the Guardian
Thirty six hours later, forty-seven minutes after midnight:

Kirk Fordham, bored, made his rounds. His night security job didn't pay the twenty-two year old senior much, but was easy work. Nothing ever happened. The most exciting activity was occasionally backing up the campus police at drunken brawls on fraternity row. His assigned circuit of campus buildings each hour took about twenty minutes, then he could study or just kick back in the security office the rest of the hour.

The end of his tour led through the back storage areas and here he stopped his security vehicle, thinking he had seen some movement between two of the darkened buildings. Playing his flashlight around, he walked down the alley. Finding nothing he turned and had started back to his cart when he sensed some presence behind him. His skin crawled in sudden fear, but before he could turn his brain exploded in a flash of light and everything went dark.

As consciousness reasserted itself, Kirk had difficulty at first even focusing his blue eyes. His head throbbed and he felt stiff. He tried moving and discovered he was hunched over on his knees, ankles tied widely apart to a chain link fence. His wrists were drawn upwards and also roped to the fence. He was in a thick growth of weeds and became aware that he was being prickled all over by the sticky brush.

Why, he puzzled, are these weeds so damn uncomfortable.

OH MY GOD! I'm stark naked!

His captor had stripped him of every stitch! Alarmed, he got leverage with his hands on the fence and unsteadily pulled himself to a standing posture, his bound limbs widely splayed facing the wire. As he did, a hot burn of pain jolted from between his thickly muscled thighs. Looking down, there was enough moonlight for him to make out a strand of wire wrapped snugly around the neck of his genital package.

"Oh fuck!" he moaned aloud.

It was barbed wire and his movement had driven several of the vicious prongs into his flesh. Tiny dribbles of blood were oozing from the punctures and dripping from his crotch. He felt an emotion that was usually alien to him. Fear. Gut-wrenching, unreasoning fear. He felt so incredibly vulnerable and helpless without the slightest idea of what was happening here. Or why.

"I regret I had to hit you, in fact, I regret having to make use of you at all. You are such a handsome, athletic young man. Really quite a superb specimen of manhood. This all seems so needless, but those fools in the administration paid no heed to my demand...ignored my warning. Arrogant bastards! I must send them a more graphic message and I have chosen you as the messenger, or, perhaps more accurately, the material upon which the message shall be inscribed."

Kirk turned his head and could make out a shadowy figure a few feet away, the body enfolded in a full-length coat, the features obscured by a ski-mask. The stuff of nightmares.

The voice was calm, the only emotion coming with the spitting of the words "arrogant bastards." There was a soft southern accent and the speech was that of an educated man, probably thirtyish. Fighting to stop the trembling of his muscles, Kirk swallowed hard and forced his own dry vocal chords to act.

"Why me? I've done nothing to you."

"No," the man purred softly. "Not to me. But is not your job 'security'?"

"You know it is."

"That implies 'safety' does it not? Look around you. Look at this great overgrowth of weeds on my campus. Not only is it unsightly but see how dry and flammable it dangerous. And here along the back fence is not the only area that has been shamefully neglected. I warned that this must be corrected. I was ignored. Now I must act."

He stepped close behind Kirk and seized the trailing end of the strand of barbed wire wrapped around the young jock stud's sex organs. He pulled it up behind the broad, corded back of his prisoner, drawing the cock and balls backwards. That drove the prongs deeply into the flesh and Kirk could not restrain himself.

He screamed at the searing pain.

The man pulled upwards until he could attach the loose end to the top of the fence. The wire curved tautly over Kirk's back and right shoulder forcing him to rise onto the balls of his feet to minimize the dreadful pull on his genitals. Barbs jabbed into his back in several places and he felt new trickles of blood running wetly down his skin.

"I think," the man said finally, "That you will survive this. I hope so. If so, please tell them next time they really should follow my orders."

Stepping a few feet away, the phatom-figure merged into the darkness but then was suddenly illuminated brightly by the match blazing in his raised fingers. Kirk could see the eyes gazing steadily at him through the slits in the ski mask, cold and hard and unblinking. Then the match dropped. With a loud crackle, the tender-dry weeds ignited. With a popping roar, emitting a thickening cloud of greasy smoke, the blaze moved across the ground in several directions at of which was directly towards Kirk.

