Jake and his cousin Billy Benson sat facing each other in the frat house living room, both flexing their muscular arms in their white t-shirts and jeans. The movie flickered on the screen, but they were more interested in their impromptu posing session than the plot.
The two cousins had grown up together, dominated the same wrestling team in high school, and now, as sophomores at the same university and frat, their rivalry had only intensified. Every conversation became a competition - who could bench more, who had bigger arms, who could drink more beer without puking.
Their frat brothers had learned to enjoy the show. Tonight was no different as Jake and Billy faced off, biceps bulging, veins popping under the strain of their flex-off.
That's when the scene on screen caught their attention. A prisoner of war, bound and tortured, his arms yanked behind him with rope cutting deep into his flesh.
"Look how they tied up his fuckin' arms!" Jake said, momentarily breaking his flex to point at the screen.
"Yeah, from his wrists to his biceps, pulling them together," Billy added, his own muscles still taut. "Look how the ropes are digging into his muscle... must fuckin' hurt!"
"Yeah, even his veins are popping!"
One of their frat brothers started laughing from across the room. "You cousins are always competing and bragging about your powerful arms. Even now you're flexing. But what if you both were hogtied like that? Would you be able to take it, and who would break free first?"
Almost in chorus, the Benson cousins looked at each other with that familiar competitive fire in their eyes.
"TIE US UP!"
"Alright, you cocky bastards," laughed their frat brother Mike, already pulling rope from behind the couch. "Let's see how tough you really are."
Jake and Billy exchanged grins, still pumped with adrenaline and testosterone. They'd been tied up before during rush week pranks - nothing they couldn't handle.
"Same position as the guy in the movie," Billy declared, rolling his shoulders. "Wrists to biceps, behind the back."
"Easy money," Jake smirked, standing up and pulling his t-shirt tighter across his chest. "How long you think before Billy here starts whimpering?"
"Fuck you, cuz. I'll be flexing out of these ropes while you're crying for mommy."
The other frat brothers gathered around, phones already out, some placing side bets. Mike motioned for them to turn around.
"Hands behind your backs, tough guys."
Jake felt the first loops of rope around his wrists, rougher than he'd expected. Mike wasn't being gentle - this was tight, tighter than any prank they'd endured before.
Jesus, he's really cranking this down, Jake thought as the rope bit into his skin. But he kept his game face on, glancing over at Billy who was getting the same treatment.
Then came the part that changed everything.
"Now for the real fun," Mike grinned, and Jake felt his elbows being yanked together behind his back.
FUCK!
The thought exploded through Jake's mind as his shoulders screamed in protest. This wasn't like the loose rope games from rush week. Mike was pulling his elbows together - actually together - forcing his shoulder blades to nearly touch.
This fuckin' HURTS!
Across from him, Billy's face had gone rigid, his jaw clenched tight. The cocky smirk was gone, replaced by something Jake recognized - the same expression Billy wore when Coach pushed them past their limits during two-a-day practices.
"There we go," Mike said, securing the elbow rope with professional precision. "Now the forearms."
More rope. Tighter. Jake felt his forearms being lashed together, the coarse fibers cutting into his skin. His biceps were forced into an unnatural arch, only inches apart, the muscles already beginning to strain against the unforgiving position.
Jesus Christ, this is actually serious.
But he caught Billy's eye. His cousin was staring right back at him, and Jake saw the same thought reflected there - neither one of them was backing down. Not in front of the brothers. Not in front of each other.
The competition was on.
"Now we make it just like the movie," Mike announced, pulling out more rope. "On your stomachs, tough guys."
Jake's heart sank as he was pushed forward onto the floor. This wasn't what he'd pictured. He felt rope wrapping around his ankles, then the sickening sensation of his bound feet being yanked up toward his tied arms.
Oh fuck. Oh FUCK.
The hogtie rope connected his ankles to his bound arms, pulling everything tight into one connected system. His back arched painfully, his shoulders screaming as the position locked him into a bow.
"And these," Mike said, producing cloth gags, "so you can't call for help or give up too easy."
Jake tried to protest but the gag was already being forced between his teeth and tied tight behind his head.
The chairs were gone now. Both cousins lay on the carpet facing each other, completely immobilized, their muscled bodies arched and straining against the unforgiving rope.
Jesus Christ, I can barely move.
Jake tested the bonds. Every slight movement sent fire through his shoulders and spine. The rope connecting his ankles to his arms meant any attempt to straighten his legs only pulled harder on his already tortured shoulders.
Across from him, Billy's eyes were wide with the same realization. But even gagged and hogtied, Jake could see the familiar competitive fire still burning there.
"Twenty bucks says Jake breaks first," someone called out.
"You're crazy - Billy's been hitting chest harder this semester. His shoulders are toast."
The bet was on.
The first hour was all adrenaline and stubbornness.
Jake threw everything he had into testing the ropes. He flexed his biceps until they burned, twisted his wrists raw, arched his back trying to create slack somewhere - anywhere - in the unforgiving system.
There's gotta be a weak spot. Mike's good but he's not perfect.
