Disclaimer: the following story is a purely fictional account. Any relationship to any real person living or dead is coincidental. The narrative contains non-consensual gay sex, torture, and mutilation. It is intended for mature readers who wish to view such material, and for whom it is legal to do so. The author in no way condones or promotes such acts in real life.
Copyright © 1999 by POW. For spam prevention, an animal name has been added to the author’s e-mail address. Remove the animal name to get the actual address: POWauthor zebra at yahoo dot com. This story may be freely copied and distributed so long as it is copied in its entirety, unchanged, including the author credit information and disclaimer. Other POW stories are available at https://powauthor.wordpress.com. The author welcomes feedback.
Hopeless
Chapter 1
The ad on the supermarket bulletin board was from a medical company. It said they were doing a study on the general health in the area, and would pay twenty-five bucks to anyone who would come to their offices and take a few tests. Since I lost my last job two weeks before, I was on the lookout for some extra cash.
I’d been working construction, framing houses in a new development that was going up. It wasn’t the most exciting job, but it paid OK. The problem was the crew foreman, who happened to be my brother-in-law. I’ll never understand why my sister married him. He’s a jackass, and I didn’t have any problem telling him so. So next thing I knew I was looking for work again.
Twenty-five bucks wasn’t much, but every little bit helped, and it would only take an hour or so. It wasn’t like I had anyplace else to go, so I called from the pay phone and made an appointment for the next day.
Dr. Cresh, who seemed to be in charge of the place, met me in his office. He had me fill out some forms – general state of health, family history, diet, exercise routine, that sort of thing. After that came an interview, where he asked me some follow-up questions about my answers on the form. Then an aide led me into a gym where they hooked me up to some monitors and had me do a work out.
Gyms aren’t my thing. I don’t see the point of exercise if you’re not doing anything. I guess with all the jobs I’ve had, mostly in construction, delivery, and warehousing, I figure if I’m going to use my muscles, it ought to be to do something. Seems silly to pick something up just to put it back down again. Don’t get me wrong, I like having muscles, and I’ve got a pretty decent set. But gyms just don’t do it for me. Besides, there’s too many faggots that hang out in places like that, scoping out the guys working out. It’s sick.
This was OK, though, ’cause it was just me and the two aides, and they looked straight enough. It was all pretty basic stuff, a treadmill, a step machine, a rowing bench, some weights. I’m in pretty good shape, and thought I turned it a decent performance.
When I was finished, they took me back to Dr. Cresh’s office for some final questions. That was the point when things first started to get weird.
“So, Ed… very impressive scores, physically. You’re a very healthy young man. Let’s see… you’re 23, single… you have a girlfriend, Ed?”
“Yeah. Well, sort of. Her name’s Linda. I haven’t seen her in a couple weeks, though. She’s off visiting her grandparents in Detroit.”
“Tell me, Ed, what are your plans for the next few weeks?”
“Well, I don’t have much planned, yet. I was gonna do some work for my buddy – he’s got a delivery business – but at the last minute he called and said there wasn’t enough work for him to hire me. So I’m still looking.” I wasn’t sure where he was going with this.
“I see. On the survey you said your parents are both deceased? Do you have any other family in the area?”
“Just my sister. And her jackass husband. But they, uh, well, probably don’t want to hear from me for a while. Last time we talked, it was not a good thing.”
“Hmm… One last question, for you, Ed. Does anyone know you’re here today?”
That question made me nervous. Why would he need to know something like that? I told the doc I thought I was done now and got up to leave.
Before I could get to the door, two burly aides, way more built than the two earlier, came tearing through it. Each one grabbed me by an arm. Between them, they lifted me like I was a kid and plunked me back in the chair I had just gotten up from. Dr. Cresh spoke again.
“Ed. I’m not through with you, yet.”
There was a long pause.
“In fact, it will be a very long time before I’m through with you.”
Chapter 2
Five minutes later, I was strapped tightly to the chair. The two aides were quick and efficient at tying me down, even though I fought like hell. It was useless; either one of them alone could have taken me out. Up against both I had no chance.
My arms were strapped down at my wrists, below and above the elbows, and around my biceps. Another pair of straps held me by the chest and stomach, and four more pinned my legs in place. Worst of all, they forced a thick rubber ball into my mouth and strapped it in place behind my head, then clamped my head to the back of the chair. I could grunt, but I couldn’t say a word, and I couldn’t turn my head an inch.
That didn’t stop me from trying to thrash and howl, though. I fought, and grunted through the gag, and pretty much totally exhausted myself in a useless struggle to get free. Through it all, Dr. Cresh watched me without saying a word, and the two aides stood out of sight behind my back.
Finally I gave up. The doc started to speak.
“Are you ready to listen, Ed? I hope so, because I’m only going to go through this little speech once. Please pay attention.”
“Your life has completely changed. You will never again go back to the life you had before you walked into my office. It would be for the best if you accepted that fact now, but I know from experience that you won’t. You will resist, you will fight, and I will have to break your will and force you into submission to me. Fortunately, that is a task I will enjoy.”
“In your new life, you will provide service to my clients. My clients are all men who enjoy sexual domination over other men, acts of sadism, and, in general, hurting, tormenting, and humiliating helpless victims. Such as you.”
“In order to provide my clients with a safe experience, I am going to have to make some modifications to your body. The process of making these modifications will, in part, help me to break your will. And, Ed, have no doubt that, when I have finished with you, you will be completely broken. If I order you to insert bamboo shoots under your own toenails and then ignite them, you will do it with no hesitation.”
“In general, here is how things will work: I will give you a command. You will either carry out my command, in which case the pain you suffer will be minimal, or you will fail to carry out my command. If you fail, I or one of my assistants will do the task for you, only we will do it in such a way as to cause you as much pain and suffering as possible.”
“I hope this is clear so far. As I said before, I don’t expect you to accept all this at once. But I have no doubt you will eventually see the wisdom of complying with my wishes.”
“For now, let me tell you what will happen next. A man who looks very much like you is going to go into your sister’s house. He will kill her and your ‘jackass’ brother-in-law with a knife. Then he will burn their house to the ground.”
My eyes grew wide, and I tried to scream in protest, but all I could do was make muffled grunting sounds. The doctor waited until I was quiet before continuing.
“The police will assume that you were the killer. They will assume that you became enraged after your sister’s husband fired you from your job, and so you killed him, and her. And yourself, after setting fire to the house.”
“They will assume this because they will find one of your fingers and one of your teeth in the charred rubble.”
“So, we need to provide them with one of your fingers and one of your teeth. I am now going to release your right arm and provide you with an axe. You have five minutes to chop off one of the fingers of your left hand.”
With that, he turned away. One of his aides came up from behind me and unstrapped my right arm. Then he handed me a small hatchet and stepped back out of sight.
I couldn’t believe what was happening. How could I have gotten myself into a situation like this? I’ve been in trouble before, but it’s always been bar fights and street brawls. I’ve been afraid for my life a couple times, but mostly I can take care of myself. This guy was totally unlike anyone I’d ever come across. He caught me completely by surprise and totally overwhelmed me. And now he wanted me to cut off my own finger?!?
I set the axe down on my lap, reached up with my freed arm and started to undo the strap holding the gag in place. It was hard to reach, behind my pinned head like it was, so I barely got a chance to touch it before one of the aides grabbed my arm and moved it away. I was in no position to fight him, so I gave up. Then I started to think about other ways I could use the axe, but they were ready for me there, too. They let me pick it up, but if I tried to swing it at anything except my own hand, they prevented me. They were quick and quiet, and there was no way I could sneak anything past them.
But there was no way in hell I was going to cut off my own finger!
I tried to talk around the gag, but everyone in the room ignored me. I didn’t expect anything else, since again all I could make were muffled grunts. So finally I just sat there until the five minutes were up. After what felt like hours, Dr. Cresh looked up and began speaking again.
“For what it’s worth, everyone so far has failed the first time. It’s a shame. So much pain could be avoided if you idiots would only pay attention to what I tell you. But now, it’s too late.”
“If you had chopped off your own finger, it would have been a clean cut. It would have hurt a little, then the pain would have stopped. I would have provided you with clean bandages, antiseptic cream, and an anesthetic to ease the sting.”
“But now, you force me to do the job for you. And I promise you, you will not enjoy the way I perform this surgery.”
The aide came forward again and strapped my right arm back down, in spite of my struggles. The other one went over to the side of the room and wheeled back a surgical tray. When I saw the tools on it, I nearly panicked. He had all kinds of blades and liquids and other things which I had no idea what they were. The doctor pulled his chair close to mine and began to inspect my left hand, which I closed into a fist. Trying to protect myself, even though I was already beginning to guess it was hopeless.
“Typical,” muttered Dr. Cresh when he tried to pry my hand open. He nodded to one of the aides, who came over and, using only one of his huge hands, pried my fingers apart. Then, one by one, he set each finger down on the wooden arm of the chair and pounded a U-shaped metal staple over each top knuckle, and another where the finger met my hand. He left only the smallest finger free. When he was done, I couldn’t move my hand at all. Only the little finger had some freedom, waving around in the air off the side of the chair arm.
The doctor continued his examination. “I think we’ll start with fire. The finger is going to be burned in the house, anyway, so why not get a head start?” He lit a candle, and then he must have seen the look of panic in my face, because he smiled a bit and said “Scared already? Oh, my boy, this is only the beginning.”
He picked up what looked like a pair of pliers from his tray, but the business end had a gap in it. I saw why when he fit the gap around the tip of my finger, then squeezed the tool shut and gave the handle to an aide. There was pain, though it wasn’t too bad. But it allowed him to keep my finger stretched while he picked up the candle in his other hand and held it underneath.
The guy was a pro. He knew exactly how close to hold the candle flame to my skin to cause me horrible pain without burning me too badly. He teased me for at least half an hour, bringing the flame closer to my finger, waving it around, holding it in place until I could smell the skin burning then pulling it away and giving me a chance to recover before starting all over again. I screamed into the gag the whole time. He paid no attention.
Finally he put the candle back on the tray, the aide released the pliers, and I collapsed into a heap. Well, I would have if I hadn’t been strapped down so tight, but I relaxed into the chair, at least. My muscles all ached – I must have had them tensed the whole time. Then suddenly I realized that this couldn’t be the end – he said he was going to take the finger off! – and I tensed right back up again.
The doctor was dipping a brush into one of the liquids on his tray. It smelled like gas or kerosene or something. He used the brush to paint my finger with the stuff until it was dripping, and I knew what was coming next. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the pain to begin.
It did. He ignited my finger with the candle and sat back to watch me burn. My eyes flew open and I saw the blue flame licking up from my finger, which was already blackened and burnt from its previous abuse. Somehow, this was worse, because the flames were everywhere, all at once. It lasted forever while I yelled and cried and fought uselessly to break free. Finally the flames went out and all that was left was a dull ache. I could see that some of the nail had melted, and the skin was cracked and blistered. I almost passed out, I think, but then I saw what the doctor was holding in his hand: a Dremel.
