They had been collected. They’d been taken from a variety of places:- swimming pools, the local beach, a party on a luxury yacht. The request had been clear. Five swimmers were required. Their bodies had to be taut, toned, muscular, no excess body fat. And they had to be clad in speedos, tight revealing speedos. No other items of clothing were allowed. And all had to have a certain arrogance…that certain self confidence that comes from knowing that they look good when wearing only a pair of tight, wet speedos.
The process had been simple. Wait for them to separate from everyone else, grab them, strap on the ballgag and then duct tape the mouth, duct tape the eyes, stuff them into the tight leather sleepsack and fasten the straps as tightly as possible and then slide them into the tiny metal chamber hidden below the floor off the van. The chamber was just wide enough and long enough to contain a six foot body, there was no wriggle room…and once the chamber was closed and the carpet placed back onto the van floor, there was no sign that the chamber existed. And any noises or grunts which each speedo clad swimmer would make would be totally obscured by the solid walls of the metal coffin.
The van would then drive to the abandoned factory. For one lucky captured swimmer the drive had only been a matter of minutes. The final swimmer – a young, black diving instructor – had endured three hours locked into his own personal bondage hell before he’d arrived at his destination.