War Games

byseth_perm©

The first thing I need to tell you is that this really happened. I know it's all very unlikely but remember one in a million chances happen nine times out of ten.

First let me describe myself. My name is Martin.

I'm not exactly what you'd call attractive but then nor am I hideous. My complexion isn't what I'd want it to be but I'm not repugnant as such. Pretty much normal really. Average height but maybe a little short for my weight, if you know what I mean. Oh, and I'm eighteen and, well, a bit geeky if I'm really honest.

When I say geeky, I mean that I spend my time with like-minded peers playing computer games, discussing new technology, the latest episode of Heroes or a comic. What I don't do is anything athletic or anything related to girls.

Girls are completely out-of-bounds. Don't get me wrong, I love girls. I love looking at their pretty radiant faces and their gorgeous beckoning curves. I spend as much time as I can tossing off to my fine collection of pornographic magazines or surfing the most excellent content of the interweb. I am immensely intimately familiar with the anatomy of the female sexual organs, or at least their two-dimensional representations on paper and screen.

But I don't talk to actual real girls because they are terrifying. When a girl talks to me, I get tongue-tied and anxious; I blush like a neon sign and mumble incoherently like an idiot. And, of course, then they laugh at me, not always in an unkind way but alarmingly all the same. Which makes it even worse.

So although I go to a large mixed school with a lot of girls, I stick to my own kind as much as I humanly can, only talking to the opposite sex when absolutely unavoidably forced to do so.

I said I don't do anything athletic which is a bit of a lie. There's one thing I have to do. You see the school I go to is an old-fashioned English public school, although there's no boarding, so we all have to do some extra-curricular stuff such as a sport or, in my case, CCF.

CCF stands for Combined Cadet Force, which is basically a bunch of school-kids playing at being soldiers and the like. I took the CCF option because it was better than a mandatory sport such as Rugby (brutally physical), Cricket (I have no hand-to-eye coordination) or Rowing (just not fit enough).

Instead we get to prance around in a uniform, playing with ancient (unloaded) weapons and pretending we're Rambo. Or in my case perhaps more Rimbaud. Anyway, I'll be honest, I do kind of enjoy the drilling, the shoe polishing and the range shooting. Maybe because you don't have to a physical behemoth to do them so I can compete if that's the right term.

I chose the Army over the RAF because, as far as could see, the RAF cadets don't actually get to go flying; they just talk about it a lot. And anyway their uniform just looks a bit camp. At least as an Army cadet we get a beret and a shiny badge and access to WW2 rifles and big short wave radios.

The bit that really isn't any fun at all though is the exercises. I don't mean press-ups or squat-thrusts, I mean all of us going away for the weekend to some god-forsaken part of Hampshire or Berkshire to run around in the woods firing blanks like we're real soldiers. That's not so bad by itself; what I do object to though is the fact that these exciting episodes are punctuated by hiking for miles lugging around a ridiculously heavy radio pack or a virtually antique yet preposterously weighty .303 rifle which all seems pointless in a world where Land Rovers have been invented and work very well. After all we're only pretending to be soldiers.

But worst of all is the effect of the lack of supervision on my schoolmates. It's not quite Lord of the Flies but there is without a doubt a level of feral regression when you send out a bunch of school-kids and tell them to walk a few miles until they find this other bunch of school-kids and then pretend to fight them. And what's even worse is when you impose a formal command structure.

You see I've been doing this for a good five years now, getting by with the minimum I can in order to satisfy requirements and I've been promoted to Lance-Corporal. For those you not familiar with the ranks of the British Army this is just one step above a Private who are the lowest of the low. All my peers are at least Sergeants if not higher which shows that life really is a popularity contest, I guess.

But what that means is that I've got sixteen-year old kids who outrank me and can order me around when we're on exercise. And of course they do, incessantly, gratuitously and unpleasantly. Little bastards one and all.

Of course there are some teachers who are ex-forces and officers from the Territorial Army involved but they can't cover a hundred cadets over a ten mile by ten mile area, so abuses of power happen.

Which brings me to the exercise I've just been on, the last of the school year and therefore my life.

It was called Operation Bulldog. No idea why, but I suppose you need a macho name for these things. Operation Dahlia just doesn't have the same ring to it.