A Dremel is a high-speed rotating tool. I used one in shop class back when I was going to school. The shaft can spin at some hugely fast speed, a couple thousand RPM or something. If you put a grinding disk on the shaft, you can cut through even hardened steel. And I knew what he was going to do with it. I begged, I pleaded, I promised him I would do anything for him, but he couldn’t understand a word I said, and I don’t think he would have cared if he could. All I could do was watch helplessly as he revved the Dremel up, looked me in the eye, smiled at the fear he saw, and bent to place the edge of the spinning disk against my charred skin.
Surprisingly, the pain wasn’t too bad. At least, not as bad as the burning had been. Maybe some of my nerves had been over-sensitized, or killed off, or something. But mentally, it was much worse. I guess I could see myself healing, recovering from the burning, but there was no way I could ever grow a new finger. I was going to have nine fingers for the rest of my life! And that was if he didn’t take any more off. He said he was going to make “body modifications” to me, but he never said exactly what those modifications would be. And all I could do was squeeze my eyes shut and hope he would finish soon.
He didn’t, of course. He took forever. He would grind a little way in, then stop and start again in a different place. There was blood, but not as much as I expected. I guess the heat had seared off some of the veins. He made his cuts at varying angles, saying the edge of the finger shouldn’t look like it was cut cleanly. I could tell the first time he hit the bone. The high-pitched whine dropped a bit as the disk slowed, but he revved it right back up to speed and kept cutting. A new pain started then, the kind of deep bone pain you get when you slam your finger in a car door. Tears streamed down my face while my bright red blood spattered all over the place, spat out by the spinning Dremel.
Finally he stopped cutting, although the finger was still attached. He took hold of the finger then and proceeded to bend it, twist it, and pull it, each movement causing worse and worse agony for me. The bone finally broke apart and the remaining skin and muscle tore free while I screamed and bled. He clamped some bandages over the stump, which immediately got soaked with blood, then waved my blackened, bloody finger in front of my face. I cried and moaned, and he just smiled at me.
“The lesson you need to learn from this,” he said, “is to pay attention to what I tell you. When I give you a command, you DO it. No matter how horrible you think my order is, I guarantee you I will make it much worse if you fail to obey me.” I listened through a haze of pain and shock. How could I ever follow an order to mutilate myself? And yet, how could I not? There was no way to win against this guy, no way at all.
“Now, about your tooth. I’m going to give you a freebie – I’m going to remove the tooth for you, fairly painlessly, rather than ask you do it. This is not out of any concern for you, of course. I just need the tooth to be undamaged. I don’t want the police investigator to wonder why there are scrape marks on the enamel or why the root has been mangled. Cops are very good with teeth. Gentlemen?”
The two aides stood on either side of me. They tilted the chair back so I was sitting on an angle, then unstrapped my head and undid the gag. Before I could speak, one of them stuck his gloved hands in my mouth and grabbed my jaws. He pulled them apart, one up, one down, until I thought he was going to dislocate my face. I thrashed feebly in the straps, with no effect. It was hard to see what Dr. Cresh was doing, but I could tell he had picked up another set of pliers, these with rubber grips over the teeth. He inserted them between my widely-spread teeth and moved around until he settled on one of my lower back teeth.
He clamped the pliers around my poor tooth and began to rock it back and forth. At first there was a lot of resistance, and my entire head moved with every yank on the tool. The aides held my head tightly, though, and soon enough the tooth began to break loose from my gums. There was pain, of course. I struggled helplessly, but it was no use. Finally, the tooth broke free, and the taste of blood filled my mouth. The doctor stuck a wad of gauze into the gap where my tooth had been and told me to bite on it, which I did.
“Take him away,” the doctor ordered.
The aides released me from the chair. I should have fought harder, but I think I was in shock from the pain and the insanity of this whole situation, so I didn’t resist as hard as I might have. Not that it would have done any good, anyway. The aides hauled me off down a flight of stairs into a basement cell. They pushed me inside and locked the door.
The cell was small, but there was a bed, a toilet, a sink, and fresh gauze and bandages to put on the places where my tooth and finger had been. Even though it couldn’t have been later than mid-afternoon, I curled up on the bed and cried myself to sleep.
Chapter 3
I awoke some time later hungry, thirsty, sore, and with a very full bladder. The sink and the toilet took care of two of those needs, but there was nothing I could do about the pain or the hunger. And there was nothing to do but wait after that, since I couldn’t get past the locked door. I banged halfheartedly on it with my good hand, but I really didn’t expect them to pay attention to me, any more than they did the day before.
It must have been several hours later when they finally came to get me. I would have tried to make a break for it, but the door had two layers. The outer one was heavy and soundproof, and just inside it was a prison-style set of bars that could slide to one side. No way to surprise someone on the other side. So I sat quietly while the door opened, and this enormous giant appeared on the other side. He was even bigger than the two from yesterday, and it wasn’t hard to see why there was just him with no backup. He grabbed me by the arm, picked me up, and threw me over his shoulder for the trip back upstairs. I shouted and hollered, and the activity started my gum bleeding again, so I was spraying blood all over the place. He ignored me, of course. I was learning to not expect anything else.
He brought me back to Dr. Cresh’s office, and dumped me back in the chair. Like before, I was strapped down to the point of immobility, and then the guy stood back behind me, out of sight.
A couple minutes later, the doctor walked in. He was carrying a newspaper. “Ah, Ed. Welcome to day two of your new life. Want to see how your old one ended?”
He held the paper in front of my face. I’m not a real fast reader, so it took me a while to figure out what the article said. But the picture across the front page told the story just fine by itself.
It was a view of where my sister’s house used to be.
I read the whole article. That bastard had done everything he said he would. The cops found my burned finger and my tooth and figured I must have done it – two murders and a suicide. They were pretty sure they knew how: I had strapped a bomb around my chest. They found the makings for it in my car (!), which was parked down the street. I blew up the bomb after killing my sister and her husband, which started the fire. It also explained why no more of my body was found – it was all blasted to tiny pieces. The article said the house was so totally destroyed it was a miracle they found even the bits they did.
I couldn’t believe it. He had really done it. All the family I had left was dead, and everyone else in the world thought I killed them. My picture was plastered all over the front page. It was the one from right before I dropped out of high school, when I looked pretty scruffy, but the way they printed it somehow made me look even worse; I looked downright evil. So not only was I dead to the world, I was a demon, too.
“I wasn’t kidding, was I?” the doctor said. “Does this encourage you to believe me when I tell you something? I hope so. I hope, for your sake, that you are a fast learner.”
“Now, on to today’s agenda. Today you are going to be raped. Multiple times. I’m not going to take part myself, but there are a number of men here who have been looking forward to having you since your arrival. For about six weeks before each new acquisition, I enforce chastity among my aides. They, of course, resent it, so by the time the new guy arrives, they’re already conditioned to hate him. They’re all very horny, and they’re going to take it all out on you. Have you ever been fucked before? I didn’t think so. Well, after today, you will have.”
“One more thing before I leave: when you return to your cell tonight, you will find some instructions waiting for you. Need I remind you of yesterday’s lesson?”
He turned to go, and I yelled after his retreating back “Dr. Cresh? Dr. Cresh?!? Please – please, don’t go, wait! Please… please…” my voice trailed off into oblivion as his footsteps faded down the hall. Raped? GANG-raped? Oh, God, how was I going to survive this? My heart sank. For the first time, but not the last, I wished I could die.
I felt a presence near my left ear. The giant leaned down behind me and whispered “I can’t wait to hear you scream…”
Five more burly aides filed into the room, including the two from yesterday. They were wearing all kinds of leather gear and chains, like bikers gone overboard. Quickly, but quietly, they unstrapped me from the chair. The biggest one slung me over his back while I kicked and screamed and pleaded with them to not do this, that I’d do anything at all for them if they would just let me go. I realized even as I said it that all they wanted from me was my ass, which they already had, so I was trying to bargain from total weakness. Finally one of them got tired of the noise I was making and hollered “SHUT UP!”, slamming me in the face with his massive fist. I saw stars, and I shut up.
They took me downstairs again, past my cell and on to the end of the hall. The passage opened up into a giant, dimly lit room. I only got a quick look around before they dumped me on the floor, but what I saw terrified me. This was a full-blown torture chamber! There were all kinds of horrifying things on the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Tables and racks, metal and leather restraints, chains, whips, the works. I had no doubt that at some point, I would experience every single one of them…
A fierce pressure on my back snapped my attention back to my torturers. One of them had slammed his booted foot between my shoulder blades and was leaning on my back. Another one took a short piece of rope and knotted my hands together behind my back, so the wrists were facing each other. Then he took a longer rope and looped it several times around one arm, just above the elbow. He tied it off, then did the same to my other arm. Then he took another long piece and threaded it between each arm rope and the skin underneath, and began pulling.
I felt my arms getting closer and closer together behind my back. The guy standing on my shoulders took over the pulling, and used all his weight to lean into my back while yanking the rope tighter and tighter. Eventually, my elbows met, but he still didn’t stop. Instead, he tied that rope off, got a second one, and did the same thing higher up my arm, right around the center of my biceps. Once that one was tied off, he re-tightened the first, then the second again, then finally, he stopped.
My arms were on fire. The tight coils around my upper arms cut off the blood to my hands, and they were starting to go numb. Bad as that was, the shoulders were worse. They felt like any moment they would pop out of their sockets and disjoint themselves. The pressure was tremendous. And the position my arms were in squeezed my ribs together, so I couldn’t take a decent breath. I was gasping and croaking, lying on the floor while my tormentors started the next phase of my agony.
Two of them grabbed me by the arms, lifting me up off the floor and sending new waves of pain through me. They led me over to a table and bent me down over it at the waist. They spread my legs wide apart, so wide that I couldn’t keep my weight on them without risking a groin pull. I had to rest on my stomach on the edge of the table, which made breathing even harder. They tied my ankles to the legs of the table, holding my legs in that cruel position. Then they tied off my knees, too, so I couldn’t move my legs at all.
Finally, they locked a metal collar around my neck, then stretched a chain from it to the far end of the table. They pulled it tight before fastening it in place, forcing me to stretch my neck out. I couldn’t inch upward across the table because my legs were tied too tightly, and besides, with my arms where they were, I couldn’t get a grip anyway. The chain was tight enough to choke me a bit, so that every shallow breath now burned my throat on the way in and out. I was in agony.
Through all this the aides were laughing and joking, mocking me and my rasping breath, jeering at the tears that had squeezed out of the sides of my eyes. I gave up begging – there was no point since they were all obviously looking forward to raping me senseless. Then the humiliation got worse, although I was expecting it. Two of the aides took sharp knives and began cutting my clothes off my body. Somehow, tied and helpless as I was, it was ten times worse to be stripped naked in front of these monsters. I felt like a little child, powerless in a world of giants.
When every scrap of fabric was gone, they began the rape. My ass was pinned in place, open and exposed. I had no idea what to expect; the only thing I was sure of was that it was going to hurt. One of them – I don’t know which – took his place behind me. I heard him spit into his hand, heard him rub the slime around with his fingers. Then something warm touched my hole and I jumped, bringing out another round of laughs from the spectators. I thought it was his cock at first, but it turned out to be his finger. With my eyes shut tight, I felt him probe around the outside of my asshole, talking to me all the while.
