moving his pecker out of the way and almost causing him to get another stiffy. When she was sure that it would not slip off, and telling Matt to shut up (he was begging her to remove the cord), she finally allowed him to stand. She looked over his body again and told him that he'd better cooperate unless he wanted to be led by his balls into the street naked. Matt quickly reassured her in his 13 year old way that he would certainly comply.

Then came the Polaroid Square Shooter from her bag. Matt begged and turned this way and that, Mindy telling him to stand still. "No, please, I'll do what you want, just don't take my picture like this!"

Mindy kicked his balls, lightly, but enough to make him crumple to the floor. His tied balls made the kick all the more painful; a small flick of the finger would have done. But Mindy had wanted, just once, to kick a boy there, and this, she decided, was the time.

When Matt could stand again, she wiped his tears, kissed him, and forced him to pose, naked, for 8 pictures. From the front, from the side, from the back, stopping to change the flashcube. When the film packet was empty, she laid the pictures on the bed so he could see them. It was seven o'clock now, and Matt was begging her to hurry up and get him out of there. Mindy had assured the boy that if he tried to get away, one or more of those pictures would be posted around their Junior High School, where certain girls, and boys, would find them.

Mindy helped him get dressed. Or rather, dressed him mostly, since he was unable to use his hands. He tried once to free his hands again; the knot was tied on the back of a wrist where his fingers would not reach. He remained helpless as she put on his briefs, then his pants, then his socks and shoes, tying the shoes loosely. The cord from his balls had been placed between his thighs and up and over the waistband of his briefs, and of his pants. She fooled around with the belt in his pants and finally got it buckled. Standing behind him, she could, she told him, demonstrating lightly, yank the cord and cause him severe pain.

"But what about my shirt?"

"Who cares about your stupid shirt? I love boys with their shirts off. I'll just leave it here. Maybe Irene will find it and bring it to school."

Matt was led outside, hands still tied. No one was on the street. They walked through the ally, Matt being wisely quiet so as not to attract any attention, hoping no one saw him like this: shirtless, hands tied behind him, and a string or cord sticking out of the back of his pants, now tied to the clothesline around his wrists. If he tried to move his arms much, he'd pull his own tender little balls. Mindy of course held, casually, the end of the cord, speaking quietly for the same reason.

"I'm going to take you somewhere for a surprise. You're my first, you know. That makes it special, for both of us. Don't worry, you'll find out where soon enough. Are you cold without your shirt? Too bad." She stroked his pretty chest. "I love having you like this." She tugged very gently on the cord, pulling his hands and, of course, his balls. He was uncomfortable with the string in his buttcrack, and of course his balls hurt and he was walking rather slowly. Running was out of the question. At least he had his pants on!

"Mindy, please, untie my hands ... I ... I want to put my arms around you."

"Nice try, Mattie." She giggled.

"But I gotta go home soon"

"No you don't. I know your dad is working night shift and that your mom is visiting your Aunt Boobie or whoever."

"But your parents are still home," Matt argued. "You can't take me home like this."

"I can do whatever I want. But you're not coming to my house. You're coming somewhere else ... somewhere where we can play."

They walked, still speaking in almost-whispers, several blocks. It was just getting dark. A lawn mower in the distance had shut off. A car zoomed past on the next street. Mindy turned at a garage and led him into the side door of it, across the garage, and into a house.

"Where are we?"

"We're going to let you help me with MY homework," she giggled.

They walked into the kitchen of the house, Matt wanting to run away so bad he was about to cry again, frightened. And then someone came into the kitchen: a man, probably about 40, almost six feet tall, with very dark hair and fairly pale skin. He was wearing a pair of green pants, army pants, fatigue pants they were called, with a cloth black belt with a brass buckle. He was barefoot. He wore no shirt. His hairless chest was lean and muscular, like Matt's might someday be, obviously he exercised a lot or lifted weights. He had pretty big muscles in his arms. His shoulders were muscular. He could have been Batman or Superman with that body. He looked at the kids and smiled.

"Matt, meet Gregory. He's the nice man who's going to let us use his house."

Matt gulped audibly.