Together Until We Die...

Chris Pronger grabbed Chicago’s captain and dragged him over to a plywood board, he had just brought into the room. The board had black rubber straps built and nailed down into the wood texture. It was leaned against the wall, across from Patrick Kane, who hung his head in defeat.

Jonathan was laid onto the wood surface, without so much as a fight or resistance. He covered the entire board, perfectly trimmed to the Blackhawk’s height dimensions. Pronger roughly pulled the straps over each of Jonathan’s wrists, trapping his arms in place. Then he copied the motion, pulling the straps over Jonathan’s ankles, at the bottom of the plywood board.

“Test out my restraints, Captain!” the Flyer taunted, prodding Jonathan in the ribcage.

The older Chicago Blackhawk did as he was told. He tried his best to lift his arms and legs, but could not. He snapped his head to the side and stared at the evil villain, who glowered menacingly. Pronger laughed, enjoying the struggle Jonathan Toews put on for him.

Patrick’s blue eyes glittered with sympathy, as he was forced to look on, unable to move anywhere or even turn away. His own restraints were tightening around him. He felt as if his circulation was being slowly cut off, like he were drowning helplessly in the ropes and tape. He actually had begun to feel nothing. No pain. No soreness. Nothing.

The ex-Flyer finally seemed to have enough of Jonathan’s little struggle and leaned over the Blackhawk leader. He seized the victim by his chin and observed the Glasgow Smile work. “I did a wonderful job on the Chelsea, there, didn’t I, Smiley?” Pronger sneered, taunting the Chicago centre.

Jonathan mumbled his response, as the miscreant finally let go and backed off once more.
“Alrighty, so here’s what’s gonna happen, my precious Hawkies, if Lil Kanerboo, over there, mouths off to me anymore, instead of me using violence to drill it into his head not to piss me the hell off, I’m going to actually focus the assault on his beloved Tazer. So maybe then, he’ll behave better, right, Pretty Boy? Give old Prongs a stifled distress grunt in response!”

Patrick Kane’s eyes flashed a brilliant sky blue color all of the sudden. He lifted his head up and produced a muffled response, as asked.

“Good, Pretty Boy Kanerboo, we’re getting somewhere. I think the threat against beloved Captain Smiley’s life is sinking into your brain!”

Pronger walked out of the room for a few seconds. He returned with a battery and some electric cables streaming from the sides, which ended, attached to two pliers. It looked like something you would use to jumpstart a dead car with. The big goon set it down before the board. Jonathan lifted his head up, craning his neck upward to the farthest point.

Pronger ripped Jonathan’s shirt open, down the middle, exposing his bare chest. The buttons that held the loose fitting gray shirt together, snapped off, flying in every direction. The shirt’s sides were then carelessly flung to the sides of the helpless hockey player.

“What are you doing, Prongs!?” Jonathan whimpered.

The ex-Flyer cracked a smirk and muttered a low cackle in the back of his throat as he placed his hands, palm down over the Blackhawk captain’s bare nipples. He roughly began to rub them, making them hard, tight and taunt. Jonathan squirmed, uncomfortably underneath the painful sensation.

When the man was finally satisfied, after what felt like twelve hours to the poor Chicago centre, Pronger backed away, leaving the nipples erect on his chest. The villain snatched the pliers up and attached the clamps, one-by-one to each erect nipple. Jonathan gave a blood-curling scream in agony as each was properly placed, squeezing an unwanted painful feeling into his body.

“Don’t worry, Johnny,” the evil man snorted, “the pain won’t last that long. Soon you’ll feel nothing!”

The centerman arched his back, thrusting upward, thinking that this would help to make the pain go away. As it turned out, the pain subsided to a numbness. Also, the scar etched across his face had managed not to reopen. It was now just a battle scar, permanently carved into his face, but nothing life-threatening. Pronger really had done a precise job with it.

The goon stepped away, kicking the device under the butt of the board. He turned the machine part on. And cranked the dial up to full capacity.

“As much as I love hearing your terrified and painful screams, I love muffled ones more!” Pronger remarked, as he walked over to the table, beside Patrick Kane. He snatched the roll of duct tape up, tore off a piece and walked back to the Blackhawk leader. He flashed a wink and sly smirk to Patrick in the process, who jerked against his own bondage, muffling an angry grunt.

Pronger returned to Jonathan and applied the tape to the captain’s mouth. Reluctantly, the Chicago captain allowed the adhesive material to be smoothed out over his mouth. The ex-Flyer replied to his submission, by slapping him, rudely on the cheek. “Let’s test out Kanerboo’s mouth. I hope he gives me an earful, because that would be wonderful music to my ears!” He glowered darkly, as he spun on his heels and eyed the shaggy blonde player.

Patrick Kane shook his head, desperately pleading behind the tape. He didn’t want to hurt his friend. He loathed Pronger for even having the thought in his head.

“Don’t worry, Kanerboo, you can come off of your little pole now!”

The blue eyed hockey player continued to beg and plead Pronger, who ignored him and cut him free. With only his wrists bound together, the ex-Flyer forced him back into the chair. He made sure that the back of the chair was propped in-between Patrick’s arms. Then he wrapped a coil of rope around Patrick, attaching him to the chair.

Pronger left him there, bound and gagged once more. He vanished from the room once again and returned, leading in a red haired woman.

“This is my cousin. She’s a villain-in-training. She just arrived and I thought of no better first test for her, than to seduce the ladies’ man of the Chicago Blackhawks!”

Notes