“Yeah, little boy, there you go, don’t be scared. Big Daddy’s gonna take good care of you now, little boy, ain’t that right. How’s that feel, there, little boy, you like how that feels? Yeah, little boy, that’s right…”
The soothing tone of voice kept the others hooting with laughter and more jeers. He began to push a little harder, then, sticking his finger part of the way inside then drawing it back out again, then pushing in a little farther. I started to let out little groans as I panted for breath, which they loved to hear.
“Yeah, little boy, you like that, doncha? Feel Big Daddy’s finger there? How’s that feel, there? You like that, little boy? You wanna feel that finger a little deeper now, don’t you, uh huh…”
I tried to clench myself tight and keep him from entering, but it was no use. He pushed past my sphincter all at once, then, in one single motion, and buried his finger completely in my ass. My fingers spread out on their own, trying to get a grip on the invader, fight him off somehow. I had never felt so helpless before in my entire life. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, I could do to stop this from happening.
He toyed around with his finger a little more, then the others started shouting for him to “quit fuckin’ around and get goin’”. Which he did. Another hawking sound, another blob of spit, and I knew the inevitable couldn’t be put off any longer.
I screamed when he entered me – I couldn’t help it. A long, loud, scream, high-pitched like a girl, that completely drained my compressed lungs of air and made me gasp to refill them. His cock felt huge inside me, and he had shoved it in with one powerful thrust. I felt like my ass was being ripped apart. He held it there for a minute or two, until I calmed down, and then he began to pump. He started slowly, sliding all the way out, then forcing his way back in again. Every reentry was like the first time all over again.
He buried his enormous cock all the way on every thrust, and eventually stopped pulling out on each backswing. As time passed I could feel my gut filling up with air. I felt like I needed to fart it out, but the giant dick blocked me. The cramping in my guts added to the agony I was already feeling. Also making my torment worse was the friction of his rough skin on my ass lining. One blob of spit wasn’t much lubrication, and the irritation was starting to get noticeable. I had no doubt it was going to get much, much worse.
After what felt like forever but was probably only a few minutes, he speeded up the strokes and started breathing heavily. I could feel the pulses when they began, squirting load after load of semen into my bruised ass. I felt like I was going to throw up, but was able to swallow it down. A few final thrusts and he was done, and the giant cock pulled out. A huge wad of gas and liquid followed it, and I felt the disgusting remnants trickle down my leg. Before a second fart could follow, rapist number 2 had positioned himself and was ready to start his turn.
It was over fairly quickly, all told. The last one was monstrously huge, but by then I had hit my pain limit, or so I thought. I didn’t think it could get any worse. He tore me a bit, I think, but it was still bearable. Each rape took no more than five minutes. Dr. Cresh had said they had been sexually deprived for weeks, so I guessed that was why they had all come so quickly. When the last one pulled out and they started to untie me, I breathed a little sigh of relief at having survived. My ass felt torn and brutalized, but it felt like it would heal in a few days.
They untied my arms and the blood came rushing back in. The pain of renewed sensation was worse than the numbness, almost making me wish they had left the ropes on. At least I could breathe again, and, in the rush to get fresh air back in my body, I lost track of what the six rapists were doing.
I was wrenched back to awareness when I was suddenly yanked off the floor by the chain that was still around my neck. I choked and gagged and spun in circles, legs kicking wildly, and saw one of the aides operating a winch. They had hooked me up to the ceiling and were now leaving me here to hang! Thank God my arms were still free, and I got a grip on the chain and clawed my way up until I could breathe again. It was hard to hang on with my still-recovering hands and arms, but I clung to that chain for all I could. The six of them were pointing and laughing again as I swung in reckless arcs from the end of my tether.
One of them went off and got a rope, which he tied tightly around the base of my balls. No man has ever touched my cock or balls before, and I would have tried to stop this guy, too, but I needed both hands to stay alive. My arms were still too weak after their ordeal. Instead, I kicked at him and actually managed to land a solid one before two of the others pinned my legs. They pulled down on them, making my grip on the chain links even harder to maintain. The one I’d kicked finished tying the knot and stood up, rubbing his ribs where my foot had landed. “You’re gonna pay for that, you little shit.”
He went off and returned with a free-weight that looked to be about ten pounds. He tied it to the other end of the ball rope, then looked me in the eye. With an evil smile on his face, he dropped the weight, which fell about two feet before the rope, and my balls, stopped it.
I completely lost my grip on the chain in the red haze of pain that followed, so I had to deal not only with the blinding pain in my nuts, but also with choking to death at the same time. I fumbled to grab the chain again to save my neck, but tried at the same time to get hold of the ball rope and take the weight off my aching balls. Neither one worked. Finally, I gave up on the balls and climbed up an inch or two on the chain, which allowed me to breathe again. But the weight was still swinging from my balls, making me feel like it was about to pull them all the way off. I thought crazily for a second that maybe that would be a good thing – at least they couldn’t torture me that way any more.
Meanwhile, the rapists had pulled a box over and positioned it to one side of my swinging body. The first guy stood up on it, and I saw with a shock that he was hard again! He grabbed me by the hips and pulled me down onto his erection, peeling my fingers loose from their grip on the chain. This time, though, I didn’t hang: I was impaled on his cock, and he supported my weight with his hips.
A second guy came over and bound my arms again. This time they linked my elbows together behind me, mercifully leaving more slack than before, and tied a rope between my wrists in front of me. I could twist my arms from side to side, but I couldn’t reach down or up with them. Then guy #2 stepped back and number one started to rape me again.
This set of six was, if possible, worse than the first set. It certainly lasted a lot longer. And every time one of them pulled a little way out, all my weight landed on my neck and I began to choke again. Every thrust jiggled the ten pound weight hanging from my ball sac, causing new waves of pain to run through my gut. I got a couple of glimpses of my nuts as I swung around, and the skin was an angry purple. It hurt like hell.
Sometimes they let me hang for a minute or two, watching me while I kicked and jerked, my struggles getting more and more feeble as my strength failed. They would shout at me “Beg for it! You know how to make the choking stop, doncha? Beg for him to put that cock back in your ass!” The first couple of times they did that I didn’t break, didn’t beg. They waited until everything started to go black, then whoever’s turn it was pushed back in and lifted me up to breathe again, letting me recover before beginning to thrust again.
By the third or fourth time, though, I couldn’t face it again. I couldn’t dangle there waiting for the spots around my eyes to run together and close in from the edges, and so I begged them. I forced the words out through my closed throat, each one feeling like a strip of sandpaper as it left. I begged them to fuck me, to give me their cocks, to fill up my ass with their dicks. And they did. After that, each time one threatened to pull out and leave me hanging again, I begged some more. I completely humiliated myself, asking these giant men to fuck my ass.
One after another, they took me again, each one shooting another load into my ass, lubricating it for the next guy while the excess dribbled down my legs and onto my inflamed ball sac. Finally, the second set was over, and they lowered me down. I fell to the floor, coughing and gasping with fire burning the entire length of my ass hole.
After that, the sets got shorter. Only four of them took me the next time. They had tied me by wrists and ankles, hanging spread-eagled from the ceiling. I don’t know how long it lasted.
After that, I was too weak to fight them at all. Too weak to move, even. So they didn’t tie me down for the last set; they just left me lying on the cold concrete floor for three more rounds.
When the last one had finished, they grabbed me by the cheeks and forced me to open my mouth. All six of them spat into it, then they held my mouth closed until I had to swallow the slimy mess. Some kind of ritual, I guess, because there didn’t seem to be any point to it other than my additional humiliation. They dragged me back down the hall to my cell, threw me inside, and locked the door.
I lay on the floor for a while. I don’t know how long I stayed there, but it couldn’t have been more than half an hour. What finally got me up was the urge to throw up. I crawled over to the toilet and let loose heave after heave. There wasn’t much there, since I hadn’t eaten in more than a day, but I heaved anyway. Finally I felt well enough to move, and I went to rinse my mouth out and get a drink from the sink.
Taped over the sink was a note. It said “You have twelve hours to remove your teeth.”
Chapter 4
I collapsed into the bed, too exhausted to even think about trying to carry out Dr. Cresh’s nightmare command. I was asleep in an instant, despite the lingering pain in my arms and neck and the still-fresh agony of my burning ass.
It wasn’t a restful sleep. The pain kept waking me up, and the fact that the cell lights were always on full brightness didn’t help. When I finally did get up, I had no idea how much of my 12-hour time limit had passed. I got carefully out of bed, stiff, sore, and even hungrier than yesterday, and went over to reread the note, hoping faintly that I might have misread it in my daze before.
It still said the same thing. “You have twelve hours to remove your teeth.” On the edge of the sink was the pliers with the rubber-coated grip that Dr. Cresh had used once before on my mouth. And this time I had to do it to myself? There was no way I could possibly pull out all my teeth! The pain would drive me insane!
And yet, if I failed, how much worse would the doctor make it?
I had to try. I peed, took another long drink from the faucet, trying to fill my empty belly, and braced myself to try. I saw he had left me plenty of gauze to help with the bleeding. I picked up the pliers and set to work.
I decided to start with the top set, figuring it would be easier to pull down than up. I couldn’t bear to start with the front ones, so I chose one of the ones on the side, the fourth from the back on the right. I remembered then that I had already had my wisdom teeth out, thank God, so that was four less that he could use to torture me. Not the the remaining twenty-eight – twenty-seven, rather – wouldn’t be enough.
I got a grip and gave the tooth a tentative pull. Nothing. I pulled harder. It started to hurt a bit, and I eased off. Simple pulling wasn’t going to do it, I decided. I needed a sudden jerk to yank it loose all at once. I tried, but couldn’t bring myself to pull with enough force. All I was doing was hurting myself without making any progress! I had to do something, or God only knew how much pain Dr. Cresh would cause as he pulled them out for me.
Finally I hit on a method. I clamped the pliers once more around the tooth with my four-fingered left hand. Then I aimed my right fist at my left, hitting it solidly on the index finger. I felt something snap in my jawbone, but the tooth stayed put. Since it was already partway there, I slammed my fist even harder, but nothing happened. One more blow, and the pliers – with tooth attached! – came shooting out of my mouth, followed by a gush of blood.
I did it! One down! Twenty… six… to go. My joy was short-lived, especially when the pain hit me after the adrenaline wore off. I bit down hard on some gauze, and after maybe ten minutes, the bleeding stopped. I was scared that moving might start it up again, so I waited a bit longer. Then fear that I would run out of time took over, and I had to start again.
I chose the opposite tooth next. I wanted to avoid the fresh wound, and figured the same method would work. It did, but it took many more tries, and by the twelfth or fifteenth blow I was sobbing from the pain. The bleeding had started up again on the other side, and I was covered in it to the point that I wondered how much blood I could lose and still stay conscious.
Finally the second tooth came free and I chewed once more on some fresh gauze. I started to lose hope. At this rate, there was no way I could possibly finish removing all my teeth before the twelve hours were up. I curled up on the bed and must have slept for a little, because I woke up with a start, thinking someone had come for me. I was still alone in the room, though; nothing had changed.