Anyway, it was in the spring. The weather was dry and reasonably warm, an important consideration when you're sleeping on the ground under an outstretched supposedly waterproof poncho.

It was the last day of the exercise so I couldn't wait to get back home. I was dirty and smelly and tired. Tired as in exhausted but also tired of eating non-specific canned meat and oddly tasteless biscuits, tired of drinking water from streams and tired of, quite literally, shitting in the woods.

Anyway I was in the Green platoon and our mission was to capture the colours of the other two platoons, cleverly named Red and Blue respectively. They were of course trying to do the same thing to us. Cue lots of trekking around trying to find their camp and sitting in the bushes in the vain hope of ambushing someone.

I was lucky in terms of the squad I was in. It was led by Staff Sergeant Andrews and Sergeant McRoss, both of whom were in my year at school and neither of whom felt the particular need to exert their authority by treating anyone like shit. Also we had three cadets, all fourth years, so of around fourteen or fifteen years old.

The other reason I was lucky was because in real life Andrews and McRoss were Jenny Andrews and Chloe McRoss, and they were both breathtakingly lovely. Jenny was tall, blonde and slender, with sparkling blue eyes, endless legs and a stupendous arse. Chloe was darker and a touch shorter but much curvier too, with large boobs, big brown eyes and a generous smile. When she looked at you, it was like she was seeing right into you. She could make me blush just by being in the same room. They were best friends and both were stunning and so spent a lot of time populating my varied and detailed erotic fantasies as objects of the utmost desire.

Now, it was nice to spend time with Jenny and Chloe, but in reality they pretty much ignored me as I didn't seem to be able to talk in their presence which, as you can imagine, precluded much conversation. I, along with the rest of the squad, just followed along as the two of them made all the decisions.

As one of three squads in the Green platoon, we had been assigned with the task of attacking Red's base and capturing their colours, which was basically just a flag. For once, an ambush actually worked. Unfortunately, we were the ambushees rather than the ambushers.

It happened very quickly; all I can really remember is some sort of war-cry being bellowed from my left before two huge blokes tackled me. I didn't put up much of a fight.

Within a few minutes, I was sitting with my back to a tree in a small clearing, my arms tied around the back of it with some blue plastic rope. It wasn't a big tree but it still felt very sturdy. When no-one was looking I tried to move but I couldn't.

I was worried. I had been really glad I hadn't been a member of the Red Platoon as all the senior ranks seemed to be composed of ignorant slow-witted bullies. The only thing imaginable that was any worse than being in the platoon was being their prisoner.

Not that they would physically torture me in any permanently harmful way. But, in my role as a natural victim, I didn't think I would be enjoying the next few hours much.

The two oafs who had so triumphantly captured me were actually a couple of years younger than me but they didn't hold back with their insults and empty, I hoped, promises of brutality.

We were interrupted a few minutes after my ignominious detainment when another four meat-headed morons turned up, dragging the struggling Chloe and Jenny between them. It looked like the rest of the squad had managed to get away, the cowards.

I have to say they put up a real fight of it, much more than I did. Maybe it was because they didn't think they would be struck in return, but they kicked and screamed and punched heroically until their hands were finally tied behind them. They even had to hold Chloe down until she realised that she couldn't get away.

When I saw who was in charge of the Red squad, I realised why they had struggled so much.

Kenny Carter was captain of the school rugby and cricket teams; he was preposterously handsome and outlandishly muscular; he was head of the Army section of the CCF, ranked as a Sergeant-Major. And he was a complete twat.

Don't get me wrong, this isn't about jealousy, although I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous of his good looks and popularity. It's just that Kenny was an unpleasant bully, someone who enjoyed a bit of casual cruelty, verbal or physical. He wasn't stupid either which just made him better at being a wanker.

And for some reason girls weren't able to see past his impossibly good-looking exterior to the ugliness inside. In fact the lovely flawless Jenny and he had been going out for a couple of years. They were the perfect couple, successful and attractive, the Posh & Becks of the school.

However, it was rumoured that they'd had a big fight and had split up acrimoniously only days before. Which was why, I guessed, Jenny looked so pissed off to have been caught, beyond any of the more obvious reasons.

If Kenny had had a moustache, he'd have been twirling it fiendishly. "Hello, Jenny. What a lucky surprise," he said.