But every movement only seemed to tighten something else. When he tried to relieve the pressure on his shoulders by straightening his legs, the hogtie rope yanked his arms higher. When he attempted to roll to his side for relief, the bound elbows dug into his ribs.
This is fucked. This is actually fucked.
Billy was going through the same desperate calculations. Jake watched his cousin's face cycle through determination, concentration, and brief flashes of something that might have been panic before the competitive mask snapped back into place.
The frat brothers had settled into a loose circle around them, phones recording, side conversations flowing.
"Look at Jake's shoulders - they're already shaking."
"Billy's breathing heavy though. Bet his back's killing him."
"My money's still on Jake breaking first. He's always been the dramatic one."
Jake's jaw clenched around the gag. Dramatic? We'll see who's fucking dramatic when I'm walking out of here first.
But deep down, a cold realization was creeping in. This wasn't going to be about strength or endurance. This was going to be about who could suffer longer.
Three hours in, Jake's shoulders felt like they were being pulled apart by invisible hands.
Focus. Billy's hurting just as bad. Look at him.
His cousin's face was flushed red, sweat beading across his forehead despite the cool room. Billy's chest rose and fell in careful, measured breaths - the same rhythm he used during their most brutal wrestling practices.
He's managing the pain. Smart. But I can do it longer.
Jake tried to shift his weight, searching for any position that might offer relief. The carpet beneath him was already damp with sweat. His wrists had gone numb an hour ago, but the burning in his shoulders had only intensified.
The frat brothers had established a rotation system. Mike was taking the first shift, lounging in a chair with his phone, occasionally looking up from his screen to check on them.
"How you boys doing?" Mike asked, not really expecting an answer through the gags. "Still feeling tough?"
Fuck you, Jake thought, meeting his cousin's eyes. Billy stared back with the same defiant expression, but Jake noticed something new - a tightness around Billy's eyes that hadn't been there before.
He's starting to crack. Just gotta outlast him.
The betting had evolved into a complex pool. Jake could hear fragments of conversation about odds, time estimates, and side wagers about who would try to give up first.
They were entertainment now. Nothing more.
By midnight, the room had quieted. Most of the brothers had drifted off to bed or other weekend activities, leaving just Tommy on watch duty. He'd pulled up a chair and was half-watching Netflix on his laptop, glancing over occasionally at the two bound figures on the floor.
Jake's world had narrowed to the rope. Every fiber pressed into his skin, every knot a focal point of agony. His shoulders had moved beyond burning into something deeper - a grinding ache that pulsed with each heartbeat.
How long has it been? Six hours? Seven?
Time had become elastic, stretching and contracting. Sometimes he felt like he'd been tied for days. Other moments, it seemed like they'd just started.
Billy's breathing had changed. It was shallower now, more controlled, like he was trying to minimize any movement that might worsen the strain. But his eyes - those competitive eyes - still burned with determination when they met Jake's.
Still in this, cuz. Still gonna beat you.
Jake tested the ropes again, more methodically this time. Not the desperate thrashing from earlier, but careful, calculated movements searching for any weakness. His fingers had been numb for hours, but he could still feel the rope texture under his palms.
Nothing. Mike really knew what he was doing.
Tommy looked up from his screen. "You guys want some water or something?" He laughed at his own joke. "Oh wait, you're a little tied up right now."
Asshole. But Jake found himself actually craving water. When had he last had anything to drink?
The night was just beginning.
Around 2 AM, Tommy set his laptop aside and walked closer to examine them. The casual amusement on his face shifted to something more serious.
"Shit, guys," he muttered, crouching down between them. "Your arms are bleeding."
Jake couldn't see his own back, but he could see the dark stains spreading across the sides of Billy's white t-shirt where the ropes had been cutting in. His cousin's shirt was completely soaked with sweat, clinging to his arched body, and Tommy was staring at similar stains seeping through the fabric.
When did that happen? Jake thought, strangely detached. He could feel the wetness now - whether sweat or blood, he couldn't tell anymore.
Tommy looked genuinely concerned now, his phone forgotten. "Look, maybe we should call this off. This is getting pretty intense."
Through his gag, Jake made a sharp negative sound, shaking his head as much as he could manage. Across from him, Billy did the same, his eyes fierce with refusal.
No fucking way. Not when Billy's bleeding too. He'll break first.
Tommy looked back and forth between them. "You sure? Because Mike didn't say anything about..." He gestured at the blood stains. "This is getting real, guys."
Both cousins stared at him with the same message: Keep going.
Tommy sighed and returned to his chair, but Jake noticed he kept the laptop closed now, watching them more carefully. The casual entertainment had shifted into something that required actual supervision.
Good, Jake thought grimly. Billy's hurting just as bad. Maybe worse.
But the sight of his cousin's blood should have scared him. Instead, all he felt was determination.
Eight hours. That's all it had been, but it felt like a lifetime.
Jake's shoulders were on fire, his back cramping from the constant arch. The rope had rubbed his arms raw, and he could feel sticky wetness where it had cut through his skin.
Billy's still there. Still staring. Still competing.