I tried to pull out a third tooth, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was in a panic, crying to myself and gripping a tooth with the pliers, only to let it go again because I knew I couldn’t keep on hurting myself. Already my mouth was broken and bleeding, and it went against every instinct I had to keep trying to mutilate it further. Yet I knew I had to, or Dr. Cresh would hurt me in ways I couldn’t even imagine.
This was the state I was in when I heard the door start to open. Adrenaline shot through my system then, and I fumbled to grip the pliers onto a tooth, any tooth. I pounded away on my fist, not caring how much it hurt, but the door opened steadily and the bars started swinging aside. I needed more time! I got up and ran the two steps to the far side of the room, pounding on the pliers all the way. Two of the aides stepped through the door, and I started yelling around the pliers “No! Wait! Just a couple seconds more! Please!” and finally, mercifully, the tooth broke free and I was ecstatic as they picked me up. Blood was dripping down my face, but I didn’t care. This whole event was happening to someone else, not me. I was simply watching.
My disconnected euphoria didn’t last long. The aides took me up two flights of stairs into a room laid out as a dentist’s office. No surprise. The chair had a large number of straps and buckles, all of which got looped and fastened around my body, including my head, leaving me totally immobilized and totally sober.
Dr. Cresh came in and said “Well, now, let’s see what we have here.”
I screamed.
The doctor had one of the aides open my mouth and then inserted two hinged metal things into the back of each side. He reached in with a screwdriver and fiddled a bit, and I felt the metal expanding, forcing me to open my mouth wider and wider until I couldn’t stand it any more, and then wider still. My jaw was spread so far I thought the joints would pop, but they held, causing me constant agony. When Dr. Cresh took the screwdriver out, I explored the metal chunks with my tongue, but I couldn’t collapse them back and I couldn’t dislodge them from their grip on my backmost teeth. My mouth was open to stay.
Knowing what was to come, I tried to brace myself. I took deep breaths, I pictured myself in a better place, I tried to will my mind away from the horrible thing that was about to happen. But the sound of the revving drill snapped me right back to the here and now. The doctor leaned against the edge of the chair and began to dig in.
The pain was unbelievable. This was easily the worst I had ever experienced: worse than the loss of my finger, worse than the hanging, even worse than the rape. The drill ground away at the surface of one of my front teeth, cutting deeper and deeper until finally it touched the nerve and a bolt of electricity lit up my brain. I literally saw stars. I strained the muscles of my jaw, trying to push them together, but it was no use. I even tried to push him away with my tongue, but all I got for that effort was an abrasion on its tender surface.
He widened the hole around the nerve, grinding and grinding for an eternity. When at last he stopped, it was to take a syringe full of cold water and squirt it into the newly-dug pit. Another bolt of lightning hit me and I screamed until I was out of air. He let me go on until I exhausted myself, and when I finished, he gave me another blast, starting me on a fresh round.
After another half hour of toying with the nerve, he finally finished it off and yanked the tooth completely out. With no break at all, he started on the next. One by one, he tortured and mutilated every single one of my remaining front teeth – twelve in all, from canine to canine, top and bottom. Four of the back teeth were already gone, so there were twelve left in my mouth when Dr. Cresh was done for the day.
I was in so much pain I can’t describe it. In my worst nightmares I couldn’t have imagined I could hurt so bad. I passed out a few times, but the doctor slapped me awake, made sure I would stay conscious, and then continued his work. I screamed myself hoarse, till I had no voice left at all and my throat was completely raw, and then I screamed some more. By about the fourth tooth I could no longer remember anything but the pain. It was as if my entire life had been spent in this chair, suffering at the hands of this sadist. When it was finally over, I was a shivering, gibbering wreck.
Before they unstrapped me from the chair, I heard the doctor speaking to me, but I couldn’t understand the words. They were just noises. He opened my mouth one more time and inserted a round rubber cylinder. He strapped the cylinder in place behind my head, then wrapped bandages around my face from jaw to scalp. The bandages forced me to close my mouth around the cylinder, tightly sealing my tender gums against it. The taste of blood was constant.
Then they finally let me up and carried me back down to my cell. The aides gently placed me down onto the bed, then stretched my arms and legs out to the four corners, chaining them in place. I didn’t care; I barely even noticed. One of them came over with a plastic tube and stuck it up my nose and down my throat. It made me want to cough, but I didn’t have the energy. He hooked a bag of water up to the tube and drained it into my stomach. Then he did the same with a liquidy mush. Then I lost consciousness and didn’t see anything more.
Chapter 5
I spent the next three weeks chained to the bed while my mouth healed. I was delirious the first couple of days, but they fed me and watered me and nursed me back to health. Every few hours they would let me up for a bathroom break and a stretch, but then I went right back down on the bed with my limbs stretched out.
This may sound like a walk in the park compared to what I’d been through already, but it wasn’t, not at all. I never realized how hard it is to hold one position like that. I would drift in and out of consciousness, but the pain in my arms and legs was always there. Sometimes it got so bad that I would have volunteered to have Dr. Cresh take out another tooth if it would mean I could move again. My life revolved around inches – pull up on the arms to get a little slack at my wrists at the expense of my legs. Then trade, giving my legs a break while my arms suffered more. Shift left, shift right… There were more times than I could count when I just wanted to scream the pain away, but couldn’t because of the thick gag in my mouth.
On what must have been the fourth or fifth day since my trip to hell, Dr. Cresh came to see me. One of the aides must have told him I was awake enough to be getting restless. When I saw him in the door, panic shot through me. I couldn’t help myself. On some deep, instinctive level I was deathly afraid he’d come to hurt me some more, and I would gladly have chewed off both arms and legs to get away from him, if I only had teeth to do it. I had to fight down the adrenaline rush that told me to run, hide, escape. Even though I consciously knew there was no place I could run to, the back of my brain kept sending out alarms. Sometime during that horrible surgery, the doctor had changed me forever. I had become prey.
This time Dr. Cresh did not hurt me. He stood over the bed and repeated what he had said right after pulling my teeth, when I was too out of it to understand. He explained that the gag in my mouth was to make my gums heal to match its shape, so that I would be better suited to providing oral service for his clients. My toothless mouth would have a permanent penis-shaped hole in it, so that even if I were to bite down, the owner of the cock in my mouth would just get a jolt more of pleasure.
He explained about the feeding tube. I was no longer to eat solid food, since I couldn’t chew it (oh, yes, he assured me, the rest of my teeth would be coming out, too). Eventually, once my gums were healed, I would be fed normally, but only liquids. This had the added advantage of reducing the amount of solid waste I produced, so my ass would be cleaner for his clients’ pleasure.
And he explained the rules I was to follow. The first rule I already knew: I was to follow any command given to me. The second was that from now on I was to answer to the name “Hopeless.” The third rule was that there were five words I was never to say. The five words were “I,” “me,” “my,” “mine,” and “myself.” Use of one of the forbidden words would bring punishment. I wasn’t sure how I was going to speak at all without teeth, but Dr. Cresh had said he’d done this to others; he must have known what he was talking about.
He went on to explain my new name and the reasons for the forbidden words. He said he chose names for his animals (as he called them) based either on qualities he saw in them or qualities he wanted to encourage in them. I wasn’t sure which category I fell into. The reason for forbidding the pronouns was to drive home the point that I was no longer the owner of my own body. Dr. Cresh now owned it, and I was only a passenger. Not referring to myself by any name except “Hopeless” helped to drive home his point.
After making sure I understood his instructions, the doctor left. He paused at the door and suggested that I use this period of forced rest to think about my situation and how I could best deal with it. Then he left, and I was alone again.
I thought about it, all right. There was nothing else to do, chained to the bed as I was. I thought about how quickly I had gone from free man to torture- and sex-slave. It was almost unbelievable how quickly it had happened. I thought back about how I had acted, and how pitiful my attempts at defending myself were. I told myself I could have done better, I could have broken free. If not physically, then mentally. I mean, think about it: this guy had me pulling my own teeth! And feeling glad about it! What was that all about?
By the time I fell asleep, I had resolved to fight harder against him. I would keep my soul intact, no matter how bad he hurt my body. I told myself that the torture I had endured wasn’t really so bad. And as the days went by, I came to believe it. I could do better. I WOULD do better. I would resist my captors with every ounce of willpower I had.
Not that it mattered much the next day. One of the aides came in and said as he unlocked my chains “Time to do the rest of your teeth!”. I lost it, completely. I begged him with my eyes, pleading hopelessly through the gag to be spared this, trying to tell him that I’d pull the teeth out myself. I even lost control of my bladder, I was so terrified. But it was no use. He hauled me back to the dental chair, and the whole nightmare began all over again…
Chained to the bed again, this time with no teeth in my mouth at all, I pondered how “hopeless” I had in fact become. Was that the best I could do? Was I such a pathetic little wimp? Or was this, in fact, more than any man should have to endure? I once again swore I could do better.
The next few weeks were torment, but I endured.
Besides, there was nothing I could do, anyway, but lie there. Dr. Cresh never issued a command, so I had no decision to make. Still, lying there with my hands stretched out above me and my legs spread wide below was horrible. And my mouth was very sore, though it was getting better with each passing day. There were times I shouted through the gag in my mouth and fought with every muscle in my body to break free of the chains, but it was all no use. With the tube in my throat and the gag in my mouth, I couldn’t make a sound. And all struggling got me were some bloody cuts that turned into permanent scars on my wrists.
The important thing, in my mind, was that I endured. At every stretch-and-piss break, I resisted the efforts of the aides to chain me back down to the bed. I know this pissed them off, because one of them who I kicked one time started coming back during what must have been the night. He would undo my ankle chains and refasten them to my spread wrists. Then, with my ass raised up in helpless invitation, he would put his huge body on top of me and rape me. I cried a bit from the pain and humiliation, but afterward, with his sticky juices dripping out of my sore ass, I knew I was doing everything in my power to resist and, eventually, escape. I couldn’t help it if they could physically overpower me. Mentally, I was winning.
Chapter 6
Finally the day came when, after letting my up for my stretch-and-piss break, the aides didn’t chain me back down. Instead, they cuffed my hands behind me and led me out to what looked to be a locker room. There were showers there, and they undid the cuffs and re-locked my hands to a chain above my head. Then they wet me down, soaped me up, and rinsed me off. I felt clean for the first time since my arrival.
After the shower, they brought me upstairs into Dr. Cresh’s office and tied me to the familiar chair. I knew this would be the first test of my new willpower. There would be some command that he would give me. I had to be strong, no matter what he threatened me with.
The doctor came in and sat down in the chair in front of me. He had one of the aides undo the strap holding the gag in my mouth and gently pulled it free from where it had stuck to my naked gums, until at last I could stretch my jaws and close my mouth for the first time in weeks. He let me stretch a little bit, saying “Don’t try to talk yet, we still have to take the tube out of your nose.”
My mouth felt alien, like it didn’t belong to me. Without any teeth to stop it, my jaws could close tighter than ever before. But no matter how solidly I mashed my gums together, I couldn’t ever close the front! The gums had indeed formed themselves to the shape of the gag. The thought of being forever altered like that almost shook my resolve, but I held on. After a few minutes, Dr. Cresh said he would remove the feeding tube. He pulled on the tube, and I felt it move all the way down through my throat and into my chest.
