Capture Club - Part One

Author: lithium500mg
Title: Capture Club - Part One
Date: 24 March 2016

Capture Club – Part One

I responded to an advertisement in the Las Vegas Weekly that read “Men’s Capture Club, PO Box 101099, LV 89124, send $2:00 for information.” I was curious. Four days later I received the promised package. It included an application for membership, liability waivers (enough for NASCAR, Dr. Kevorkian, and the Flying Wallendas combined), and a short list of options. There were no descriptions of activities, members, locations, or hardly anything else. The captures would take place within a six-month period. The submission required a newly-taken shirtless photograph, a copy of a Driver License, and a Cashier’s Check for $275.

I was finally of full legal age in Nevada, 21 years, had just been graduated from UNLV, and was the youngest son of a prominent and well-to-do LDS family. I was not an active or practicing member of the Church, and had avoided excommunication mainly due to the influence of my family. Moreover, I did not wear the religious garments required of Mormon folks. That underwear would have looked out of place on Lake Mead with the rest of my UNLV crew team in Spandex singlets and Speedos.

I set up my smart phone on the wall using painter’s tape, set the camera to “delay,” and snapped a dozen or so pictures. I wore my scarlet-and-gray UNLV Speedo to show off my big rower’s legs. The “rower’s tan” showed white stripes where the shoulder straps of the singlet normally set. I was careful to arrange my package to show three distinct bulges. The photos showed that my 6’2” and 185 lbs. was very well distributed.

The application stated that all captures were anonymous and with no warning. Only two levels of “torment” were offered – “moderate” and “high”. Daddy’s money could handle the $275, but the two severe choices, the only two, made me delay the submission. They didn’t say “torture”, so maybe “moderate” meant just like fraternity hazing or something like that. I decided to sleep on it.

I was horny and hard all night. The next day I went into downtown Vegas to have the required 8x10 color photos printed at a Walgreen’s. While waiting I visited a sex shop to look at bondage stuff like cuffs and gags in the sex shops. I got to thinking that there was no option for the length of time of the capture. For that matter, there was no definition of “moderate” or even “torment.”

Before the day was over, I mailed my papers. I applied for a moderate level of torment.

The next couple weeks were a time of high jerk-off. I was working construction on a Vegas hotel, but the Capture Club was seldom far from my mind. I wanted to stay in shape so I could continue to work out with the UNLV crew team, and working outside pouring concrete all day did the trick. The $275 check had been cashed almost immediately, but there was no other confirmation. A few weeks later, I had lost interest or mostly forgotten about the Capture Club as I had gotten into a regular routine of work, workouts, and socializing. I figured the $275 was just another bad bet at the sports book. Still, it didn’t feel like a scam since those folks usually try to hit you up for more money.

I had the usual long day, working on the new parking building at the Trump Hotel and Casino. I headed for my car after working out at UNLV. I get cleaned up at home, so I was wearing just my gym shorts and a T-shirt with my construction gear in my gym bag. UNLV is some distance from the Vegas Strip, and the bright lights at night did not reach my parking area. I had just gotten my car keys out of the bag and opened the car door when I was jumped. I had seen the guys who jumped me, but in the dark they just looked like UNLV students who had lost their car in the big parking lot.

One guy grabbed me from behind and pinned my arms. Another pulled a heavy cloth bag over my head that was freshly filled with pepper spray. My eyes and lungs started to burn. I used all my strength to try to free my hands and save my lungs, but I couldn’t get my arms free. The guy behind me lifted my legs off the ground and another bound my ankles and legs. Ropes then pulled my arms into my upper body and then behind me. They used handcuffs to secure my wrists.

Immediately after the initial capture was complete, they pulled off the bag and taped my stinging eyes. I could not call for help because it was all I could do to get air comfortably into my lungs. I wasn’t struggling at all and I didn’t even recall that I had signed up for a capture. I got shoved onto the floor of the back seat of my own car with two guys over me, and we drove off. As I recovered and was able to take a full breath, an open-mouth wire gag let me know I wasn’t going to be doing any talking. Anyway, the sting in my eyes just had me crying out unintelligibly in pain.

The first thing that flashed into my mind was that I was being kidnapped for Daddy’s money. Then my shoes and socks came off, and my shirt, shorts and jock were knifed and shredded off. A cord was tied around my cock and balls. Not the sort of actions of kidnappers. We stopped on the street opposite a gas station and one of the guys hopped out and threw my gym clothes, shoes and all, into a trash bin. We continued on where two of the guys, using my keys, entered my apartment. They left my construction gear and returned after almost an hour with a pillowcase full of unknown stuff. I was strongly encouraged to stay silent in the car by severe stress on my encircled cock and balls.


We headed out of town, I guessed north since the postal code where I sent my application was for a rural part of Clark County. After perhaps an hour, we stopped off the highway where I was unloaded and was able to stand up next to the car. My bare feet told me I was on a dirt road. They checked the cuffs, removed the ropes, added leg cuffs, and added belly chains that were locked to the cuffs. The cord circling my junk was removed, but the gag remained.

Next, they removed the tape over my eyes, and I got my first look at the Club members, although only fractional moonlight was lighting up the sky. One was big and strong, probably six feet. The other three were wiry, one taller and two shorter than me. When they were done fixing the restraints, they pretty much left me alone while they went off to take a piss.

I now understood that the Capture Club was fulfilling its contract, but I had imagined that the adventure would just be a more-or-less friendly kidnapping, a little rope and maybe cuffs, a little rough-housing, maybe some threats of harm, some torn clothes, and an eventual return home. The pepper spray, rough capture and the painful bound-up ride in the car was more discomfort than I had bargained for.

Standing in metal restraints by the car, I was mostly recovered, and feeling pretty good. I was somewhat embarrassed about being the only one naked, but then I had excitedly sent the $275. Anyway, I had a good body and wasn’t ashamed of any part of it. It was beginning to look like a fun experience. My most discomfort was from the open-mouth gag. I hadn’t been able to close my mouth since the capture, my jaw was sore, and I wanted in the worst way to ask questions.

It had been a very long day that included work, workouts, and now this. And I could use a piss myself. Still, when I stood up straight I could feel my nipples tingling a little and my dick stirring a little more.

When the kidnappers had emptied their bladders, one of the wiry guys helped me hobble several steps away from the car and let me take my own piss. He left me alone and went back to the car. It took a while, but I eventually got over being pee-shy, and then let go. The leg cuffs prevented me from spreading my legs to avoid splash. With my hands cuffed behind my back and attached to the belly chains, I couldn’t hold up my dick to give the stream of piss some elevation. I got lots of splash on my feet and some on my lower legs. Finally I squeezed out the last few drops.

Just then, the four yelled out “Have fun getting back, Speedo boy”, got in the car and drove off. I watched as the car kicked up dust for half a mile or so, and then disappeared on the main highway.