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“Michael Slade: Marine Warrior” – Character Illustration by German Twister

A “Drawing Collection” consisting of 27 drawings and sketches by German Twister is available at:


by Commander




Mike Slade was not a happy man. He was 26 years old now. No permanent job. No permanent home. All the money he had left was about 40 Dollars, in his pocket. For 7 years he had served his country as a Marine. He had been trained as a recon specialist. He had seen action. He had left the Corps with honor and tried to find a settled life. It had not worked, so far.


He seemed to have returned back from where he started before joining the Marine Corps. At home all he had known was trouble. Well, at least most of the time. His dad was a cripple ever after his accident. His mum had died when he was boy of 3 years old. His brother was older and left home when he was 15. As a boy growing up he had spent much time on the streets. There he had discovered his talent to fight. Even as a youngster he had been strong, muscular. He’d never been afraid to use his fists. So he went to a dojo and started training: kickboxing mostly.


Before he could finish High School, he got into bad company. Went along with some burglaries. And he got caught. He was sent to a juvenile rehabilitation institute at 17. There he was found by an USMC recruiting officer. This way out had appealed to him. Adventure. Fighting. Camaraderie. A home. He enlisted and gave his best, and his talent was recognized and developed. He became a good fighter and soldier. He trained and honed his body into a fine warrior instrument. He specialized in martial arts and became a Marine kickbox champ. On his left deltoid he wore the USMC Eagle tattoo with pride.


His drill instructor had been his mentor. He used to be a boxer in his day. He persuaded Mike to extend his physical fitness training with cross-fit training programs. That way his naturally muscled body developed into the physique of an all-round athlete. He acquired even more strength, endurance, toughness. His body became ripped, his muscles thick, with high tone, defined. He was a paragon of health, fitness and strength.


He saw action on a number of recon operations in different countries. They sent him to Afghanistan, Pakistan, Yemen, Iraq, South Korea and more countries. They operated in small teams, most of the time procuring coordinates for air strikes. Action had been intense a few times. He had been injured, but nothing permanent remained. Just once things had gone sour. He and his buddy had been captured by Yemenite militia. They had been taken to some farm. That night the militia and a group of angry locals had had their “fun” with them. They were stripped naked, their wrists tied behind their backs, and tied face-to-face against each other, and then they had beaten them all over with sticks and a piece of chain. They had humiliated them and laughed uncontrollably as they joked about the two Americans dancing together and being homos, their manhoods rubbing against each other. Thank God after 24 hours they had been released. The superficial injuries and bruises on his back, butt and legs healed quickly.


After his tours of duty he reached a point where he decided to leave the Corps. He wanted a more settled life. Find a girl. Marry. Kids. But the outside world had not been kind to him. A fixed job he could not find, he had no diplomas. Most employers were suspicious of a war veteran. The only thing he had going for him was his body, the strength of his muscles. So he worked day jobs in construction. And entered underground bare-knuckle fights, to make extra cash.


And now he walked the streets, his stomach empty. He had paid the last rent for his room this morning and had left, carrying all his belongings in his duffle-bag. Tomorrow night there was another fight night in an old warehouse, where he would enter and make some money. For every win there was a bonus, and he was very confident he would win. Usually he got the opportunity to fight twice a night. He was a fighter by nature, and he was top fit. He was a natural athlete, muscular. And he worked out every day, mornings and evenings. If he had the money, he went to a dojo or gym. If not, he did his sets of pushups and situps in his room. He had to keep fit, his body was his capital right now.


Mike was a looker, too. He was 6′ tall, broad shouldered. He was very athletic and muscular. Someone once had remarked that he was a perfect mesomorph. He was handsome in a masculine way. His angular face had sharp features. With his short cropped blond hair and a 5-day stubble on his square jaws he had a rough, tough look. A few times he had been approached by men, who had asked if he was interested in modelling. He had refused them all. Some of those men had been gays, anyway, he was sure of that.


He passed an office building and his attention was caught by an ad put up next to the entrance. He stopped and read: “Immediate Job Opportunity. Overseas Construction Work. Good Pay Guaranteed.” Mike looked up at the building, and entered. Ten minutes later he was interviewed by Richard Summers, the official in charge of hiring.


“Well, Mr. Slade, what can I say? We are building this new hotel at a beach resort near Caracas, in Venezuela. “Plaja del Oro” it’s called. Had to be finished yesterday… but some of our local workers decided to go elsewhere. So, the company prefers to send over reliable men from here. But I have to warn you, it’s heavy work! And the climate is hot and humid.”


Mike shrugged his shoulders.


“I don’t mind heavy work. I can deal with anything you throw at me. I’ve been doing construction work before, I know what I get into.”


“Good to hear, Mr. Slade. And, by the looks of it, you seem built for hard work. That t-shirt seems to cover an able body for sure!”