“This will tickle, Hopeless. You’ll want to cough. Go ahead and do that… right… now.”
With that, he pulled the tube out in one long, steady motion. As it left my throat and nose, I let loose a blast of huge, hacking coughs. It felt odd, almost, to not have the tube there, but I was glad to have it out. I tested my voice a bit. It was rusty, but I could make understandable words. I had trouble with letters like S and F and Z, which came out sounding like H’s and TH’s but still, I could communicate better than I thought I’d be able to. I spoke to the doctor, words I’d been planning to say for weeks.
“I rehuthe to hollow any more oth your commandth.”
My speech lost something because of my deformed mouth, but I glared him right in the eye and dared him do respond. He replied “You used a forbidden word, Hopeless. Expect punishment. Now, I want you to remove the ring finger from your left hand. You have five minutes.”
“I told you, I will not obey any more oth your commandth to hurt mythelh. And my name ith Ed!”
I was trying to avoid words with hard sounds. But the doctor had already gotten up from his chair and returned to his desk. Without even turning around, he said “Four more forbidden words, and the wrong name.” Like before, the aides undid my right hand, put the axe in front of me, and stood behind me to guard my moves.
I did nothing, and said nothing. I didn’t even pick up the hatchet. I used the time to brace myself for the pain that would come from my disobedience. It would be bad, I knew, but time had dulled the memories of my earlier sessions with the doctor, and I was sure I could withstand whatever he threw at me.
When time was up, the doctor returned to sit in front of me. “You are a stubborn one,” he said. “You think you are being brave, but you are only being stupid. Still, that is your choice. I will enjoy shattering you all the more.”
At a nod, the silent aides tied my right hand down again and arranged my left for the torture. One of them pulled the torture tray over. I was as prepared as I could be. I bounced between watching what the doctor was doing and not wanting to know. I had my eyes shut when the first pain hit, so I didn’t know at first what he had done to me. I opened my eyes and looked.
There was a thick needle sticking out from underneath my fingernail. Dr. Cresh was steadily pushing it further and further between the nail and the skin. I wanted to scream, but bit down hard, toothlessly, on my tongue instead. Dr. Cresh wiggled the needle around as he pushed, each movement separating another section of skin and nail and causing me intense agony. I tried to look away, but my eyes were drawn back again and again to watch him mutilate my finger. When he reached the root, he pulled the needle out and started again in a fresh spot. The pain went on and on.
Finally, there was no more nail to separate. Only a small spot of root remained attached. He grabbed the loose surface with a pair of pliers and began to bend the nail backward, twisting and pulling until at last the nail ripped free, with surprisingly little blood. Tears were running down my face, but I had not cried out. Dr. Cresh looked at me and a small but evil grin touched the corners of his mouth.
Bending down over the nail-less end of my finger, he took a bottle from his tray and poured some of the liquid onto the exposed surface. It smelled like alcohol, and it burned like fire. I did cry out once as the first shock hit me, but managed to get myself back under control quickly. After that, he rubbed the area with sandpaper, getting another howl from me, and finally poured a very strong acid onto it.
That sent me over the edge. The acid quickly ate through the flesh of my finger. Nothing existed for me except the burning feeling, and I lost control completely, shouting “No, no, please, make it stop, please, no.” The doctor was unmoved. When the acid finally stopped burning me, he poured on another dose, starting the agony up all over again. By the time I worked up the nerve to look at my hand, the finger had been eaten away to the knuckle. Only some bone fragments were left at the top.
I was blubbering like a baby. I had completely forgotten how bad the pain could be. I apologized, I begged his forgiveness, but it was like he couldn’t even hear me. Without a word, he tied a string off around the base of the finger, lit a candle, and held the flame under the stump until it was completely burned away. Only the bone was left, and he shattered that with a hammer before detaching the splinters from the rest of my hand. It was awful. I screamed until I passed out.
Chapter 7
When I came to, I was back in my cell, once more chained to the bed. The stump where my ring finger had been was throbbing terribly. I lay there, thinking of how bad it had been, but I was also proud of myself for having resisted. Still, the incident left me a bit shaken – I wasn’t sure if I would have the strength to do it again, with the horror of Dr. Cresh’s “surgical techniques” fresh in my mind.
A short time after I woke up, two aides came into the room. It was the same routine: they took me back upstairs and strapped me to the chair. This time they shoved a huge gag into my mouth and secured it behind my head. I could grunt, but couldn’t make intelligible words. On the work table next to me were several oddly shaped tools. They all had long wooden handles attached to various straight and curved chunks of metal. I couldn’t figure out what they were for, and I dreaded the thought of finding out.
Dr. Cresh came in. “OK, Hopeless, it is clear you need a tangible reminder of your new status, including your new name.”
I made muffled shouts through the gag. He ignored me. One of the aides brought over a burner full of red-hot glowing coals, and my eyes went wide with fear. Dr. Cresh put some of the metal tools into the coals and bent over me to examine my chest. I wanted to shove his horrible hands off me, but I couldn’t move at all.
By the time he removed the first tool from the coals, I had guessed what was about to happen. I tried to shrink back into the chair, but there was only so far I could go. There was no escaping the blazing hot metal as Dr. Cresh brought it close to my skin. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I could feel the searing heat on my chest, and I watched the light hairs near the glowing tool sizzle and curl away.
It seemed to take forever for the branding iron to travel the last few hundredths of an inch, but when contact was finally made, I knew it. I let out a long howl through the gag and thrashed around within the limits of the straps. He held the iron against my skin only briefly, but it was long enough. The smell of burning flesh rose up to my face. When I looked down, I could already see the shape of the scar-to-be.
Eight letters in the word “HOPELESS,” all in block capitals three inches high, all made up of four to six short segments. It took an hour or so. When he was done, my new name was permanently burned into my chest, running across about an inch above the nipple line from one armpit to the other.
Then they unstrapped me from the chair, tied me face down to a table, and did it all over again on my back.
They let me up from the table and took out the gag. I was shaky, but was able to walk. They led me downstairs, but instead of taking me back to my cell, they brought me into the large chamber where the rape had taken place. I had no idea what was happening, and I was still a little in shock. Then it occurred to me: I had been punished for using the wrong name, but not for using the other forbidden words.
Oh, no.
The other four aides were waiting around a table. The two carrying me laid me down on that table and strapped me down firmly. They were careful to fasten my head down, too, so that I couldn’t bend it or twist it in any way. One of them spoke.
“Dr. Cresh says to tell you why you are here. You are here because you used forbidden words, five times. You are to be punished for using those words. Dr. Cresh says that since your tongue caused the problem, your tongue should suffer the punishment.
Another aide then forced my mouth open and grabbed the end of my tongue with a pair of rubber-handled pliers. He yanked it hard out of my mouth, forcing my to try to lift my head against the restraining straps. I saw that the handle of the pliers was connected to a wire, which led away out of my sight. Electricity? Oh, please, no… Hadn’t I endured enough today?
Another reached deep into my mouth with a metal probe, also wired like the pliers. He placed it firmly on the root of my tongue, almost gagging me, it was so far down my throat. I tried to brace myself, but it still caught me by surprise when the current was turned on. Electricity shot through my tongue in waves, pulsing and buzzing and burning all the way. I screamed and thrashed, but was unable to pull away from the instruments of my torture. The pain went on and on.
I was in so much agony that it took me a moment to notice when it stopped. The pain was so constant that I almost didn’t recognize its absence. When my screams died down to whimpers, the aide at the switch said “That was one minute, for your first offense. You will now suffer two minutes for the second.”
Instantly, the juice was back on, and the pain with it. All the muscles of my body were tensed as I tried uselessly to escape. This time, the aide with the probe down my throat moved it around, relieving some of the agony in some places while intensifying it in others. And the one gripping the tip with the pliers pulled on it even harder, like he wanted to rip my tongue out at the root.
The two minutes seemed to take far more than that, but at last, for the second time, the power was turned off. They gave me a break, then, for about five minutes, then started up again. Three minutes for the third offense, four for the fourth, and five for the fifth, to repay me for my use of forbidden words five times. I think they must have lowered the power by the end, because if they hadn’t, I would have gone absolutely insane.
After dumping me back in my cell (once again chained to the bed), I discovered that my tongue had been paralyzed by the treatment. I could not speak at all! All I was capable of making was a moaning, groaning sound. And swallowing was difficult, too. I hoped that it was only a temporary condition, but it was impossible to be sure with these guys. My missing fingers and teeth and the letters burned into my chest proved that they played for keeps. I decided that, if my tongue ever did recover, in the future I would show my resistance without using those particular pronouns. And I would avoid referring to myself by name. Not that I was caving in! I would just choose my sentences more carefully.
Chapter 8
To sum up the next several days: My tongue did recover from its punishment, and my steadfast resistance lasted through two more fingers.
First the tongue: by the next “morning” it had recovered. I don’t know if it was really morning, of course, because the lights in my cell were always on full blast, and they never allowed me near a window. I had long since lost track of the days since I had been taken prisoner, and I could only guess at time passing.
I figured that each of my episodes with Dr. Cresh took a day, although that could be way off. I’ve heard that, in POW camps, they like to mess with the prisoners’ sense of time, to keep them off balance. If that’s what they were doing to me, it was working: I was definitely off balance. I could swear that sometimes they came back for me after only an hour or two, while other times they must have left me chained to that bed for an entire day. But there’s no way I can ever be sure.
Anyway, by the time they came for me next, I could move my tongue and speak again, although it would be days (? a week?), before I felt like it was completely normal again.
On to the collapse of my resistance:
The next day they came back for me. I was given the same choice as before, this time with the middle finger. I refused, carefully avoiding any forbidden words, and when the five minutes were up, Dr. Cresh began to work.
He took four hours to remove the finger, every minute of it sheer hell. He started by using his bare hands to bend the knuckles in ways they weren’t meant to bend. He bent them backwards, sideways, diagonally… he found every possible painful position and used it. He teased me, holding each one just at the breaking point while I gasped and sweated and the blood drained out of my face. Then he’d release it and start on a different joint. It got to the point where I was begging him to break the knuckles, just to get it over with.
Eventually, he did break them. Slowly, each joint one at a time, using nothing more than his fingers to fracture all three. Then he got out the tools. He attached small, vise-like clamps tightly to the bones between the joints and did the same thing all over again. I could feel each bone as it finally snapped, after a long and agonizing build-up. The longest one, the bone closest to my palm, was big enough for him to break in two places.
When he had broken every bone he could break, he took out his hammer and began pulverizing the remains. Not with hard strokes, but with slow, steady blows, with a five-to-ten second pause between each. No one hit was any worse than I’ve accidentally done to myself, but it went on for at least an hour. All together they were enough to flatten the finger until it was three times as wide as normal, and about a quarter as thick. Then, and only then, did he slit the skin and muscle at the base and pull the finger all the way off. Slowly. My throat was raw by the time he was done from all the screaming.
I kept enough control of myself not to use any forbidden words this time, so I was spared the electrical tongue torture after the surgery. But the next day, it began all over again.
