The black and white ransom photo of Derek Benson was haunting to his brothers and father. His eyes, staring at the camera were distant. His hair was matted, sweating was dripping all over his face. He was still wearing the white beater he had left the farm with. He was against a white background. They assumed he was tied up and stressed. The ransom demand was for $5 million or the next photos will show him with his eyes gouged out and he body tortured.
Bound
Chapter 1: The Capture
The morning sun cast long shadows across the northern boundary of the Benson ranch as Derek stepped out of his truck. The fence line needed checking after last week's storm, and he'd volunteered for the job. At nineteen, he was the youngest of the three Benson brothers, but his broad shoulders and calloused hands proved he worked harder than most men twice his age. The white wife beater he wore was already damp with sweat from the morning's heat.
Just another day fixing what the weather broke, he thought, grabbing his tools from the truck bed.
He never heard them coming.
The first blow caught him behind the ear, sending him sprawling into the dirt. Before he could react, rough hands yanked his arms behind his back.
"Don't fight it, ranch boy," a gravelly voice warned. "This'll go easier if you cooperate."
What the hell— Derek's thoughts scattered as rope bit into his wrists. Dad... the ranch... who are these—
A cloth bag went over his head, and the world went dark.
Chapter 2: The Reckoning
When Derek came to, he was sitting in a wooden chair in what felt like a basement. The bag was gone, but his vision was blurry from the head injury. His arms were pulled back at an agonizing angle, wrists bound and pushed up just below his neck. The rope was rough manila hemp, the kind used for ranch work—thick, unforgiving, designed to hold struggling livestock.
His elbows had been forced together behind his back, the coarse rope wound around and around until his forearms were completely lashed as one solid piece. The binding was so tight that his hands had gone numb, his fingers tingling with the restriction of blood flow. From his biceps, separate lengths of the same brutal rope circled around his chest in a complex harness, yanking his shoulders back until the joints felt ready to pop from their sockets.
Jesus Christ, they really know what they're doing. The thought hit him with surprising clarity. This isn't random.
Every breath was a struggle against the chest harness. Sweat was already beading on his forehead, dripping down his face as his body fought against the restraints. The hemp chafed against his skin through his white wife beater, and he could feel it beginning to cut into his bare arms where the rope met flesh.
"Well, well. Sleeping Beauty's awake." A man stepped into his field of vision—tall, thin, with dead eyes. "Derek Benson. Baby of the family. Daddy's favorite."
Derek tested the ropes instinctively. The elbow tie was the worst—forcing his shoulders into an unnatural position that sent lightning bolts of pain down his spine. His forearms, bound so tightly together they might as well have been fused, screamed with the pressure. Can't move my arms at all. Can barely breathe. But... He wiggled his toes inside his boots. They didn't tie my legs.
"Your family's got deep pockets, Derek. Real deep. We want five million, or the next photos we send will show you missing some important parts."
Five million? Derek's mind reeled as sweat continued to stream down his face, salt stinging his eyes. They know exactly who we are. Know what we're worth. But underneath the terror, something else stirred. Something he'd never admitted to himself. The ropes... the helplessness... the way they've got me trussed up like... God, what's wrong with me?
The manila hemp seemed to tighten with every movement, every breath. His shoulders felt like they were being slowly pulled from their sockets, and the binding around his forearms was so severe he could no longer feel his hands at all.
Chapter 3: The Photo
Hours had passed. Derek's hair was matted with sweat that dripped constantly down his face, soaking into his wife beater. The basement was stifling, and the rope harness made every breath a struggle. His body was revolting against the restraints, but they hadn't beaten him—they wanted him looking distressed, not battered.
I should be terrified, Derek thought as they positioned a camera. I am terrified. But why does this feel... He couldn't finish the thought. It was too shameful.
"Look at the camera, ranch boy," the thin man ordered. "Let Daddy see what we've done to his baby."
Derek stared into the lens, his eyes distant, unfocused from the pain and the confusing sensations flooding his system. Sweat dripped steadily from his chin, his hair plastered to his skull. The white background behind him made him look ghostly, ethereal—a broken angel in hemp rope.
The camera flashed. Once. Twice.
"Perfect," the thin man said. "Your daddy's going to lose his mind when he sees his tough ranch hand looking so... vulnerable."
When they left him alone again, the conflicting sensations overwhelmed him. The ropes were excruciating, but they were also... Stop it, he commanded himself. You're going to die. They'll kill you even if Dad pays. Focus.
They never tied my feet.
Chapter 4: The Escape
Twenty hours. Derek had been counting heartbeats, breaths, anything to keep track of time. His captors had left him alone for what felt like hours. The sweat had dried and started again multiple times, leaving salt stains on his wife beater.
They're overconfident. Think these ropes are enough. Derek tested his theory, lifting one foot. The chair creaked but held. If I can stand...
The process was agonizing. With his arms completely immobilized, his balance was shot. He fell twice, crashing to the concrete floor, but each time he managed to work his way back up using the wall.
Come on, Derek. You've been in these woods since you were twelve. You know every trail, every creek.
But when he finally made it outside—stumbling through the basement door they'd carelessly left unlocked—the terror hit him full force. The familiar pine scent that should have oriented him meant nothing. His mind was white with panic.
Which way? Which way? He ran blindly, crashing through underbrush, his bound arms throwing off his balance. Branches tore at his face and caught his wife beater, ripping the thin fabric. I should know this place. I should know...
