I was standing there tied to a tree, my feet tied to a root and my hands cuffed behind the trunk. Violet, whose fault it was as usual, had been kind enough to wrap a blanket around the trunk so I didn't get scratched up on the bark as her friend rode me. Though that blanket had slipped down to my ankles. Also Violet hadn't left anything to protect me from getting scratched by her friend's nails.
I sighed. "I am really too old for this," I said out loud.
My erection stuck out in front of me, aching. Lily had brought me right to the verge of orgasm, twice, and then walked off. I would have given many things to have a hand free to jerk off. Many, many things.
I was stuck there for God knows how long-not like I had a phone or a wristwatch, or hands with which to check them-when I heard voices coming up the road. They were giggling, as if they were blissfully unaware of the danger of getting this close to the preppers.
"What's that?" someone cried, and I heard several sets of feet running toward me.
There were two blonde girls, somewhere around eighteen, I figured. They wore white sundresses and little white bonnets. When they saw me their eyes widened. "OMG," said one. I'm not abbreviating anything there-she actually said those three letters out loud. The second one snorted with laughter, and pulled out her phone.
Then the rest of the group caught up. There were about a dozen of them in total, all in matching outfits. They giggled and gaggled, and all of them had their phones out.
"Quit gawking and help me get free," I grumbled.
One of the girls took a step towards me.
"Dare you to touch his weiner," said another girl. The first one jumped back, and the group dissolved into giggles.
"You touch it!"
"OMG I am so not touching that. Ew."
One of them was edging toward me, looking back at her friends to see if they saw how brave she was. A second one pushed a third in my direction. "Dare you to lick it."
Her victim squealed so loud it hurt my ears. "OhmygodyouaresuchabitchStephanie!"
"Samantha!" came a voice. "Language!" An older woman jogged up, her face red from exertion. Evidently the girls had outpaced her. She was wearing an ankle-length white dress and a mitre. There was a large cross stitched to the front of her dress. A bit of hair had escaped from under her mitre, a few strands blonde, a few grey. "Sarah!" The girl who'd been sneaking closer to me slipped back into the crowd. "Do not touch him!"
"What are you?" I said. "A bishop?"
This triggered another round of giggling. The woman in the mitre gave me a look of reproach. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. We're visiting from the mainland." And she pulled out a phone and peered at it. "Sally, how do I get to the camera again?"
While she was fiddling with her phone, one of the girls dashed over to me. She pretended to put an arm around me as her friend took pictures.
"Honestly," I groaned. "Help me get out of here."
The bishop looked up. "Oh, no, we can't do that. We can't interfere with islanders in their natural habitat."
"This tree is not my natural habitat."
"We're only here to observe your cultural traditions."
"Being tied to a tree isn't my cultural tradition either!"
Two of the girls were crouched down and edging forward, their phones held out in front of them. They were trying to get closeups of my dick.
"Pawns, don't touch him," said the bishop. "You don't know where he's been."
"I can tell you where I've been. Tied to a damn tree. Come on, please, help me out."
The bishop did a headcount of her charges. She sighed. "Where's Sir Toby?"
"He was coming up the path with us," said one of the girls, "and all of a sudden he just veered off into the woods."
"Not again," the bishop muttered. "At this rate, we won't get to the world's largest condom before they stop serving lunch. Come along, dears." She herded the girls onto the road. As she passed me, she sneered and hissed, "Where we come from, priapism is considered a medical condition and not a lifestyle choice."
"You're damn right it's not a lifestyle choice!" I shouted back. "You think I want to walk around with a boner all the time? Now help me out of these handcuffs!"
There were giggles from the pawns. I overheard someone say, "Islanders are so crazy," and another gasp and say, "OMG that is so racist."
#
Ethel and Edward dragged a struggling naked Trudy through the woods to a pond. There was a narrow dock that extended out into the pond. Usually there were paddleboats tied up there. Today two boys dressed in black were standing on the edge, watching a girl flounder around in the water. A line of naked people, their hands and feet tied up, were huddled up on the shore, preppers in black guarding over them.
"What is this?" Trudy demanded.
"We're going to throw you in the water," said Edward. "Spadists float. So if you don't drown, you're a Spadist."
"I'll have you know I can swim," said Trudy.
"Pretty much everyone can. So we tie them up first. It's more sporting that way. Ethel, go see what the holdup is."
Ethel-who was dressed like a black cat, in tight shorts and little ears-went up to the dock. "What the fuck, guys? This isn't Disney World. Why are we waiting in line?"
The two boys on the dock were trying to fish the girl out of the water. "We're can't throw them in any faster, you know."
