The robed men loaded the unconscious bodies of Robin and Green Arrow into their van and drove the short distance to Selena's Place, a notorious and controversial club devoted to sexual adventurers of all persuasions. It was now nearly 4 a.m. and the doors were locked, but Brother Steel reached into one of the pockets in his robe and produced a bright blue key.
"Where'd you get that from?" asked the third man.
"Stole it from one of the members," Steel replied, not wanting to provide any further details. Once inside the door, they lowered the bodies onto the floor and turned on a set of lights.
Brother Steel worked efficiently, as if he knew the place inside and out. "Strap them to those tables over there," he ordered, and the other men obeyed. The three of them had left their comrades back at the new club to continue preparing the space for the coming inferno.
"These guys are into masks, so let's give 'em new ones," Steel said, grabbing a pair of eyeless, noseless, mouthless hoods from a wall display and securing them over the already disguised faces of Robin and Green Arrow. He tightened each one at the neck.
"Watch out, or they won't be able to breathe!" pointed out the first man, clearly the dullard of the bunch.
"That's the whole idea," said the third man, growing impatient. "Now what?" he asked Brother Steel.
"From what I hear," the team leader answered, "a lot of these freaks are into shit like 'mummification,' and--"
"You mean like human mummies?" said the first man.
"Yeah," replied Brother Steel. "Wrappin' each other up 'n shit. Then there's 'breath control,' which sounds like plain ol' suffocation to me. So what we're gonna do is, we're gonna wrap these guys so tight they can't move. I see some special plastic stuff over there. Real heavy duty. Now, usually when they do this shit, they make sure the victim has some air holes, but we're not gonna bother with that..."
"I get it!" said the first man, who was also beginning to sense that the very idea was exciting him to a degree he never could have anticipated. "That's fuckin' hardcore!" His use of the word made him aware that he himself was growing hard as well. "Y'all think y'all can spare me for a minute? I gotta go have a smoke. I'll be right back."
"Just be QUIET," barked the third man as he began the laborious process of wrapping Green Arrow's immobile body, starting at the boots and working his way toward the head. "We don't want anybody pokin' around here before the cops come."
"I hear ya," said the first one. He turned his back to his colleagues and slipped out the front door, then walked to the side of the club. The very thought of what was going on indoors at this moment made it impossible for him to concentrate on anything else. Within seconds he'd reached his hand inside his robes, unzipped his pants, and started to rub his growing erection. Through the window, he could hear faint traces of the wrapping process, and as he stroked himself he envisioned what was going on with the two captives inside, the outlines of their bodies gradually being obliterated by layer upon layer upon layer of plastic...
He was soon so engrossed in pleasuring himself that he didn't even notice the sound had stopped until one of his comrades was standing right beside him. "Hey, 'Brother Hardon,'" said the third man, resting his palm on the first man's shoulder and chuckling at the nickname he'd just devised. "Why don't you bring that business back inside? I think we've got a use for it in there."