"Get off, you bastard!" Jenny kicked at one the grunts who were holding her.

"It's all right, let go of her," Kenny ordered smoothly. The two girls were surrounded by them now.

"What do you want, Kenny?" Chloe asked, her voice steady.

"Oh, I don't know, Chloe," Kenny teased unpleasantly. He stepped behind her and put his arms around her slim waist before beginning to unbutton her camouflage jacket.

Chloe flinched but still looked relatively composed. "Stop that," she said tensely.

Jenny wasn't as calm. "Leave her alone!" she screeched before trying unsuccessfully to kick him.

"Tie her legs together," Kenny instructed and she was immediately hobbled by his henchmen, using more of the blue plastic rope.

Kenny had now pulled Chloe's jacket open to reveal a green vest, snugly enclosing her remarkably big tits. His hands slid up her body to fondle her breasts, causing her to scream involuntarily.

"Kenny, leave her alone. She's never done anything to you," Jenny begged once more.

Kenny gave Chloe's boobs a final squeeze before turning to Jenny.

"No, she hasn't. I just thought she might be a bit more up for it than you, you frigid bitch," he hissed at her as he moved towards her.

Jenny tried to step back but her legs were tied together above the ankle leaving only a few inches between them. She fell back on her delicious bum causing the boys to laugh spitefully.

Kenny was down on her in an instant, again unbuttoning her jacket to reveal a tight green t-shirt. Jenny's boobs weren't as abundant as Chloe's fine bosom but were still a good handful. This time his fondling appeared more forceful and cruel as he pinched her nipples unkindly.

"I'm going to have some fun with you, Jenny," he promised her.

Now you might wonder what I'd been doing while this unpleasant scene unfolded.

It seemed that everyone had forgotten I was there and, not being the most forthcoming, I hadn't done anything to remind them of my presence. I was caught between two overwhelming feelings: disgust at this cruel spectacle and excitement at seeing two beautiful girls' boobs being groped.

Yes, I know how wrong it was but I couldn't help it. I'm not proud about how I felt but at least I then tried to do something to improve the situation

I could feel a righteous anger building in me as Kenny slid a hand down around Jenny's hips to squeeze her bottom. But I had no idea what to do. I took a deep breath and then another as I furiously tried to think of a solution, some way to stop things turning even more nasty.

In the end, going for a simple direct resolution, I blurted out, "Stop that." Please don't underestimate how difficult it was do that, no matter how inane an option it was. But at least I had made an effort to say how I felt.

So I was little upset that no-one seemed to have heard me. I tried it again this time with some force behind my voice.

"Fucking stop that!" I screamed at the top of my voice.

They all turned to look at me. Jenny looked wide-eyed and terrified. Chloe gave me the ghost of a smile. Kenny sneered at me contemptuously,

"Or what?" he said, striding over to tower above me.

I'm not sure where I got the courage from but I managed to splutter an ineffectual answer. "Or you'll be in trouble, you, you, you bastard," I threatened.

Kenny stepped back with a puzzled expression as if he'd just met a talking labrador. He looked around briefly before kicking me in the stomach.

It hurt.

Let me say that again with the proper emphasis; it really really really fucking hurt!

His goons laughed as he strode back to the girls.

"Right tie her legs up too," he ordered gesturing to the admirably lovely Chloe. "We're going to go and get the Blue flag and then the Green one. And when we're back, we're going to continue our discussion in private," he warned Jenny pointedly, stroking her hair menacingly.

The Red squad gathered their gear and loped off in the direction of the Blue camp, boasting about what they would do when they were back. Listening to their comments, it seemed that Chloe was as much at threat as Jenny.

Once they were gone the girls tried to stand but found that they could only stagger a few tiny steps before falling again.

"Oh shit, shit, shit," Jenny cursed as she tried to pull her wrists out their bindings. "It's no bloody use, there's no way I can get my fucking hands out." You could tell she was maybe a touch stressed.

Chloe was calmer but I could tell she was angry. "Those arseholes," she said, rolling her head from side-to-side in obvious discomfort. "They really hurt my neck."

"Are you all right?" Jenny asked.

"Yeah, I'm OK. It's just a bit sore. Right, it'll take half an hour to get to the Blue camp and back. And then another half an hour and back to our camp. Let's just think about what we can do to get away."