The man had looked over the young man sitting across his desk. He had noticed the broad shoulders, thick chest and well muscled arms. Judging from his strong hands, he was no stranger to hard work.


“Yeah, I like to keep fit. Always ready for anything.”


Mike grinned. So did Summers.


“Well, okay then. Consider yourself hired for a three months period. My secretary will provide all you need. You can fly out tomorrow first thing. You’ll have accommodations near the building site. You’ll be paid in Dollars, cash, end of each week. And you receive an advance right now. No offence, but you look like you could use it.”


He rose from his seat and stretched out his hand, a friendly smile on his face. Mike grabbed the hand and shook it. Summers felt the strength of Mike’s grip. Then Mike grabbed his duffle-bag and threw it over his left shoulder. His thick bicep flexed, and he noticed the look of approval in the eyes of his new employer. As he left the room, Summers sat down and took his private address-book from a drawer. He looked up a number and picked up the phone.


“Hello, Youri? Hey, Richard here. How are ya? Listen, good news. I found a good one. Yeah. 26, tall, fit, packed with muscle, handsome. Looks like a tough one, too. What? Yeah, he gets there tomorrow. Morning flight. Michael Slade. All right? Oh, and you can handle my finders fee in the usual manner, ok? Great. All the best, and hey, have fun with this one! Ha ha!”




Everything went smoothly. The flight was all right and he had passed customs without any problem. He had showed the taxi-driver the piece of paper with the address, and had reached a run-down motel on the coast road. As he got out of the taxi, Mike could see the construction site down the road. His room was very simple, but clean. It was very hot, though. Mike was feeling the humid heat. He took off his sneakers and socks, t-shirt and jeans. He decided to get his stuff in order before showering. In his shorts only he began to unpack and organize his few belongings in the one closet there was. Underwear, socks, a few t-shirts, an extra pair of jeans, an old pair of camos, his work boots, his shaving utensils. Kickboxing shorts and gloves. And his prized possession, a brown leather jacket. That was about it.


Then he showered. He let the cool water run all over his hard, strong body and enjoyed the refreshment that gave. Feeling very fit and confident he put on a fresh pair of grey shorts and decided to try the bed before going out for a bite. He lay down and closed his eyes. He was supposed to show up for work first thing tomorrow, so he had time to relax. He stretched out on the bed and listened to the new sounds of his surroundings. He folded his hands behind his head. Even when relaxed, his biceps bulged thick. His abs tightened lightly with his slow breathing. His slightly hairy chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm. His eyelids became heavy, and he allowed himself to fall asleep.


A loud crash woke him rudely from sleep. He was awake immediately and leaped out of bed. He looked into the barrels of automatic weapons held by masked men in uniform.


“On the floor! NOW!”


The para-military officers entered the motel room. As Mike reluctantly began to kneel, he was hit hard into his abs with the butt an automatic.




Mike went down on the floor. Immediately he was pressed down by two men, their knees on his back and calves. Before he knew it, he felt his arms forced behind his back, and shackles put on his wrists. Then a pair of military boots appeared in his vision.


“American! You are under arrest for illegal drug trafficking! Don’t try to resist, we will shoot to kill!”


Mike was breathing heavily. He was all tensed up. What the hell was going on?!


“I’m a US citizen, I have nothing to do… ”




Two nightsticks hit Mike’s kidney area.




“Shut up, American! No talking! OK men! Let’s go. The Magistrate is waiting”


Gloved hands grabbed Mike in his armpits and he was lifted up. A black hood was pulled over his head. They manhandled him out of the room and into the street, where the black vans were waiting. Mike was pushed into the back of one of them and fell to the metal floor. Six policemen entered with him and made sure he stayed down on the floor. The van drove off. Alert to the max Mike tried to keep track of the turns the van took. Not a word was spoken. What the hell was happening? Drug trafficking? There must be some mistake. There simply must be.


Blinded by the hood as he was, Mike had not seen an overweight man in a white expensive suit, wearing a wide brim Panama hat. He watched intently as the prisoner, who was wearing his grey shorts only, was led towards the waiting van. A smile came to his lips as he saw that well-muscled, obviously very fit, young and virile body being dragged along. He took his mobile phone and dialled.


“Ricardo, it is Yuri here. I just call to let you know that the Special Arrest Team has apprehended the American. All went well, no problems. They are taking him to the State Security HQ. I will go there, too. Did you receive all the necessary information? Yes? You already finished the protocol? Excellent! You do not waste time, my friend! Haha! I will see you there, then.”


The man walked over to a limousine waiting for him. He got in, and the luxurious car left in the same direction the black vans had taken.


It must have been about 45 minutes. Then Mike sensed that the van made a sharp turn, drove down a slope and came to a halt. The doors were opened, and the police officers dragged him out of the back of the van.