This time it was the index finger’s turn. I considered giving in at that point, but the remnants of my pride made me hold out until it was too late to chop it off myself. Besides, I just couldn’t bring myself to hit my own hand with an axe.
The doctor froze this one with liquid nitrogen. Even though the physical pain wasn’t as terrible as some of the other times, this was the worst psychologically. He set my hand in a metal tray so he wouldn’t damage the chair I was strapped to. The nitrogen was in a metal container. It came out of a nozzle, and he doused my finger liberally with it. He got every available surface. I can’t describe how cold it was. It was like getting your lips stuck to a metal pole in winter, only a hundred times worse. It felt like a million needles vibrating under my skin.
But, as I said, the physical pain wasn’t as bad as the mental torment. Once the finger was frozen solid, the pain eased off, and I thought I might just be able to stand it after all. Then Dr. Cresh released my arm from its restraints and lifted it up, with my frozen finger sticking straight out, and slammed it down so that the finger hit the edge of a nearby table.
It shattered. Frozen pieces of me flew everywhere, some landing on my chest and lap where the cold burned and the heat of my body melted them into puddles of gore that dripped down my skin. Other bits landed on the floor and lay there, slowly melting with steam rising up from them. I couldn’t stop screaming. I don’t know why it was, but that event seemed to sum up all of the horror I had endured here. The finger was a small version of myself, being shattered and blown to bits, with no one around to care.
I don’t remember them leading me back to my cell or chaining me down. It must have been several hours before I finally worked my way back to sanity. After that, all my thoughts of resistance were gone. Lying stretched out on the bed, I realized I could not possibly compete with this man. He was a master of torture – he’d probably spent years practicing on his helpless victims – and I was just a punk high-school dropout who had never been able to stick to anything in his life. It was over. Dr. Cresh had won.
Chapter 9
It took almost all of the five minute period, but I successfully chopped off my own thumb. As promised, it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the other four fingers, and the doctor was right there with an antiseptic cream, bandages, and an anesthetic injection. He told me he was proud of me, and I was actually happy to hear his praise. A little voice in my head spoke warnings that this was not right, but I ignored it and it soon went away.
After that, maiming myself came easy. My next assignment was to remove the remainder of my left hand at the wrist. Dr. Cresh knew I wouldn’t be able to swing the axe with enough force to remove the hand cleanly, so he brought me to a guillotine-like device. All I had to do was insert my stump of a hand and pull the chain to release the blade. I didn’t even have to think about it – in went the hand, down went the blade. It was easy because it wasn’t my hand. The hand belonged to somebody else, not me.
The doctor and his aides wrapped a tourniquet around the stump to stop the bleeding and once again gave me something for the pain.
That night in my cell they didn’t even chain me up, and I had a sound night’s sleep for the first time in weeks. The message was crystal clear: co-operation has its rewards.
I was so docile that the next day, Dr. Cresh told me that he would skip the next two steps in the removal of my arm and go straight to the end: I had to cut it off at the shoulder. Apparently, for reasons he would not describe, it was important to do this particular amputation exactly right. He explained in careful detail how I was to go about it. I had to use a machine to cut it at the point where my upper arm was thinnest, between the biceps and the round of my shoulder. He repeated the instructions three times, then made me say it back to him to make sure I’d got it right. Then they all left me alone in a room.
The machine was large and frightening. It took up about half the room. Dr. Cresh had said it was an automated version of the guillotine I had used on my hand, only it was much larger and motorized. Here was what was supposed to happen: I put my left arm into a round hole in the front of the machine. Then I press a button which starts the cycle. The machine wraps a pressure cuff of some sort around my arm just above the elbow. The cuff is inflated so it grabs my skin tightly, and then it is pulled further into the machine, dragging my arm with it.
Once my arm is in place, which it knows through some kind of sensors and measurements the doctor put in before he left, my arm is sealed in. Rubber lips around the hole my arm is in get inflated, sealing off the blood flow to my arm. A couple of seconds later, the blade drops, landing in exactly the right spot on my pinned arm and chopping it off cleanly. At least that’s the plan. Once the cut is made, Dr. Cresh is notified and comes back to help me recover.
I had half an hour to do it.
At first I thought it would be easy, like the hand was. I went right up to the thing and was all set to put my arm inside, but at the last moment I hesitated. I just couldn’t do it! The machine was huge from so close up. It was all black and shiny chrome, and it looked absolutely evil. I had a sudden wild fear that what waited inside that dark opening was not a clean painless cut, but a pack of rats with red eyes and sharp teeth. Once I had that image in my head, I couldn’t get it out.
I walked around the room a bit, shaking out my arms and trying to gear myself up to get it over with. I knew that if I didn’t do this myself, the hell that Dr. Cresh would put me through would be unbearable. It would push my sanity right over the edge. I HAD to do it…
I finally gathered enough nerve to come up to the hole again. I thought closing my eyes would help, but it only made things worse. So, eyes open, I pushed my hand into the hole, fearing the worst.
Nothing happened. I pushed my arm in all the way to the biceps, feeling nothing with my stump of a wrist. All that was left was to push the button that started the process…
I dithered another five minutes or so with that, coming close then edging away again. Finally, disgusted with my cowardice, I slammed my right hand down on the button and the machine whirred to life. Instantly, I regretted it, and yanked my arm out of the hole faster than lightning. The machine seemed to notice that it had nothing to cut, because it shut itself down soon after.
More walking around the cramped room. More fits and starts. I knew time was running low. What finally gave me the courage to go through with it was the memory of my frozen finger, shattered and melting on my chest. I had no idea what worse horror the doctor could come up with, but I knew it was guaranteed to be worse than whatever this machine could do to me. I didn’t hesitate: I put in my arm and kept it there after the machine started up.
I jerked a little when I first felt the touch of the cuff above my elbow, but I didn’t hesitate. After that, it was too late to back out, anyway. The cuff inflated, and I couldn’t pull my arm away if I tried. It drew me closer to the hole, just as he’d said it would. Once I was positioned correctly and the ring started to seal in place around my upper arm, the knowledge of what was about to happen hit home, and I started to shout, pulling frantically on my trapped arm. It was useless. There was nothing at all that I could do to stop the process. Those last few seconds took forever to crawl by. Then came a quiet whispering noise…
Dr. Cresh and his aides came boiling into the room. I was still held up against the machine by the suction of the ring. They wrapped a tourniquet around the stump and released me from the machine’s grip. I felt the sting of a needle in my remaining arm. I had time to get one look at the bleeding stump on my now armless left side before blackness fell down around my eyes.
Chapter 10
They gave me a long time to recover after that. It might have been a week, maybe three. All I knew is that I was bored to tears. There was absolutely nothing to do but jerk off. Twice a day an aide came to feed me some liquid mush, but other than that I was completely alone. The only thing that made it better than the time after my teeth came out was that I was free to move about the room instead of being chained to the bed.
My stump was wrapped in a bandage. I thought about taking it off to see how it looked underneath, but I was afraid it might start bleeding and there was no way I could call for help. So I left the wrappings on.
The only thing that broke the monotony was about halfway through. When the aide came to feed me, I asked, before thinking about it, “What’s next? When am I gonna get out of here?” He just looked at me until I realized I had said a forbidden word, then he left, taking my food with him. I yelled after him to stop, but he just shut the door on my pleas.
He was back ten minutes later, with three helpers. They didn’t say anything, they just grabbed me in their irresistible hands and led me off to the large torture chamber. I tried to protest, but it was pointless. This was like the rape and everything else I’d experienced here – they ignored me completely except to humiliate me.
I was expecting more zaps to my tongue, but instead they took me over to stand by a large wooden tub. It was filled with foul-smelling water. There was a layer of scum on the top and looked like it the tub hadn’t been cleaned in months, if ever. My guards took turns holding me still while the others opened their flies and emptied their bladders into the vat, taunting me all the while. “Mmm, MM! You are gonna love drinking this up, little chicken.” “Better learn to watch that tongue, boy.”
When they were all through, all four put on long black rubber gloves, then they forced me to kneel down beside the tub. The stench was overpowering up close. They wrapped a plastic bag around the bandages on my stump and tied it in place – to keep it dry and clean, I guessed. Then one of them grabbed my by the hair on the back of my head and slowly, irresistibly lowered my face to the stinking surface. I fought to back away, but with another guy holding my only arm securely behind me, I couldn’t get leverage. Finally I knew it was useless – I was going in. I took a deep breath just before my nose and mouth hit the water.
As soon as I made contact, they shoved me all the way under. It was both disgusting and terrifying. I knew in the front of my brain that they wouldn’t drown me – Dr. Cresh was putting too much effort into me for that to happen. But the back of my brain was screaming “Air! Air!” and I knew it was only a matter of time before panic set in.
My air held out for maybe half a minute. I tried to keep a steady stream of bubbles going out of my nose to keep the foul glop out. Eventually, of course, I ran out of time. I began to squirm. The steel hands held me as strongly as ever. Then I really started to thrash. I was desperate for air. At last I couldn’t take it any more, and the rest of the air in my lungs came exploding out my mouth and nose. Even then, I lasted another second or two before my body overrode my will and forced me to inhale.
The water tasted vile as it flowed into my mouth and nose. As soon as it hit the back of my throat and started pouring into my lungs, I was wracked with a spasm of coughing, even though there was no air in me to cough with. I was in complete panic. Then, and only then, did the arms that held me under relent and pull me back out. They let me sputter and cough for a short time, but at least it was air I was breathing and not piss-tainted water. They let me go until I felt like I was just starting to recover. Then they pushed me back under again.
I didn’t last nearly as long the second time. There was no time to take a breath before I was under the surface again, so I started out with empty lungs. It was only a few seconds before I was thrashing helplessly again, and only seconds more before the filthy water was once again gushing into my mouth. Spots were swimming around the edges of my squeezed-shut eyes when they pulled me out to recover.
They repeated this torture at least a dozen times. Somewhere along the line I lost control of my bladder and found myself kneeling in a puddle of my own piss. My captors laughed even harder about this. Finally there came a time when they let me recover until I had completely caught my breath. One of them scooped up a large cupful of the water and held it in front of my face. “Drink this down and we’re done. Don’t drink it, and we keep going. Your call.”
I drank it.
Chapter 11
The next amputation was my right arm. Dr. Cresh gave me the option of cutting it all off at once, like before, but if I failed at that, there would be no second chance. The arm would come off inch by inch.
By this time the stump on the other side had healed over. It was gruesome to look at – the new skin that was growing over the wound was blotchy and discolored. Every once in a while I remembered how my life used to be and I cried a bit.
But I had no trouble taking the arm off. I handled it much better than the first one. I waited a couple of minutes to prepare myself, then took a few deep breaths for courage, then I did it. It hardly took any effort at all. Just like before, they were in treating me in seconds and I was unconscious and pain-free soon after.
Again, no chains in my cell. Only this time, even jerking off wasn’t an option. I had no arms at all, nothing below my shoulders but bruised, discolored skin. Even if I did escape, there was no way I could go back to anything like a normal life.
A few days after the amputation, an aide informed me that it was time for another surgery. My heart raced in panic, and he laughed at my reaction. He assured me that because I had co-operated with the arm removals, for this surgery I would be granted the privilege of anesthesia.