"It's all right for you," Jenny replied acerbically. "You're going to get away with a bit of a groping. Kenny's going to rape me when he gets back. I could see it in his eyes!" Jenny tried to crawl along the floor but struggled to a halt, sobbing uncontrollably.

Chloe sighed. "Jenny, it's OK. Come on, there's no point in panicking. We just need to think. Perhaps we can wait for a few minutes and then shout for help."

"You don't understand, Chloe," Jenny whined. "You know why we broke up. He wanted to have full sex and for me to, you know, give him head; but I didn't want to. So he dumped me and went off with that slag Katy Beckford!" Interesting gossip, I thought. "But he always gets what he wants. I wouldn't be surprised if he's been planning this ever since we broke up," she continued pathetically.

They prattled on for a while in a similar vein.

While all this was going on, I was recovering from being winded by Kenny's boot. Despite my heroic, crucial and painful intervention they seemed to have overlooked me once more.

I cleared my throat causing them to jump.

"Oh shit, Martin. I forgot you were there," Jenny said. Told you so.

Chloe was a little more sympathetic. She tottered over to me before collapsing down next to me. "Sorry, Martin, are you OK? Thanks for stepping in earlier. If you hadn't interrupted, I think they might have got carried away," she breathed. Her eyes were soft and brown and warm. God, she was hot.

I immediately blushed and began to stutter incomprehensively.

Chloe just smiled at me. It wasn't an oh-my-god-what-a-nerdy-idiot kind of smile more of an it's-ok-calm-down-we're-all-friends-here-I-promise-not-to-bite type of smile. At least it had the immediate effect of making me feel better.

"It's fine, I'm OK," I replied bravely.

"Oh, good. He really gave you a whack, didn't he?" she asked concernedly.

"Yes, but it's all right," I said, soldiering on, quite literally.

Jenny interrupted. "What the fuck are you talking to him for? Don't you understand, we need to get away! He's going to be no fucking help!" she ranted.

You can really go off people, can't you?

"Jenny, please. If he hadn't distracted Kenny, you might already have lost your precious virginity!" Chloe replied with sterling judgement.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Chloe. Let's just get away, you stupid slut. You might like to shag around, but I'm not going to wait around here to be used by that git!" she cried.

Chloe looked at her evenly, stonily silent, but I could tell she was furious. Obviously, so could Jenny.

"Sorry, Chloe. I didn't mean that. I'm just terrified..." she started but was interrupted.

"Stupid Slut? Shag around?" Chloe's look was as frosty as a really really frosty thing.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. It's just that I'm not as experienced as you. The whole thing just petrifies me," Jenny apologised.

Wow. So Jenny was a virgin and Chloe was 'experienced'. Fantastic, I thought, already reordering my fantasies, ready for when I was alone with my right hand.

I decided to interject.

"Um, if it helps, I might be able to help us escape," I said.

They both looked at me.

"What do you mean?" Jenny asked.

"Um, it's just that, I've got a knife," I said.

"Oh, Martin! I could kiss you!" Chloe said her eyes bright, with perhaps just a touch of worship in them.

"Really?" I squeaked, stunned by the thought of kissing this soft-lipped perfect-figured stunner.

"Really," she laughed. "In fact get us out of this and I'll do a damn sight more!"

"Where is it?" said Jenny, rudely interrupting my reverie.

"Oh, um, it's here, strapped to the inside of my left thigh. It's a steak knife." Now, you might ask why I had a steak knife strapped to the inside of my thigh. First of all, if I'd had access to a proper hunting knife then I'd have used that. However such things aren't so easy to come by for middle-class schoolboys in the Home Counties of England so I'd made do with stealing a steak knife from home.

And the reason I'd strapped it there wasn't because I'd really thought I'd ever need it but you just never know, do you? And anyway it made me feel big and manly and dangerous.

"Your thigh, why your thigh?" Jenny asked ungratefully.

"So that it wouldn't be found in a search. And it wasn't!" I replied, amazed at my lack of temerity. Maybe this talking-to-girls lark wasn't as difficult as I'd imagined.

Chloe was a lot more positive. "Who cares why? The question is how do we get to it?"

This was a fair question. My arms were tied behind the tree. The girls could hardly walk and their hands were tied at the wrists behind their backs. This wouldn't be easy or, indeed, allow much personal space.

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