“On your feet! Walk!”


Mike found his footing and was grabbed by his upper arms. Obviously they were inside some building. There was no sun on his skin. They marched him on, deeper inside, turning a number of times. The air was cool. A basement? Mike heard a door open, and he was pushed inside a room. They made him sit on a hard metal chair. Gloved hands grabbed his ankles, forced them sideways. Leather straps were closed on his ankles. Then his arms were yanked up and forced over and behind the backrest. Quickly his arms were tied to the chair. He could not move. The boots left. The door closed. Silence. Mike’s breathing was heavy. His strong fingers had a tight grip on the armrests.


How long he was left alone was hard to tell. But finally the door opened and he heard steps. Maybe three or four men, by the sound of it. A chair was moved. Somebody sitting down. Papers put on a desktop.


“Where am I? What is this?”


Mike was very tense. His fists clenched. Muscles taut.


“Shut up, American. You will answer only questions!”


A strong Hispanic accent.


“Let’s see his face!”


A different voice. European?


The hood was removed from his head. Mike’s vision needed a moment to adjust, then he looked around him. He saw a bearded man in a grey suit sitting behind a table in front of him. Next to that man another man, overweight, in a white suit. He was watching him intently, Mike noticed how the man’s gaze wandered over his near naked body. In the room also two police officers, masked and armed. The bearded man opened a file on the desk before him.


“Your name is Michael James Slade? Born December first, 1988?”


Mike nodded.


“Yes, correct.”


The bearded man took Mike’s passport from a brown envelope. They had obviously taken his papers from his jeans back at the motel.


“My name is Ricardo Diaz, I am Magistrate of the City Caracas and Head of the Special Police Department. I am here to judge your case, Mr. Slade. I must tell you right away, it is very serious!”


Mike looked at the man in front of him, then at the man in the white suit, who was constantly looking him over. He had a bad feeling about this. Magistrate Diaz continued.


“You have been arrested on suspicion of illegal drug trafficking. You have entered our country on the pretext of coming to work here. In truth, you smuggled chemical drugs. Street value estimated more than 30.000 Dollars. The drugs have been found in the closet in your motel room, between your possessions. All is here written down in the official protocol of your arrest!”


Mike was stunned. He shook his head. He felt a knot forming in his stomach.


“No! That’s impossible! I was not carrying any drugs! I just arrived from the States for my new job. The hotel building site, you know, next to the Motel. I have the papers in my duffle-bag, in my room. Or call the construction company. They can confirm it!”


The man in the white suit grinned and crossed his arms. Magistrate Diaz snorted and said


“We already have done that, Mr. Slade. They deny to have given you a job. I have here a fax confirming this, signed by a Mr. Summers. So stop lying, Mr. Slade! You came here to sell drugs!”


Mike became angry and frustrated. His muscles tensed up more. He clenched his fists.


“Hell no! This is fuckin’ crazy! I’ve got nothing whatsoever to do with drugs! There are no fuckin’ drugs in my luggage, man! Somebody must have made some mistake! I want a lawyer! Let me contact my embassy!”


Magistrate Diaz slammed his fist on the desk.


“Quiet! Be quiet! You have no idea how grave your situation is! This investigation takes place under special legislation to combat drug crimes in my country. As Magistrate I have special powers to investigate and judge this case. I advise…”


Mike wanted to speak and protest, but Diaz held up his hand.


“Silence! I advise you to confess. The evidence against you is overwhelming. Like I said, the drugs were found on you. They are yours. You produce lies about your reasons to be in our country. In your own country you have a criminal record. You are some kind of desperado. Now you come here to make money at the expense of our young people! It is a heinous crime! Only a confession could perhaps improve your situation!”


Mike swallowed. He could not believe his ears. He pulled against the restraints holding him to the chair.


“You can not do this! I am innocent! I want to call my embassy!”


The man in the white suit still held his eyes fixed on Mike, observing how the young man’s muscles strained and flexed. He said


“Your Honor, it is pointless. This man is a hardened criminal. He has nothing to say for himself in his defense. What choice do you have? He is guilty… ”


He shrugged his shoulders and his grin broadened. Mike threw him an angry glance. The Magistrate sighed.


“Very well then. Mr. Michael James Slade. You have been found guilty of the crime of illegal drug trafficking, illegal entry of the country, resisting arrest and assault. You have chosen not to confess to your crimes, even if it is quite obvious that you committed them. This constitutes an aggravation of your case. My sentence will therefore be harsh and is as follows. You will be taken from here to the Prison Camp on Erebo Island. There you will be put to forced hard labor for the duration of 5 years. Parole is denied! That is all.”


The Magistrate closed the file and slammed his fist on top of it. He stood up.


“Take the prisoner away! His sentence will start immediately!”


Mike mouth fell open. He shook his head in disbelief. 5 years hard labor?!