But something was different in his cousin's eyes now. The competitive fire was dimming, replaced by something that looked almost... vacant. Billy's breathing had become erratic, short gasps followed by long pauses.
Jake tried to shift his weight, but every movement sent fresh waves of agony through his bound limbs. His white t-shirt clung to him, soaked through with sweat and spotted with blood seeping through from his back.
Hold on. Just hold on. He's weakening.
Then Billy started making sounds through his gag. Not the defiant grunts from before, but something else. Panicked, desperate whimpering that made the hair on Jake's neck stand up.
Tommy looked up from his phone, suddenly alert. "Shit, Billy? You okay, man?"
Billy's eyes had gone wide with terror, staring at something Jake couldn't see. His body began trembling violently against the ropes.
"Mike!" Tommy called, pulling out his phone. "You need to get down here. I think Billy's having some kind of breakdown."
I won, Jake realized with growing horror. I actually won.
But as Billy's whimpering grew louder and more desperate, victory tasted like ashes in his mouth.
Mike burst through the door with three other brothers behind him, all of them stopping dead when they saw Billy's condition.
"Jesus Christ," Mike breathed, rushing to Billy's side. "What the fuck happened?"
"He just started freaking out," Tommy said, his voice shaking. "Like, really freaking out. Look at his eyes, man."
Billy's face was pale and clammy, his pupils dilated. The panicked whimpering had turned into a low, continuous moan that barely sounded human anymore.
"Cut them loose. NOW," Mike ordered, producing a knife from his pocket.
Jake felt the ropes fall away from his body in sections - first his ankles, then his arms. The sudden release sent fire through his shoulders as blood rushed back into compressed muscles. He rolled onto his side, spitting out the gag, gasping.
I can move. I fucking did it.
Across from him, Billy wasn't moving. Even with the ropes cut, he remained in the same hogtied position, his muscles locked in place from hours of strain. Mike and Tommy were trying to get him to respond, but Billy just stared straight ahead with that vacant, terrified expression.
"Billy! Hey, Billy!" Mike slapped his face gently. "Come on, man. It's over. You're free."
Jake slowly pushed himself to his knees, testing his limbs. Everything hurt, but he was functional. He was the winner.
"Should we call 911?" someone whispered.
Jake looked at his cousin - really looked at him - and felt absolutely nothing. No guilt. No concern. Just the cold satisfaction of victory.
I won. I always knew I would.
____________________________________________________________
The hospital room was cramped with both beds and half the frat crowding around Billy's side. Jake sat on the edge of his own bed, his shoulders bandaged but functional, watching the circus of concern around his cousin.
Billy had been sedated for most of the night, but he was awake now, staring at the ceiling with those same vacant eyes from the basement floor.
"How you feeling, man?" Mike asked quietly, genuine worry etched across his face.
Billy turned his head slowly toward Jake, his eyes focusing with growing intensity.
The room went silent. Everyone turned to look at Jake, expecting some kind of reconciliation, some acknowledgment of what they'd both been through.
Instead, Jake chuckled softly and shook his head. "Well, that was entertaining. Eight hours and you completely lost it. I mean, the sounds you were making..." He mimicked Billy's panicked whimpering with casual amusement.
The collective gasp from the frat brothers filled the room.
"Jake, that's not cool, man," Tommy said, stepping forward.
Jake shrugged, completely unbothered. "What? I'm just saying it was pretty hilarious watching him crack like that. All that tough talk about his powerful arms." He flexed his own bandaged shoulders mockingly.
Billy's face contorted with pure rage. "You sick piece of trash!" he shouted, trying to sit up despite the nurse's protests. "You think this is funny? You think what happened to me is a joke?"
"Kind of, yeah," Jake replied with a smirk. "The way you started shaking and making those little scared noises? Classic."
"I TRUSTED YOU!" Billy screamed, his voice cracking. "We were supposed to be family! We went through that hell together!"
Jake laughed coldly. "Hell? I was fine. You're the one who couldn't handle it. Eight measly hours and you completely lost your mind."
Billy struggled against the IV lines, his face red with fury. "You watched me break down and you felt nothing! NOTHING!"
"Why should I feel anything? You lost. I won. That's how it works, Billy."
"You're not human!" Billy's voice was hoarse from shouting. "What kind of person watches their own cousin suffer like that and laughs?"
Jake shrugged, completely unmoved. "The kind that doesn't quit when things get tough. Maybe if you hit the gym more instead of crying—"
"GET OUT!" Billy roared, throwing his water cup at Jake's head. "GET THE HELL OUT OF MY SIGHT!"
Jake dodged easily, still smiling. "Gladly. I want a separate room anyway," he told the shocked nurse. "I can't stand listening to him whine anymore."
"You're dead to me," Billy whispered, his voice breaking. "Dead to me, you hear that? DEAD TO ME!"
Jake pulled off his frat letters and tossed them on Billy's bed. "Good. I'm transferring schools anyway. Can't be associated with quitters."
He walked toward the door, then paused and looked back with that same cold smile. "Thanks for the easy win, cuz."
Billy's anguished scream followed Jake down the hospital corridor, leaving behind a room full of stunned silence and the shattered remains of what had once been family.