Within moments, he had real cause to scream as the flames reached him, dancing wildly over the skin of his legs, buttocks and belly. His pubic brush ignited and burned away in a flash.

Fortunately, the weeds in which he was standing burned away swiftly enough that his burns, though excruciating, were not deep. Some places were blistered, including his genitals which had been intentionally positioned to fully expose them to the fire. Further, jerking and writhing around as he had, trying desperately to evade the flames as they enveloped him, he had come very close to castrating himself with the barbed wire. He had lost a lot of blood by the time the fire department and campus police responded to the brushfire and found him hunched against the fence sobbing and moaning.

But he did survive and his lacerated genitals were even repaired successfully.


Robbie Cornwall snuggled close to Debbie as their mouths continued to hungrily do battle, tongues entwined. His shirt was off, his pants undone and Debbie's hand was in his shorts and driving him wild. For that matter, her blouse was open and her bra off and tossed into the back seat of the car. He knew that soon they would have to drive to his dorm room to consummate the act that both needed so badly.

He had not intended to get into such an advanced petting session right here in his car, but they had pulled off into the deserted lot next to the university motor pool to "talk" and the "conversation" had gotten a bit heavier than they'd contemplated.

In fact it was so intense that neither of them realized they had company until the door was suddenly jerked open.

"What the fuck!" Robbie snarled, but then froze

They were staring down the obscene thick cannister of a silencer on the small automatic pistol in the hand of the ski-masked stranger. His anger changed to fear.

"Cooperate completely," the man spoke quietly, "And your girlfriend will not be hurt, though I suppose she's as much to blame as you. But you are the man and I believe men have an obligation to lead in these matters."

"Okay, I'll cooperate, but for God's sake, don't hurt her!"

Following instructions, the young lovers got out of the car. Forcing Rob to walk ahead too far to give any chance for him to attempt resistence, the man kept Debbie with his arm around her neck, the gun at her head. He directed them the short distance into the motor pool to the gas pumps.

"That's far enough. Now stand there by that pump and strip off all of your clothes."

"Screw that! Let her go! You can't...."

PFFFFT! The muted spit of the silenced shot shut him up as the bullet passed just inches to the side of the girl's head causing her to shriek in terror.

"For God's sake, Robbie, DO WHAT HE SAYS!"

"Okay! Okay! No more shooting, man!"

And Rob lost no time in stripping his muscular body. In moments he was standing there naked and trembling, fearing what might come next.

"I warned your mother," the man said. "The stupid bitch ignored me. I rather thought she would. Well, fine. I guess it falls to me to teach you to keep your pants zipped unless you're behind closed doors."

"Look, if you've got a beef with my mom, why don't you..."

"Shut up and get your penis hard."

"What!!! You're nuts! I...I can't..."

"Then I guess I'll have to blow poor Debbie's head off."

"NO! I...I'll try..."

It took the nineteen year old hunk a while, but gradually his rod responded to his stroking and rose up into steely hardness.

"Excellent. My you are very nicely hung. How long is it when it's erect like that, Debbie? I'm sure you're very familiar with it? Never mind. I'm being very rude and tasteless, but then that seems to be acceptable behavior on this campus at present. Just keep it erect like that. With your other hand take the nozzle from the pump. Good boy. Now just aim it at your chest and squeeze it. Pump gas out. Excellent, keep on pumping. Move it about and soak yourself good. Get that handsome body good and drenched. Run it down between your legs...want it really well-soaked there."

"Oh God, please don't do this...."

Robbie was almost in tears, his rugged, buff body visibly trembling, nearly paralyzed with fear. He was choking on the rancid fumes of the gasoline soaking his skin and running in steady rivulets down to pool on the ground around his feet. A small stream was curling away to find the nearby storm drain.

Debbie began to scream again when the man pulled out the cigarette lighter and flicked on the flame.