The Magistrate and the man in the white suit left the room. Two more policemen came in. Mike’s arms and ankles were released. As two men grabbed him by his arms, Mike tried to break free. He was strong and a fighter, so he nearly succeeded. But then one of the policemen took a prod from his belt used it on Mike’s leg.






The electric jolt was so strong that it locked up his leg muscles. He fell on his knees and could not resist anymore. The officers grabbed him roughly and dragged him out of the room. Again the hood was pulled over his head. They brought him back to the van waiting in the courtyard. They threw him in the back and jumped in with him. The door closed and the van left.


Upstairs Magistrate Diaz and Yuri Kramet sat down in leather easy chairs and enjoyed a good cigar with whiskey. Kramet held up his glass for a toast.


“Thank you so much for handling this quickly and efficiently, my friend. My organisation will show its gratitude! We now have a great addition to our line-up. This American looks like the best we’ve had for a long time. Have you read his file? He’s a former Marine! And he is a fighter, too! Fit, strong, muscled, young, and on top of that good-looking! He is perfect!”


Magistrate Diaz took a sip from his whiskey. He was less enthusiastic.


“I am glad to have been of help. To me this is about the money, as you know. I will have nothing further to do with your plans for him on Erebo Island. I do not share your special tastes, Colonel, nor do I wish to participate in your business ventures. I have pity for the American, he had good eyes. I do not believe he is really a criminal. But, now he is yours. I will try to forget about Mr. Slade and his fate as soon as I can!”


The two men toasted again, while Mike was on his way to Erebo Island.




The van drove to a remote part of the harbour, where the small coastal cargo vessel “Charon” was moored. The captain and crew were all uniformed and had a para-military look. The back-door of the van was opened, and Mike was dragged out.


“On your feet, bastardo!”


Mike quickly found his footing and was led over the gangway onto the deck of the vessel. There the captain waited for him. The soldiers made Mike stop right in front of the captain. He roughly pulled the hood from Mike’s head.


“Well, what have we here? Another hijo de puta for the Island, eh? A gringo, I hear. And by the looks of it, also a new one for the Colonel! Hahaha!”


Mike threw the captain an angry look, but said nothing. The captain clenched his fist and threw a hard punch into Mike’s abs. But he had seen it coming, and flexed his abs hard. The punch bounced off and Mike didn’t make a sound. The captain raised his eyebrows.


“Oh, this canalla is a tough one. Well let me tell you, bastardo, on the Island you will quickly have opportunity to prove how strong you are! We will see then! Take him down below and lock him up! We leave for Erebo as soon as Colonel Kramet is on board.”


Without much further ado Mike was taken down into the hold of the “Charon”. Apparently its cargo had been stone or rocks: the wooden floor was covered with grit and small sharp pebbles. Mike placed his bare feet carefully as he was pushed towards the end of the hold. There stood a large man-high cage, made of thick beams and bars. Mike’s cuffs were taken off, and he was roughly pushed inside the cage. The door was slammed shut and locked. The soldiers left and he was alone.


Mike rubbed his wrists to restore circulation and looked around in the cage. There was not much to see. The floor was covered with some old straw and in one corner lay two burlap sacks. In another stood a dented bucket. Mike tested the door, but it was firmly locked. The cage was about 20 by 20 feet, and high enough to stand. The bars were thick and solidly fitted. No way out. After he had paced up and down the cage a few times, he sat down on the burlap sacks. He rested his back against the bars, feeling the cold steel on his skin. Now he noticed that he was thirsty and hungry.


But first and foremost he was anxious. What the hell was happening? He could still hardly believe that he was sentenced to 5 years hard labor on some fuckin’ island. But this was not a bad dream. Here he was: in nothing more than his grey shorts he was imprisoned in a cage, like some animal. Where was his stuff? How could he get into contact with US authorities? How to get out of this mess? He had no idea to answer any of those questions.


A long time went by, and then Mike heard the ship’s engines droning. Soon after that he felt the ship move. Obviously they were on their way. So that meant that this Kramet-guy had arrived. Maybe that was somebody he could talk to. But nothing further happened, and soon the ship was heaving, a sign they had reached open water.


It might have been another two hours or so, and then more lights were switched on in the hold. Mike looked up. His eyes opened wide with surprise. Him! That overweight man in the white suit was walking up to the cage, still wearing his Panama hat. He was carrying a tray with a plate and a cup on it. Mike got to his feet and grasped the bars with his strong hands. The man stooped with a grunt and opened a hatch in the cage-door, and shoved the tray inside. Mike saw the plate with porridge, a piece of melon and a cup with water. The man in the white suit took a step back.