But the geography was gone, wiped clean by fear.
Chapter 5: The Breaking Point
Derek had been running for hours. His legs were scratched and bleeding, his white wife beater torn to shreds and hanging in tatters. The rope had cut into his shoulders until they were numb, and fresh blood seeped through the hemp where it had abraded his skin raw.
Can't remember... can't think... He collapsed against a massive oak tree, sliding down until he sat in the pine needles. I'm going to die out here. Even if I get away from them, I'll die lost in my own backyard.
The sobs came then, wracking his body. All the fear, all the shame, all the confusion poured out of him.
I wanted this, he admitted to himself. Some sick part of me wanted to be tied up, helpless. And now I'm going to die because of it.
He sat there as the sun began to rise, broken and bound, waiting for either his captors or death to find him.
Chapter 6: Found
"Derek!"
His father's voice cut through the morning air like salvation. Derek tried to call back, but only a croak emerged from his throat.
"Over here! I found him!"
Marcus, his middle brother, crashed through the brush first, his face white with shock at Derek's condition. Their father and oldest brother Jake were right behind him.
"Jesus Christ," his father breathed, immediately working at the ropes. "What did they do to you?"
Derek couldn't speak. Couldn't explain that he'd done this to himself, running blindly through woods he'd known his whole life. That terror had stolen his memory, his advantages, everything.
As the ropes came free and feeling flooded back into his arms, Derek made a decision. Almost dying had shown him something about himself he could no longer ignore.
Chapter 7: The Truth
Three days later, sitting on the porch with his brothers while their father spoke to the FBI, Derek found his voice.
"I need to tell you guys something."
Marcus and Jake looked up from their beers.
Just say it. You almost died keeping secrets.
"I'm gay," Derek said quietly. "Have been my whole life. I know you probably figured it out—I never looked at girls the way I should have."
Jake nodded slowly. "We suspected. But Derek, that doesn't matter to us. You know that, right?"
Derek took a shaky breath. "There's more. When I was tied up... some part of me..." God, how do I say this? "I liked it. The helplessness. I've fantasized about being kidnapped, tied up so tight it would be torture. I know it's sick, but—"
"It's not sick," Marcus interrupted. "It's just who you are."
Derek looked up, surprised.
"Remember when we were kids?" Jake asked. "That game where we'd tie you up and leave you to find your way back to the road?"
"Yeah. When I was fourteen."
"You always asked us to play it. We thought you were just being tough, proving you could handle anything. But you liked it, didn't you?"
Derek nodded, shame burning his cheeks.
"So what do you need?" Jake asked simply.
Chapter 8: Reclaiming
That night, in the barn behind their house, Derek's brothers recreated his fantasy with methodical precision. They used the same rope configuration his captors had—arms yanked back and up, elbows and forearms lashed together, chest locked in a hemp harness, shoulders screaming. Derek wore only a fresh white wife beater, wanting to feel the rope against his skin the same way.
But this time, when they asked if he wanted his legs tied too, Derek shook his head. "I want to fight it. I want to know there's no escape."
This is different, he thought as Marcus tested the knots. This is safe. They love me.
His brothers positioned themselves where Derek could see them, Jake with a camera, Marcus with a timer.
"You've got until dawn, little brother," Jake said with a grin. "Hope you're comfortable."
Derek tested the ropes immediately, throwing his full strength against them. Nothing. Not even a millimeter of give. The helplessness flooded through him, but this time it was pure pleasure, unmarked by terror.
This is what I needed. What I've always needed.
"Struggling already?" Marcus laughed. "We learned a thing or two about knots over the years."
"Please," Derek gasped, pulling frantically at the restraints. "Let me go."
"Not a chance," Jake said, snapping photos. "You asked for this."
They understand, Derek realized. They know I need them to be cruel. To make it real.
Chapter 9: The Long Night
Derek fought the ropes for hours. His brothers took turns tormenting him—Marcus threatening to leave him there all week, Jake taking photo after photo of his struggles, both of them laughing at his desperate attempts to free himself.
No safe word, Derek reminded himself with dark satisfaction. They decide when this ends. Just like real captors.
As the night wore on, Derek catalogued every sensation. The way the manila hemp bit into different pressure points as he shifted. How his breathing changed when he stopped fighting and just hung in the restraints. The delicious agony of complete helplessness in the hands of people he trusted absolutely. Sweat soaked through his wife beater just like during his captivity, but now it felt like purification instead of terror.
I could stay like this forever, he thought around hour six, when the struggling had given way to a meditative state of endurance. This is who I am.
His brothers had grown quiet, watchful. They understood the significance of what was happening—Derek reclaiming his trauma, transforming it into something that belonged to him.
Epilogue: Dawn
When the first light of dawn crept through the barn windows, Jake began untying the knots. Derek's phone, sitting on a nearby hay bale, was full of photos from the night—images that captured his ecstasy instead of his terror.
"How do you feel?" Marcus asked as circulation returned to Derek's arms.
Derek flexed his fingers, feeling the rope burns on his wrists like badges of honor. His wife beater was soaked with sweat, just like in the ransom photo, but this time it represented freedom instead of captivity.
"Free," he said simply.
And for the first time in his life, it was true.
The photos would live in his phone—proof that he'd survived both the real terror and found a way to separate fear from desire. Evidence that his family loved him enough to help him reclaim the darkest parts of himself.
Derek Benson was finally, completely, himself.
End
