Time Stands Still

On the couch, was a case, placed their by the crazy Bostonians. Tommy was in charge of doing the “bondage routine”. He snatched up a roll of black duct tape from the case.

With quick, practiced motions, Tommy deftly ripped off long strips of black duct tape and bound Tyler’s ankles, then turned him onto his stomach and taped his wrists behind his back. He rolled him over again so he was lying on his back, sitting in a slumped position against the back of the couch. Katie rounded the couch, so that she purposefully stood in his vision path, when he awoke. She wanted herself to be the first thing he saw.

Sure enough, he finally blinked awake. His head had lolled to the side, much to Katie’s displeasure, and rested on his left shoulder. The contents of the case, which were visible, because it was opened up, so the two could get what he needed in a hurry, caught his eye, as he blinked awake. His head hurt from the frying pan, but he ignored it.

He moved his head up straight spotting Katie holding the frying pan in her hands. She hugged it close to her chest, gazing with joy at the hockey player. She had on the Red Sox shirt.

A Bostonian! Tyler thought and attempted to raised his hand up and touch the spot, where the pan had contacted him, but the horror etched on his face, told Katie and Tommy that he had figured out what was going on.

“What the hell----?”

The brunette man struggled in place, unable to go anywhere. His strength was controlled by the tape that wrapped around his wrists and ankles. He couldn’t go anywhere. He grunted with distress, trying his best to get free. His strength and courage began to clear away some of his terror. He could scream. He could scream loud! He drew in his breath and tried, but merely whined. He heard the couple laugh.

“What’s going on? What are you doing in my house? Who are you?”

He was back to the fear, but he still had a chance to scream. The Dallas star glanced to the side and spotted the partner, a male about the same age. He looked tall and similar in appearance to Antoine Roussel. This guy was not a teammate of his however, and he had devious thoughts on his mind. Also he wore a white Red Sox shirt. In his big meaty fingers he held the roll of black adhesive, threateningly. He was wagging his eyebrows at the hockey player, sinisterly.

“The name’s Tommy. And that’s Katie. We believe that ya have sins ta pay fah!?” the man named Tommy spoke with a thick Boston accent that made the skin on Tyler’s body raise up.

“This really isn’t necessary!”

“Oh, but it is!” Katie spoke. She seemed rather excited about what was going to happen.

“I’ll scream!”

“No ya won’t!”

“I will!”

As he stretched his jaws wide to shriek, the Bostonian man jammed a twisted up white tank top of Tyler’s into his mouth, pinching his lower lip against his teeth. The rough material lay hard against his tongue. The sound he made was more like a gargle than a scream. He tried to correct the abnormal feeling at once, parting his lips with difficulty. He managed to give a nice, pitiful muffled grunt of distress for the pair.

Wrapping the shirt around his head, at the nape of his neck, the man bent over the helpless hockey player. “No, ya won’t!”

The shirt forced his lower jaw so far down, that if felt as if it might become unhinged. Tyler moaned in discomfort. He shook his torso back and forth, trying to slip out of the tape that held his wrists together.

Rather rapidly, Tommy would duct tape around the cloth and Tyler’s head, so that everything was firmly in place as one piece. It made the pressure forcing his mouth wide, constant.

The Bostonian stood back with his arms folded and surveyed his work. The firmly taped shirt was immoveable. As was poor Tyler Seguin, who continued to thrash about. Katie gave a villainous cackle and tossed her head back.

“You’ve been a very naughty Dallas Star (which sounded more like “Stah”), Seguin, and now ya must pay fah it.” Tommy drew from his pocket a long silver chain with a silver letter S dangling from it. He held the chain before Tyler, so he could see it clearly. And then he looped it around the forward’s taped head. It lay on his bare neck and chest like the ice in a hockey rink.

He narrowed his eyes and shot a sharp muffled comment at the Boston fan, who smacked him across the cheek.

“Tyler, darling, sweet, sweet, sweet Tyler Seguin,” Katie cooed, walking forward and sitting down beside the tied up hockey star. She forced the last “sweet” out of her lips. “We just think that ya need ta be taught a lesson. That’s all. We can’t have ya speaking yah mind all the time. That wouldn’t be right!” She combed her fingers through his boyish hair.

Tyler tossed his head to the side, trying to get away from her, but failed. She ran her fingers along Tyler’s arms and slipped her hand, gingerly into Tyler’s jeans’ pocket. She pulled out his phone, making him complain about it. She ignored him, as he whimpered behind the cloth and tape.

She gripped the phone in her hands and typed a message on it. In the “notes” app. She smiled as she did it. Tyler watched her. He gave another sharp jerk. She finished her message and set the device down on the table. Then she turned back to Tyler.

“Just sending a little message ta yah friends. Can’t have them completely worried about ya now, can we?”

Tyler muffled a response. She laughed at him and stood up on her feet. She ruffled his hair and walked away from him once more, picking the pan back up, from where she had set it down on the other end of the table.

“Let’s get him outta here, Tommy!” she said in her thick accent. “Get him in the car (or cah), so we can get back ta Boston!”

“Right, Katie!” He happily tossed the roll of tape into the case, which he shut and passed to his female partner. Then he scooped Tyler up by the waist and flung him over his shoulder. Tyler squirmed, uncomfortably, but couldn’t go anywhere. He was also rather shocked at the strength this man possessed, to be able to carry him, a big hockey player, with.

Katie held the frying pan and case in her hands and skipped out the door, happily humming to herself. Tommy followed with Tyler.

The Dallas Star was placed in the backseat of his own car. Katie had the keys dangling from her fingers. She was keeping watch and barked at Tommy to hurry up. The man grunted and groaned, as he stuffed Tyler in, as quickly as possible.

Tommy heaved a finally push, strapped the seatbelt across his arms and body and then slammed the door shut, trapping the Dallas Star in. Tyler tilted his head backward and let a loud humming sound escape, but it was barely loud enough to be heard. Tommy wiped the sweat from his brow and scampered around to the passenger seat.

Katie hopped into the front and tossed the case into the back. She turned to her partner and passed him the frying pan. Just in case it was needed quickly. Then she turned the key in the jeep’s ignition. It jerked to a start and she backed out of the driveway and zoomed off. “Next stop, Boston!” She glanced into the rearview mirror and sent a smirk to the ex-Bruin, who resumed his struggle.