“Mr. Slade! On behalf of the Penitentiary System of this country I have the pleasure to welcome you aboard the vessel “Charon”. We are on our way to Erebo Island, and we will arrive in about 5 or 6 hours. Erebo Island will be your home for the coming years, Mr. Slade! But first things first. I must introduce myself. I am Colonel Yuri Kramet. I am a high ranking member of the Special Police, and I am Warden of the Prison Camp of Erebo Island.”


As he talked Kramet could not take his eyes away from Mike’s body, just like in that room before. It made Mike feel uncomfortable, but he didn’t say anything. Kramet proceeded.


“You have been sentenced to 5 years of hard labor, Mr. Slade. A sentence to match your crime! In this country we deal harshly with drug criminals, as you will find out soon. But there will be time to introduce you to your new life on the Island later. For now, I am sure that you are hungry and thirsty. A young lad like yourself needs his nourishment! Please, eat, drink!”


Mike looked down at the tray, and then looked Kramet in the eyes.


“Colonel, I need to contact my embassy. This is all some bad mistake. There were no drugs in my room! I have a fuckin’ job-contract in my bag, also in my room. I am innocent! I want to get out of here! And when do I get some fuckin’ clothes?!”


Kramet grinned.


“Mr. Slade, as a convicted criminal under special paragraphs of the Criminal Law you are not allowed any contacts at all. You are being punished for serious crimes! It is better to accept that and show some remorse. And as for clothes! Why, are you not proud to show that magnificent body of yours? Hahaha! Do not worry, you will receive the proper clothing as soon as we arrive on Erebo.”


As Kramet spoke, Mike felt anger rise inside him.


“Like hell! I didn’t do anything fuckin’ wrong! I want my goddamn rights respected! And stop looking me over like some fuckin’ faggot all the time!”


Mike yanked at the steel bars, then kicked the tray away from him. Kramet quickly took a step back.


“You need to learn some manners, Mr. Slade. I can see we’ll have to work on that on Erebo. For now you clearly need to cool down a bit. You have been down here in this cage too long. Some fresh air will do you good!”


Kramet turned around and walked away. Mike gave the tray another fierce kick and cursed angrily. He decided there and then that he would never in his life give in to this faggot Kramet. No fuckin’ way.


Then they came for him. Four armed guards and some kind of officer in charge. Guns and prods on their belts. Sour, angry faces. The officer yelled


“Gringo puerco! Come here! Turn around, stick your hands through the opening! Now!”


Mike obeyed reluctantly. Cuffs were snapped on his wrists. Then they unlocked the door.


“No tricks, gringo! I warn you only one time. You try something, you die!”


Mike stepped outside the cage and was marched on deck. The warm sun made itself felt on his skin. The “Charon” had stopped its engines. Quite a strong wind was blowing and the waves made the “Charon” heave. They pushed Mike on towards the bow, where Kramet stood waiting. On the bow stood a small mast carrying lights and a radar. It was rigged with thick cables. The men forced Mike in front of the mast, under the slanting cables. While Kramet looked on, they uncuffed his wrists. One soldier forced his left arm up and attached the cuff to the cable. Another snapped a second cuff on his right wrist and then attached it to the cable on Mike’s other side. He stood with his arms spread out, although not fully stretched. Kramet held his hat with one hand and said


“There, Mr. Slade. That is much better than the cage below! Fresh sea air and sunshine. Enjoy it! You will be able to see Erebo Island in a few hours. Your destination, your new home! You have a nice skin tan already, but it will improve. You can thank me later. And the sea will cool your temper. Hahaha!”


They all left, and the “Charon” continued its journey. The heavy swell made the vessel heave, and its prow started to dive into the waves, breaking them. Again and again a heavy spray rose up high and splashed down on the bow, where Mike stood cuffed to the rigging cables. He had trouble to remain standing and his biceps flexed thick as he held himself up. His body was bending and curving with the ship’s movements, making the muscles flex. Time and again the waves of seawater pounded him, and he was soaking wet. His grey shorts were drenched and sticking to his body, revealing the contours of his athlete butt and manhood bulge. Seasalt began to stick to his skin all over, to be washed away with the next wave. As he stood near naked above the “Charon”‘s breakwater, he looked like a figurehead: a sculpted and ripped muscular body with its arms wide open.




As the sun began to set the “Charon” reached its destination. Mike had seen the Island approach. It was not a very big island, but he saw two rocky mountaintops sticking out above a green jungle. As they came closer, a small harbour became visible, with some buildings and warehouses. A bit deeper inland he could see what looked like a small fortress. To the left of that fortress the jungle had apparently been felled: there seemed to be a quarry carved into the steep mountain.


The “Charon” moored at the jetty. The guards came and released Mike from the cables. Quickly his wrists were cuffed once again behind his back. They led him down the gangway and escorted him along the jetty. On the quay Kramet stood waiting for him.


“Mr. Slade! Welcome to Erebo Island! Let’s walk over to your new accommodations. In the meantime I can tell you more about your new home!”