For a few terrible seconds there was no action. Then suddenly the man gave Debbie a hard shove, sending her flying over against Robbie, nearly bowling him over. Rob thought that was to immolate her too.

"NOOOOO!" He screamed, trying to push her away out of the pool of gasoline. "You promised!!!"

The man laughed softly as he flicked the lighter closed.

"Tell your mother that if she doesn't do what I instruct, the next time I WILL ignite the nasty young lovers I catch defiling my campus. And you might want to go wash off that gasoline as fast as you can. You'll get some unpleasant chemical burns from it."

Like a ghost, the figure was suddenly gone into the darkness, his laughter echoing softly. Robbie and Debbie collapsed together holding each other, both very close to hysteria.

Sixteen hours later ... one hour eighteen minutes to midnight.

Darkly handsome, half-Hispanic wrestler Ricky Mendoza arrived at the side door to the athletic complex at the same time as stocky, blond swimmer Biff Allison. The twenty year-old stars had in common having taken illegal cash incentives to come to Baldwin. Ricky cocked an eyebrow.

"Biff dude, funny time of night to be coming here. You get a summons from Mr. Biggs too?"

Biff nodded his buzzed head,

"Yeah. Wonder what he wants."

"Guess we'll find out soon enough."

The side door, usually locked when the center closed at ten, was open and they entered, making their way towards the office of the athletic director, their steps echoing in the empty hallways. As they made the final turn that hallway was unlit and they slowed in the darkness.

"Shouldn't there be a light showing from his office?" Biff asked.

"Scared of the dark, water jock?" Ricky teased.

"Terrified, man. How about holding my hand, you're so big and brave?"

"Fuck you!" Ricky laughed. "I always heard the whole swim team is gay."

"Nah. We got a couple of token breeders so the equal opportunity people don't get in our shit. Could we have gotten it wrong? Maybe it's supposed to be ten forty-five tomorrow morning?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

Mendoza rattled the knob on Biggs' door making sure it was locked,

"Maybe he's in the gym."

They started for the gym but made it just a few feet before the masked figure stepped from the shadows behind them. The air pistol in his hand spat twice in quick succession. PFFFT! PFFFT!

"Uhhhh! What the fuck!"

Ricky grabbed towards his back where a small injector dart protruded.

"Who the hell are you?"

Biff whirled towards the figure. His dart had caught him square in the back of his thickly muscled neck. There was no answer and before the blond hunk took two steps, he staggered and then his knees buckled. Ricky had already sunk to his knees, a dazed look on his face.

Disoriented and unable to resist, they were dragged into the nearby weightroom. They were vaguely aware as they were stripped naked and bound and it dimly registered that there were others. Six foot seven Greg Holloway, twenty-two year-old all-American center for the basketball squad, was generally considered the hottest stud on campus. Golden-haired Pavel Kolczek, a cute eighteener freshman from Prague, was a muscle-boy soccer player considered one of the best comers in the sport. Both had also taken Biggs' illegal money and had arrived seperately a short while before for a supposed meeting at his office. They too were now naked and bound, just beginning to recover from their drugged stupor.

The guardian was in no hurry. He had all night and the security patrols did not enter the sports complex on their rounds, just rattled the doors to see that they were locked. He had already secured the door left open for the entry of the four young men selected for this latest retribution. The weight room had no outside windows and was sound-proofed. He waited patiently for the jocks to reasonably recover before he began positioning them, though they were still disabled enough to make resistence ineffective.

Biff was the first and he feebly tried to struggle with his masked captor. A punch to his naked balls took the fight out of him.

Moaning in pain, he was hauled over to the big whirlpool tub and perched on the wooden sideboard. His wrists were still securely fettered behind him and now the loose end of the rope hobbling his ankles was drawn up over a nearby cross-bar. When it was pulled taut, raising his legs, he was dumped over backwards into the tub, immersing his head and shoulders. By contracting his corded abs and straining his legs he was able to bend upwards enough to get his head above the surface. He came up gagging and sputtering .

"Fuck!" He finally was able to choke drunkenly. "What are you trying to do? Drown my ass?"