It went very smoothly. They lay me on an operating table, then put a needle in a vein in my leg and I went out like a light. When I came to, I was back in my cell. I couldn’t see what they had done to me, though there were still bandages on my arms. Time passed – probably days.
When Dr. Cresh next came in to see me, he explained what he had done.
“I placed implants in your arm bones. Picture a metal cylinder – titanium, actually – about three inches long and half an inch across, hollow and threaded on the inside, and with circular ridges on the outside. I drilled into your arm bones from the newly-exposed surfaces where the rest of your arms used to be, and placed these implants inside. Over a period of about nine months, bone will grow in around the ridges, holding the implants securely in place.”
“Once they’re solid, I’ll be able to attach just about anything to your shoulders just by screwing the appropriate connecters into the holes in the implants.”
“But, Dr. Cresh, why have you done this?” I asked.
“Well, Hopeless, it’s all part of making you into an ideal torture victim. My clients enjoy inflicting pain, but there’s no reason I should expose them to unnecessary risk. With no arms and no teeth, you can be easily overpowered by even a child. You pose no threat to my clients. You can be held in place by nothing more complicated than a square knot. The implants just make it easier for you to be held in more complicated positions. Lacking wrists, it’s hard to tie you in a spread-eagle or hang you from the ceiling. The implants remedy that lack.”
“Incidentally, you’re almost done with your modifications. Now that your arm implants are in place, there’s only one more thing left to do, and I expect you to be finished in four hours.”
As a measure of how far I had fallen, the only emotion I felt on hearing this news was joy. I was thrilled that this would be my last mutilation, and I couldn’t wait to get on with it to please my master. “What is it, Dr. Cresh?”
“Cut off your cock at the base.”
Chapter 12
I sputtered. “But… but… Dr. Cresh? M… the cock? Dr. Cresh!” I had almost used a forbidden word. The doctor was already turning to go. I tried to keep careful control over what I said. “Please! Don’t make Hopeless do this!”
He said in reply, “Oh, be careful not to damage your balls. I want those intact.”
As he headed out the door, I shouted after him “But please! How can this be done? Hopeless has no way to cut off… to do that. He has nothing to cut with and no hands to use for cutting, anyway! This isn’t possible!”
“That’s not my problem, Hopeless. It’s yours.”
Then the door closed and he was gone. Alone in the room, I screamed in terror and despair, then fell on the bed and wept miserably. I looked around the tiny cell to see if there was anything at all with even a slightly sharp edge, knowing there wasn’t. The room contained nothing at all that I could use in my own un-manning, even if I did decide to do it.
In a way, it made my life a little easier to know that there was no possible way I could comply with the doctor’s instructions. I didn’t have to undergo the gut-wrenching process of decision, of working up the nerve to mutilate myself. There was absolutely no way to get this task done.
But in another way, it made my dread of what would happen after I failed much worse. Dr. Cresh must have known that I couldn’t possibly follow his order. He must have planned something unimaginably horrible as punishment for my guaranteed failure.
The hours crawled by like years. I lay on the bed sobbing. Half of me wanted the time to pass quickly so that I could get whatever horror awaited me over with. The other half wanted to postpone the inevitable as long as possible. For a while, I tried to jerk off by rubbing my doomed dick against the bed sheets, figuring I might as well enjoy my last orgasm, but under the circumstances, I couldn’t get it hard, much less come.
By the time I thought the four hours had passed, I was emotionally numb. I lay on the bed dreading the sound of hands at the lock of the door. But at least another hour passed before the sound actually came. When it did, my heart nearly burst out of my chest as adrenaline shot through me. But it was hopeless, hopeless, hopeless. There was no escape.
“You failed, Hopeless.”
I was kneeling before Dr. Cresh, held there by the steel arms of the aides. “Hopeless is sorry, Dr. Cresh. Hopeless could not follow the doctor’s instructions.”
“Could not? Or DID not, Hopeless?”
I wanted to shout “COULD not, you asshole! You told me to cut off my own dick, then left me no possible way to do it!” but I was pretty sure such an outburst would only encourage him to make the torture ahead even worse. I meekly said, “Did not, Dr. Cresh. Hopeless failed.”
“You leave me no choice but to complete your task for you. Prep him.”
I tried to stifle my sobs as the aides lifted me up and laid me face-up on a flat Y-shaped frame. They attached several straps around my neck, chest, and stomach. Then they spread my legs wide and bound them with more straps to the legs of the Y so that my ankles were about four feet apart. They slid a wedge-shaped block under my head, forcing my chin down onto my chest, then strapped my forehead to it.
Two heavy straps went around my thighs right at crotch level. The purpose of those became clear as the frame was tilted up and my weight sank down onto them. When they were finished, I was hanging upright, totally immobilized, with my cock and balls swinging in empty space below me. With my head trapped as it was, I was forced to look down at myself, so I wouldn’t miss a moment of the torment to come. I couldn’t see the doctor anywhere.
One of the aides knelt down in front of me. Prepared for the worst, I was surprised when he took my dick in his mouth and began to suck on it! Despite the impossibility of erection earlier, under the aide’s expert tongue I quickly stiffened up, and in a few minutes I felt myself nearing the edge of an explosive orgasm. Right as I was about to shoot, though, he slammed his fist up into my crotch. My balls were crushed between his hand and my pelvis, and I screamed, straining at every strap. He pulled off and left my swollen cock bouncing in mid-air, unable to get release. He waited about five minutes while I gradually softened up and the pain in my nuts faded to a dull ache, then started all over again. Despite the pain, it wasn’t too long before I stiffened right back up again.
He did this fifteen times or more, bringing me right up to the edge of orgasm then pulling away with a blow to my balls or two. He played me like a violin – I was helpless at his mercy. No matter how hard I tried not to get near coming, I couldn’t help myself. Every time I thought it was inevitable that I would go over the edge and shoot at last, his fist brought stars to my eyes. By the end I was begging him to let me come, or at least to stop hitting me. My balls were pulled up tight against my belly and they ached terribly. Pre-cum fluid was oozing out of the tip of my painfully swollen dick.
“OK, Dr. Cresh, he’s ready now,” one of the aides called down the hall.
They weren’t going to let me come! Not that I expected they would, but it still brought a groan of frustration from my lips. Dr. Cresh returned and said “I think I’ll start with the sandpaper and the candle, please.” One of the aides hurried to prepare the equipment.
“Now,” he continued, “let’s tidy things up, here. All this hair is messy to work in, and besides, it can harbor harmful bacteria. Best to clear it off. Sometimes I enjoy pulling it out by the roots, but today I’m in the mood for something quicker.” One of the aides put a lit candle in his hands, and I braced myself as best I could for the pain.
It wasn’t too bad. The doctor used the candle to burn away all the hair around my crotch. He kept the flame moving quickly, so no one spot ever got too warm. It was uncomfortable, yes, and the stench of my burning hair was awful, but pain-wise, I could take it. To my embarrassment, my cock stayed stiff throughout, despite the discomfort. I guess it was still affected by its earlier treatment.
When all the hair was gone, Dr. Cresh let the flame linger beneath my cock until I started to shout, thrashing helplessly to get away from the heat. He chuckled and put the candle down, saying “All in good time, Hopeless.”
His next move was to take hold of my balls, still achingly sore and pulled up tight against my groin, and work them with his fingers until he had stretched the sac out. Then he wrapped a piece of rope around my nuts, looping it several times around so that when he finally tied it off, my balls were stretched out an inch and a half or so from their normal position. When I saw him pick up a weight, I knew what was going to happen next. I remembered this particular agony from my first night here. I started to beg him “No! No, Dr. Cresh! Please, don’t put the weight on!”. He ignored me.
It looked to be about five pounds, less than I had carried during the hanging incident, and he didn’t drop it like the aide did before. So, all in all, it was easier to take, but it was still five pounds dangling from my already bruised nuts. I moaned softly as I felt the weight take hold.
“That should give you something to think about besides your dick,” Dr. Cresh said. “And speaking of your dick, it’s starting to soften. Let’s see what we can do to fix that.”
He held out his hand, and an aide placed a rubber band in it. The band was less that half an inch in diameter, but it was thick and strong, and I could tell it took Dr. Cresh a lot of force to stretch it out. He slid it over my still semi-hard cock and worked it all the way to the base before he let it snap shut around my dick, making me wince. Once it was in place, he gave my cock a few vigorous rubs. It stiffened up immediately, and with the rubber band trapping the blood inside, there was nothing I could do to soften it again.
“Catheter,” he murmured, and his helper immediately supplied one. This was something I had never experienced before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. It hurt, of course. It was a hollow plastic tube, and very wide. He had to stretch the opening of my slit to fit it in, then spent several minutes working it further and further into my shaft. The physical pain was bearable, but psychologically I felt invaded. Things were supposed to go out that hole, not in. My dick stayed hard, of course. I could see the bulging veins where the blood was pooling, trapped by the rubber band. Beneath that were my stretched-out nuts, turning purple while the weight spun slowly underneath. I let out a sob as the doctor finished with the catheter.
“Now, Hopeless, let me tell you how lucky you are. On previous animals, I have used the catheter as a filling tube, forcing water in through the tube into the bladder. How full have you ever let your bladder get, Hopeless? It’s a painful feeling, isn’t it? All that fluid built up in your guts? Then if someone were to, say, slam a fist into you, how much worse would that feel?”
“Well, you’re safe from that particular torment. Despite my anti-septic precautions, one of the animals developed an infection because of that treatment and died of it. It was a pity. I had put all that work into shaping him, and never got to use him. So I’ve stopped using that technique. This catheter does not extend all the way to your bladder, but stops at the base of your cock.”
I did not feel especially grateful.
“Sandpaper.” He held out his hand. It was a very fine grained paper, which he rubbed all over the swollen skin of my dick. It was surprisingly easy to take, at first. It just felt like a rough hand rubbing me. But as time went on, the sensation turned more and more to pain. The longer he stayed on a spot, the more the skin wore away, and the worse it hurt. He didn’t miss a single spot, either. Every bit of surface from the tip to the base was rubbed raw over the course of the next hour or so. Twice during the process, he switched to a coarser grain of paper.
By the time Dr. Cresh finished, the skin of my cock was an angry red all over. Flecks of blood oozed through in dozens of places. And I was still hard as a rock, despite the agony. There was a long, low, moaning sound in the distance, and it was a long time before I realized it was coming from me.
Then, in unbelievable cruelty, he held his hand out in front of my downturned face. He slowly and deliberately poured a handful of salt into his palm, rubbed it around with his fingers, then clamped his fist down like a vise over my dick and began pumping for all he was worth.
The pain was unbelievable, like a bolt of lightning through my skull. The skin was already so tender that even stray puffs of air on it were painful. His fingers were far worse, and they were clamped so tightly I thought he would squeeze the head off. And the rough grains of salt not only stung, but the motion ground them deeper and deeper into the bloody skin. I nearly went insane from the pain.
When I came back to myself, nothing had changed. My cock was several shades of red, purple, and black, and blood was still seeping out all over it. It hurt terribly, but it was still sticking straight out. I could barely feel my balls – they were as numb as the weight that dangled from them. All I could think of was how desperately I wanted this nightmare to end.