The guards escorted Mike closely. He noticed that they were all armed and were carrying electric prods on their belts. Two of them had nasty looking nightsticks in their fists.


“The name already says a lot about this place. Erebo means “darkness” or “hell”. An appropriate name, I assure you, especially for a hard labor camp! It used to be a trading post during the days of slavery in the Caribbean. Slave ships brought their cargo here, and from here slaves were sold to the plantations and mines of the area. Most of the infrastructure of that time still exists. Thanks to generous subsidies from the government the old buildings with their slave pens and cells have been modernized. This means most of all the security measures, of course. The living conditions inside the cells have retained their … historic entourage, let’s say! Haha! You will see that for yourself shortly. The fortress is now my residence, as Warden. It has all the necessary amenities. And, Mr. Slade, its basement is huge! I have developed that area in particular into a highly specialized area for entertainment. But that area you will come to know as well, I am sure! Haha!”


They had reached the foot of a slope that led up to the entrance of the fortress. To the left Mike could see four ancient brick barracks, with rows of small barred windows. They stood on the four sides of a square. In the middle of the square stood a low wooden platform with a more than man-high frame, built of thick beams. From the high corners and on the bottom ends of the beams were metal shackles attached. The group turned left and halted at the side of the square. Kramet grinned.


“Yes, Mr. Slade, take a good look! What you see is the ancient whipping post of the slavery days. It might interest you to know that it is still in use! As Warden of this Prison Camp I firmly believe in the benefits of corporal punishment. The whip is a fine teacher of discipline!”


Mike tensed up as he looked at the frame. Slave pens and a whipping post. Fuck! Where the hell had they sent him? Suddenly he felt a sweaty hand on his shoulder. His muscles tightened and he turned his head. Kramet’s touch was not a friendly gesture. The hand was feeling up his thick and hard shoulder muscles. Mike pulled his shoulder away.


“Mr. Slade, look at you! You are all caked with sea salt! We will have you cleaned up immediately. Then you will get your new prison issue clothes, and you will be introduced to your cell. Let’s go!”


Mike was pushed hard from behind, and the group left for the barracks immediately at their left. Next to the entrance door made of thick wood and with heavy iron fittings, a water hose was connected to a tap. They made Mike stand still. One of the guards opened the tap and started to hose Mike down. The water jet hit him hard and he gritted his teeth. After he had been hosed down completely, he stood dripping wet. He took deep breaths and a light shiver ran through his body. Then a guard came up and kneeled next to Mike. He was carrying a small flat box fitted with straps. He placed the box on Mike’s left lower leg, above his ankle, and strapped it on. The reinforced plastic straps were secured. Kramet saw Mike’s questioning look.


“That, Mr. Slade, is one of the more modern security measures here. It is a stun-cuff that can be operated by remote control. All the guards carry such a remote control. The slightest attempt of violence or rebellion on your part, and they will send a high voltage charge through your body! And let I not forget to say that every such attempt will be additionally punished by 30 lashes! Understood? Good. Now as to your clothes. First, strip down!”


Mike stiffened. His wrists were uncuffed, and a guard in front of him took the remote control for the stun-cuff in his hand, giving Mike a threatening look. Mike stood still.


“Come on, Mr. Slade! Take off those shorts. Do not be shy! Hahaha!”


Mike cursed inside his mouth as he started to pull down his shorts over his butt, and then down his thickly muscled thighs. He let them fall on the ground and stepped out of them. Then he stood tall, all naked, breathing slowly, tense. A thin sheen of sweat made his skin glisten. Kramet walked slowly around him, letting his eyes wander over Mike’s body. Especially he gazed from behind at his hard muscled athlete’s butt, and in front at his virile manhood. A thin trail of hair ran down the middle ridge of his abs, ending in thick pubic hair. Below the cut cock was large even in its flaccid state, and the balls were hanging low in their sack.


“Very nice indeed, Mr. Slade! You are an exceptional specimen! You must be proud of such a great body! And such great shape! You have excellent muscle tone!”


Mike closed his eyes tight and swallowed. He clenched his fists. He would have his revenge for this humiliation! He would get Kramet one day.


“According to your jeans you have a 32 waist, Mr. Slade. Here is a pair of breeches that should fit. They are standard Erebo Island issue for convicts. The shape is traditional breeches that will cover you from your waist to just below your knees. Buttons close the fly and waistband. The fabric is strong cotton, the colour grey. It was the kind of breeches the slaves were wearing in the old days. You see, I appreciate history. Here, please, put them on!”


Mike took the breeches from Kramet and put them on. They were a tight fit. They rested low on his hips, fitted snugly on his butt. They were tight on his thick thighs. The legs could be buttoned below as well, and ended just above his bulging calves. Mike stood waiting and looked at Kramet.