The man seemed to find that amusing and he was still chuckling softly as he began working with Ricky Mendoza. Over at the tub, Biff was beginning to realize his predicament. He was one incredibly buff young jock, but was sweating as he began to wonder how long he could strain his muscles like that before they cramped up or gave out.

Ricky was taken to a tall stool. One of the legs had been cut short but a sturdy rope connecting it up to an eyebolt in the wall gave enough support that the stool remained stable as the gorgeous wrestler was deposited on it. His ankles and wrists remained securely bound. He was still groggy as he felt the man fiddling around between his muscular thighs.

"Hey! Don't be fucking touching me there, dude! You gay or what!"

There was no response and Ricky suddenly gasped at the pain in his crotch as his huge male package was jerked upwards. He felt cold metal around the neck of his organs and they remained raised as the guardian stepped back to survey his work. A strand of razor-sharp piano wire ran tautly from the sex package up to the ceiling. The premise of the system was that if the young Adonis came off the stool, bound as he was, he would fall clumsily and at least briefly be suspended on the wire. Even a few seconds would suffice; it would cut like a scalpel.

He positioned a candle just beneath the rope supporting the cut leg of the stool, but didn't light it. Not yet. As he turned to see to the next victim he suddenly realized that the piano wire cockring was having an erotic effect upon the splendid bull whose rod was jutting up in steely erection. Again, the guardian found himself chuckling in amusement.

The delicious Czech boy was next. Shortly he found himself on the seat of a weight machine, his ankles tied to the base and his arms to the lifting handles.

"Pull down with your arms," his masked captor ordered. "Lift the weights I have connected."

"Fuck you!" The accented voice was ballsy but a tremor betrayed the raw fear.

The guardian produced a cigarette lighter, flicked it on and quickly let the flame graze Pavel's left nipple. The boy screamed and jerked violently against his restraints. The burn, not not quite blistered, was clearly agonizing.

"I have all night. What shall we burn next?"

"NO! NO!" Pavel almost shrieked, "I lift the weight! No burn anymore! Please, no burn!"

After he had hefted the weight, his powerful arms and shoulders cording beautifully, another strand of piano wire was looped around the neck of his sex organs and then drawn taut up over the top of the machine and down to the weights. Now, if the young stud dropped the weight, its full energy would be communicated into jerking the wire loop between his thighs closed. It took no genius to figure out what the dreadful effect of that would be, and that it was not a question of IF his arms would give out ... just WHEN.

The guardian had promised that this time there would be a death. It was possible that Biff might actually survive the dunking tub if he was strong enough. Something could go amiss with the programmed radical castrations of the other two or, if castrated, perhaps they would be found before bleeding to death. It was highly probable all three would die, but POSSIBLE that they would all survive. So if he was to keep his death promise as a certainty, it was necessary that Greg Holloway, the demi-god basketball star, be executed with no chance of failure.

The young giant looked stunningly beautiful standing there on the stool in all his naked glory. The coarse hemp rope noosed about his neck from above made the scene even more erotic.

"For God's sake, you can't DO this! It ... it's wrong!"

"And it was right for all of you to sell yourselves to Mr. Biggs in violation of the rules, thus cheapening and degrading MY university? I know all about your recruitment payments."

"THAT'S what this is about? That's nuts!!! You can't compare what we did to....AWWWWKKKK!!!"

Greg's protest trailed into a gurgling rasp as the guardian kicked the stool from beneath his feet and he dropped a few inches to begin his slow strangulation. Though his wrists remained bound, his feet had been freed and he now danced and walked in the air. Further, the strangulation produced an interesting reaction from his cock. Just having the rope taut around his vulnerable throat had gotten the great organ up and drooling. Hanging now brought on a spontaneous orgasm and he spurted a massive load out before his swinging body.

The guardian left them then, turning out the lights to leave them in the near darkness. The darkness was not quite complete. The room was slightly illuminated by the flickering flame of the candle beneath the rope support of Ricky's stool. The masked man ignited it just before he disappeared.

Greg could only make loud gurgling, grunting sounds as he continued to choke on his rope, but the other three talked and tried desperately to figure some way out of their respective dilemmas. They were not successful.