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” said Dr. Cresh. “I was about to try some smelling salts on you.”
He continued. “Now that the skin has been tenderized, it’s time to dig in a little deeper. Ready?” With that, he began sticking pins into my dick. Each one went in to a depth of a quarter to a half an inch. The pain was surprisingly tolerable, at first, compared to what I had just endured. But as time went on and more and more pins bit into my flesh, the pain grew worse and worse.
By the time he finished, what must have been more than an hour later, I could barely see my cock in the forest of pins that sprouted from its surface. It looked like a penis-shaped Chia pet. The doctor had carefully avoided puncturing any of the major veins, swollen as they were with blood trapped by the rubber band. I was moaning and begging him to take them out, but he just stood back and admired his work. Then one of his aides handed him a blow dryer.
He switched the dryer on and aimed it at my cock. Each pin started warming up from the hot air passing over it. And all that heat was conducted straight through the metal into the meat of my penis. After five minutes, I was screaming again, so hoarse I had almost no voice left, but he didn’t stop then. He kept the heat on full force. It felt like my dick was being cooked, which I guess it was. The heat was everywhere – there was no escaping it. My voice finally gave out and I just hung there, enduring.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he switched the dryer off. “How does that feel, Hopeless? Don’t you wish you’d carried out my orders yourself? Do you have any idea how much easier it would have been for you? Well, too late now. Right now I need to finish cooking your dick so as to minimize the amount of blood there’ll be when I cut it off. Are you ready, Hopeless?” I could only groan in delirium.
I was so out of it that I didn’t see his next move coming, so the pain hit me like a hammer when it came. He wrapped his hand around my stiff dick, crushing all the pins down so they lay sideways against the shaft. I felt every single pin twist and tear through the half-cooked meat of my dick. Then he began to rub, causing my cock to feel like it was being pushed through a meat grinder. I passed out again.
This time I came to coughing and gagging at the foul stench I was breathing – smelling salts. The first thing I noticed was a change in the pain coming from my groin. The ball weight had been removed, and my nuts had been untied. The numbness from before had gone, and with the removal of the ropes they were letting me know how badly they had been mistreated. I felt sick to my stomach, the pain was so bad. Also, all the pins had been removed from my penis, although they had left their marks.
Before I had a chance to fully take in what was going on, Dr. Cresh assaulted my dick with a new form of torture. He was holding a long, threaded eye bolt, which he placed at the tip of my dick with the pointed end facing in. He slowly began to turn the bolt, feeding it in to the plastic tube that was already stretching out the inside of my shaft. The threads caught and bit into the plastic, and after that, every turn of the bolt drove it further into my cock.
The bolt was thick, at least 3/8 of an inch, even wider than the plastic tube. As it was forced in, my pisshole was stretched out wider and wider. I’m pretty sure that the plastic couldn’t take the strain and tore through in some places, putting the metal in direct contact with my flesh. I felt things begin to tear, and I knew then, as if there had ever been any doubt, that there was no hope of surviving this ordeal with my dick intact. I could never fully heal from the damage he was causing me, even if he didn’t take the final step and cut it off.
At last the bolt was completely in. Only the round loop at the end stuck out from the tip of my cock. I was beyond screaming, but tears were rolling down out of my eyes. Dr. Cresh attached a wire to the loop of the bolt, a wire which led away to end in a black box. He then wrapped a piece of wire mesh, like window screen material, around the outside of my dick, causing me fresh pains as the metal met my tortured skin. A second wire led from the mesh to the same box.
“Well, Hopeless, this is the last stage of our fun, I’m afraid. I have rigged up this transformer to send electrical current through the bolt and the mesh. As you can see, to get from the bolt to the mesh the current must also pass through your penis. I’ve set the system to start out slowly and gradually increase in intensity over the course of an hour or so. You’ll begin by feeling a mild tingling. As time passes, the tingling will grow stronger until it becomes painful. At that point, the electricity will be strong enough to generate a noticeable amount of heat. As the heat builds, your penis will begin to cook, perhaps getting hot enough to melt the plastic catheter. An unfortunate side effect of this process will be that all your nerves will be killed off, so the pain you will experience will begin to decrease at some point. A sad outcome, but one that can’t be helped.”
He pressed a button, and a low humming noise filled the room. “I have just started the timer. I’ll be back in about twenty minutes for the good part of the show.”
It all happened exactly as the doctor decribed. The tingling began, and grew, and grew, and grew to be unbearable. I was forced to watch as my own dick, swollen longer, thicker, and harder than it had ever been in my life, twitched and danced under the onslaught of the never-tiring electricity. Each time I thought the pain could get no worse, it did. I kept hoping to reach the point Dr. Cresh had promised, where my nerves began to die and the pain would ease off. But it was a long time in coming.
The humming noise grew louder and louder. Eventually I felt the heat begin, right about the time the doctor came back in the room. It was a different sensation from the electricity, but just as unpleasant. Over the next twenty minutes, the sensation of cooking came to dominate over the electric pulsing, but still the pain kept getting more and more intense. I wanted to black out to escape the agony, but unconsciousness wouldn’t take me away. I had to endure every horrifying second.
At last, about forty-five minutes in, the pain actually did begin to ease off. I began to breathe a little easier, and just then noticed I had been smelling smoke for some time. I opened my eyes, which had been squeezed shut, and saw thin wisps rising up from three or four places along my cock. I closed my eyes again and prayed for this to end quickly.
At last the timer clicked to its conclusion. The humming noise suddenly vanished, but I felt no change in my cock with the absence of current. The doctor came over and unwrapped the mesh. Bits of charred skin stuck to it as he pulled it away. I nearly vomited when I saw what lay beneath.
My cock had been seared. The skin was blackened and cracked. Through the cracks I could see the meat underneath, browned like a well-done steak. I felt nothing at all as he tore bits of skin away – the nerves had been completely burnt.
“OK, Hopeless, we’re ready for the last step. This is a tough surgery for the aides to have to watch…” I wanted to scream about how tough it was to endure, but I just didn’t have the strength. “… so I like to give one of them a reward at the end. Phillip?”
One of the aides walked over and climbed up on a stool behind me. I heard him unzip his pants, then felt his cock pressing up against my ass. With very little effort, Phillip forced his way into me and began pumping me with his dick.
Dr. Cresh, meanwhile, went over and got a hacksaw with a very thin blade. He placed it over my cock just at the far edge of the rubber band and began to slide it slowly back and forth, applying almost no downward pressure. I had thought I wouldn’t feel the cutting with my nerves dead, but I did. The area near the root must have been far enough away from the heat to escape being cooked. I thought about screaming some more, but it was too much work.
Time passed. I was somewhere else.
After an eternity, I felt Phillip’s strokes coming faster, and Dr. Cresh beginning to bear down harder on the saw. The pain of the cutting grew worse, finally becoming bad enough to snap me out of my daze, just in time to hear Phillip let out a ferocious grunt and feel his semen splatter the inside of my ass. At exactly the same time, Dr. Cresh gave a few powerful strokes with the saw and I watched my charred penis fall away from my body. The shudders of my rapist’s orgasm pulsed through me, shudders I would never feel again for myself.
Looking down, all I could see in the place where my dick once proudly stood was a tiny stump, dripping with surprisingly little blood, due to the rubber band acting as a tourniquet. Phillip’s cock pulled out of my ass, and I at last slipped into oblivion.
< break >
I was so delirious with pain and shock I didn’t even feel it when they unstrapped me from the rack and carried me away. I caught a brief glimpse of the large torture chamber as they carried me through it to an area I’d never been before. They stopped in front of an unfamiliar doorway, opened it up, and threw me inside.
I tried to climb up from the floor, but darkness began to spread inward from the edges of my vision. Before it closed in completely, I was startled to see unfamiliar faces for the first time since my arrival. They were all around me, closing in while I lost consciousness.
None of them had any arms.
POW's Fiction - Gay S&M Stories 
15 responses to “Hopeless”
Amazing!
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Wow
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MMMMM! Sounds like the ultimate cock torture 🙂 I want some!
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turned down a trick tonight to finish this story and i came twice. btw i am eighty years old. as long as there are writers like you out there i am sure i will be able to keep it up at ninety.
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Thanks awfully for your work. It provides me with a deliciously complex excitement and all satisfying accompanying juices; compelling, very well orchestrated, altogether lovely. For me,it compares to de Sade ( especially the 120 Days of Sodom) but that seems perfunctory compared to your material. I'm also very aroused by certain bits of Dennis Cooper but there's far too much sentiment. Your perpetrators are amazing in their sang froid and their(your) way with technical inventions is splendid. It also pleases me that the victims struggle and find no pleasure (unlike conventional SM) although an unexpected erection is a nice touch. This is my first posting but I might have replied to any of your previous offerings. I've read five. Keep them coming. You have a real gift. Yours in Death and Transfiguration,M.
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This was something similar to what I experienced, except for the modifications to myself anyway!
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To the eighty-year-old who turned down a trick to read this… thank you. You are very kind to say that. Really, the story could have waited until you had a spare moment, but I am touched and honored that you chose to read it instead.
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M. –
Thank you so much. I am delighted that you share my taste for victims who “struggle and find no pleasure” – there’s so much more master/slave material out there than captor/victim. Nice to encounter someone who enjoys (fictional) non-consent… though, as you say, an unexpected erection makes for a nice change of pace.
– POW
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I loved so much the fingernail torture. Very well written, detailed and long… a favorite of mine, but altogether a great story, really awesome. Thanks for it.
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I’d love to see “The Educator” by havsub that you said was the inspiration for this
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Adam –
Send me an e-mail. I’ll dig the various parts of “The Educator” out of the dusty basement of my computer and send them to you in reply.
The story starts off great, but I think the author didn’t have a clear ending in mind when he started writing, because the narrative gradually grows less and less focused and eventually just peters out, never really reaching a satisfying end. Before that unsatisfying un-end, though, there’s a lot of hot material!
– POW
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What is your email, POW?
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Saffran, my e-mail is included at the top of each story, but disguised in a way that hopefully defeats bots, at least for the moment. Quoting from above… “For spam prevention, an animal name has been added to the author's e-mail address. Remove the animal name to get the actual address: POWauthor zebra at yahoo dot com.”
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Fantastic story. I found the rape scene beyond belief good and that finger torture. You have a real gift. BTW I would love to find your source material the educator. I will email shortly. But keep up the great work.
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I read both chapters of Hopeless, and I can’t stop thinking about them. While I didn’t like them, exactly, and was not really turned on by all of it, I couldn’t stop reading it. I’m pretty twisted and have written some extreme fiction myself, it was nothing like this. None of the torture I fantasize about is this extreme. However, I was drawn into the story because of the great writing and the creativity of the extreme torture. The idea of the mutilation and the amputations was too much, but it’s what makes this such a powerful story. In my wildest imagination (and I have quite a sick imagination), I don’t think I could have created this vision of hell. It’s so fantastic, literally, and terrifying and grotesque at the same time. Yet, even in this gore and horror there persists eroticism. Very very well done, POW! Would love to be in contact.
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