“Is that it? What about a shirt? Shoes?”


Kramet shook his head.


“No, Mr. Slade, no shirt. No shoes. You will remain stripped to the waist at all times. For work sandals will be issued. Do not worry, the climate here is quite hot and humid. And the occasional rain storm will be a welcome change for the hot burning sun on your skin. And besides, it would be a waste to hide your beautiful body under a shirt! Hahaha! Take him to his cell!”


The door to the barracks was opened, and Mike stepped inside. They took him down a corridor lined with grid cell-doors. One of them stood wide open, and through that one Mike was shoved inside. Behind him the door was locked. Mike looked around. The door had a thick metal grid, with a food pass below and an open cuff-port. On the ceiling a single light bulb covered with a metal basket. A small window high up, with three thick bars. Stone floor and walls. Against the left wall stood a narrow wooden berth with a thin ragged mattress and a dirty pillow. In the opposite corner a low wooden bucket, empty. Mike sat down on the hard berth. He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. He could not believe what had happened to him this day. This morning he had been confident about a fresh start to improve his circumstances. But now, as it grew dark outside his cell he realized he was now a convict in a prison camp. And in the hands of a pervert and madman. He muttered to himself


“Man, you’re in real fuckin’ deep shit!”


With a deep sigh of frustration he stretched himself out on his berth.




At the crack of dawn Mike woke up from a rattling noise at the cell-door. The food pass was opened and a tray was shoved inside. Mike got up and found a mug of water, three thick slices of dry bread and some bananas. He looked into the corridor and saw a number of convicts being led outside. He realized he was hungry and thirsty, so first he ate and drank. He had just finished when he heard boots outside the cell-door. The door was opened and three guards were there to get him.


“Come, bastardo. Time to go! Hands behind your head!”


Mike obeyed and they took him outside. The sun was rising and it was already getting hot. They went to an open tools barn, where a uniformed man with a moustache and a cold gaze in his eyes was waiting for him. In his right hand he carried a coiled leather whip.


“Gringo! My name is Capitan Sanchez. I am the work overseer. I make sure that convicts work. And I make sure there is discipline. I have the authority to inflict corporal punishment up to 30 lashes. Any and every breach of discipline will cost you stripes on your back! Remember that!”


He tapped with his leather whip on Mike’s chest, to underscore his words.


“Orders by me and my guards are to obeyed immediately and without question. You will not speak unless told to. Especially you will not speak with the other convicts! You will be silent and you will work, and work hard! Do you understand?”


Capitan Sanchez kept tapping his whip on Mike’s chest. Mike returned his gaze with a hard stare of his own, and nodded.


“By orders of the Warden you will be put to work in the quarry. You will break rock and collect the rubble in a large basket that will be issued to you. You will take the filled basket to the cart, empty it in the cart, and have the guard sign off one basket on your worksheet. Then immediately you return to your assigned work spot and resume work. You will fill six baskets a day minimum! If you fail, you will be punished. 20 Lashes! Understood?”


Tap…tap…tap. Mike nodded again. His jaw muscles flexed. He felt a few sweat drops forming in his armpits and running slowly down his ribcage.


“You will work from daybreak to sunset. On the top of each hour you will get water to drink and five minutes rest. At noon there is a break of thirty minutes for food and drink. No talking! In the evening you get fed once more in your cell. Understood?”


Tap…tap…tap. Mike nodded. A sweat drop ran down from his neck between his shoulder blades. Sweat drops also gathered in his jugular notch.


“Tools for work are issued each morning and are to be returned at the end of the day. You will work hard. Slacking will not be tolerated. Guards will be overseeing work all the time and have authority to spur you on in any way they see fit. Again, any breach of obedience or discipline will be harshly punished. If you need anything during work, you raise your hand and wait for a guard to come. Is that all clear and understood?”


Incisive tapping with the whip on Mike’s glistening chest. Mike nodded.


“Good. Now, here are a pair of sandals. Strap those on your feet. Here is your basket. And here your sledge hammer. Hurry! You are losing working time! Remember, six baskets a day!”


Mike put the leather sandals on his bare feet. The large basket had two rough rope-shoulder straps, so it could be carried like a backpack. The sledge hammer was double faced and had a long hickory handle. It weighed about 9 kilos. Mike felt its weight as he lifted it up. Then he was escorted in the direction of the quarry, about a mile and a half away from the barracks.


They entered the quarry through a metal gate, set in a 40 feet high grid fence with barbed wire on top. The quarry was maybe a mile deep and some 2000 feet wide. The steep slopes from which the rock was quarried were about 350 feet high. To judge by the narrow shadows, its orientation was north-south, with the entrance on the south side. The sun was already beating down on it.