Twenty seven minutes after midnight

The rope burned through and the stool supporting Ricky Mendoza collapsed. He had been trying to remain calm and had mapped out his plan. He would tuck his legs swiftly and try to get his feet under him before that God-awful wire did its thing between his thighs. And for just a moment, it seemed to work. But with his hands behind his back and his ankles bound across each other, getting and keeping a balance was probably impossible.

Of course, the searing pain that exploded in his loins as he lost balance and dangled on the wire utterly erased his fragile self-control. His screams echoed all around the weight room as he thrashed about like a fish on a hooked line.

One minute later

The wire finished its cut through the neck of Ricky's sex package and his flexing body fell to the floor. For a few seconds his severed genitals remained caught on the wire above, swaying back and forth like a pendulum, then they too dropped, hitting the floor beside the screaming boy with a wet plop. Blood pumped in steady spurts from the gaping wound where his manhood had been.

Eighteen minutes later

Greg Holloway's thick, strong neck had drawn out his strangulation for a remarkably long time, but finally the heart in his heaving, tortured chest faltered and stopped.

Twenty-six minutes later

Ricky Mendoza finished bleeding to death and lay still on the floor.

One hour forty-one minutes later

Biff Allison wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out. His body was on fire with muscle strain, particularly his thighs and abs. He was having to take rests by submerging his head and shoulders for as long as he could hold his breath and each time it was that much harder to get back up. Sometimes he would wind up swallowing water as he strained to break the surface again and that only made him gag and choke and weakened him that much more.

Twenty minutes later

Pavel Kolczek had always prided himself on the strength in his magnificent body, but not even he could continue to support the weight born on his arms and shoulders much longer. Most young men would have collapsed long before. He sensed that several tendons were about to tear. He was operating now on sheer adrenolin.

Six minutes later

Pavel's arms gave out. The weight dropped and the wire loop around the neck of his genitals began to close, cutting through his skin. His scream was as loud as Ricky's had been nearly three hours earlier, but the cut lasted a mere micro-second. The wire had been connected too loosely to the weights and slipped free under the first stress. The Czech jock wasn't sure at first what had happened, but it gradually dawned on him that, despite the terrible pain between his legs, he had not been castrated. The cut circling the neck of his sex parts was shallow and no major vessal had been severed, nor was there muscle damage. He would lose blood but not at a rate to be life threatening. A witness would again survive the guardian's attack and that was probably what was intended. The negligent wire connection did seem too out of character for him to have been an accident.

Thirty-seven minutes later, 3:54AM...

Biff tried valiently but his body just wouldn't respond anymore. He could not get his head back up after his latest break and could hold his breath no longer. Water gushed in through his open mouth and began to fill his lungs.


Biff was still, the last twitches of his body having played out.


The janitor arrived in the sports complex and began his regular routine.


The janitor stepped into the weight room to see how much attention it needed. He switched on the lights.


The janitor began to scream in terror and fled the weight room.


The first police arrived and discovered that Pavel, though passed out in shock, was still very much alive.

Alvin Biggs had not flown to Atlanta but had holed up in a hotel not far from campus. When he heard a news bulletin about the weight room, he climbed up on the railing of his eighth floor balcony and stepped off. He left no suicide note and had destroyed the guardian's missive, so no-one could really piece all the puzzle together. The police and university, both eager to "solve" the

terrible crime that generated worldwide headlines, embraced a theory that Biggs had gone berserk, committed the murders and then did himself in. Pavel maintained that the attacker was not Biggs, but his trauma had been so profound that his doctors warned not to put much faith in the accuracy of his memory. When he recovered enough, he returned to Prague to finish school.

Baldwin survived the affair. Its sports programs crashed for a while, though the NCAA never learned of the violations Biggs and his stars had committed. Enrollment took a plunge briefly but when there were no more incidents, everyone came to accept that Biggs really had been the killer. The top administrators and the police knew differently for the notes from the guardian continued to arrive periodically. But all of these were met to the there was no cause for further "incidents."