As they took Mike deeper into the quarry, he looked around. There were about 20 other convicts already at work. Most of them were young men, a majority mestizos and blacks. All were stripped to the waist, in breeches, their bodies glistening with sweat. Guards were slowly pacing up and down, in groups of two. They were armed, and on their belts Mike noticed the remote controls for the stun cuffs. He noticed too that they all carried whips: about 5 foot long braided cotton rope whips with a wooden handle. On the edge of the quarry he saw, left and right, two guards posted with rifles, binoculars hanging from their necks.


Halfway the quarry they passed a pavilion with a cloth canopy. It provided shade for an arrangement of chairs, a desk and a small kitchen sink with a tap. Obviously it was meant for the guards. Then they pushed Mike towards the left, to the steep slope. To his left a black guy was working, about 200 feet away. A pile of large boulders lay about. Here they stopped. Capitan Sanchez pointed with his whip towards the boulders.


“This is yours, gringo. You know what to do.”


He left and walked away back to the pavilion.


Mike took the big basket of his back. He saw a cart waiting in the distance. He held the heavy sledge hammer in both hands, his eyes on the rough boulders in front of him. The sun was burning hot in a clear blue sky. The air humid. Mike took a deep breath and lifted the sledge hammer high over his head. Then he brought it down forcefully on the boulder in front of him. Some chips flew, but otherwise not much happened. He gritted his teeth and began to swing the sledge hammer in a steady rhythm. His muscles flexed as he strained himself, swinging the sledge. Soon he began to sweat, and thin rivulets of sweat drops ran down his back.


It took a while before Mike was able to break off a small enough piece of rubble from the boulder. He put down the sledge, lifted up the heavy piece of rock and placed it in his basket. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. From the corner of his eyes he saw a guard approaching.


“Hey! Bastardo! No stop! You work! Trabajar!”


Mike threw the man an angry glance and picked up his sledge. He resumed work. The guard came up to him, his whip ready.


“Canalla! Non intiende? Trabajar!”




The guard let his whip lash Mike’s broad shoulder blades. Mike stiffened as the pain hit him, but he gritted his teeth and made no sound. He directed his anger into swinging the sledge more forcefully.


“Bueno! You work or you get whip! Latigo!”


He cracked his whip in the air before he let Mike alone to work. Across his shoulder blades an angry welt appeared.


The hours went by. The heat became stifling. Mike kept swinging his sledge hammer and broke rock. His muscles were pumped, veins stood out. He was wet with sweat. The waistband of his breeches hard turned dark as they got soaked with the sweat drops running down his body. The hourly break was very welcome. An older convict escorted by two guards would come round with a bucket and a mug, attached to the bucket with a thin chain. Mike put his heavy sledge down. Breathing heavily he grasped the mug, scooped up water, and drank. The guards allowed him to drink two mugs each time. But 5 minutes were a short time, and in a gruff tone he was ordered to resume his gruelling work.


At noon the convicts were ordered to lay down their tools and gather together at the pavilion. There the midday-food was distributed on trays. Mike was surprised to see that there was an ample amount. There was a thick porridge with pasta and milk, meat and some fruits. Water was also supplied. The convicts each chose a spot to sit, on the ground or on a boulder, and to eat. Mike felt his muscles burn from exertion. He had worked hard and managed to deliver three baskets to the cart. The palms of his hands were painful, and he had a few blisters.


Capitan Sanchez came up to him. He tapped his whip at Mike’s thick deltoid, where the Marine Corps tattoo almost glistened.


“So, gringo, you are strong soldier, no? Why you become delincuente?”


Mike looked up and saw his own reflection in Sanchez’s dark sunglasses.


“I am no criminal. I am innocent.”


Capitan Sanchez sneered.


“Pfff! That they all say. You are here, so for me you are delincuente, guilty. You are bad guy, so we punish you. Get up! Give me 30 pushups!”


Mike restrained himself and said nothing. He put down his tray and went down to pushup position in front of Sanchez. He started. After the first six repeats he suddenly felt Sanchez’s boot in his neck, pressing him down.


“Deeper, bastardo! All the way down!”


Sanchez forced him deep down, making Mike’s pecs touch the ground. He held his boot in position as Mike pressed up. Each repeat Sanchez made Mike go all the way down. Dirt was sticking to his sweaty pecs. With the last repeat Sanchez suddenly kicked Mike’s left arm from under him. He fell to the ground and Sanchez planted his knee in Mike’s neck. He shoved his coiled whip under Mike’s chin.


“Bastardo, you are nothing but a criminal and I will make sure you pay for your crimes! Not only Colonel Kramet will make your life hell! Now get up and work!”


He kicked Mike’s ribcage with his boot.




Mike crawled back to his feet. He wiped off some of the dirt from his chest and abs. He gave Sanchez a quick angry look, and ignored the pain in his ribs. Sanchez just laughed at him, then turned around and left. The midday break was over.


In the afternoon hours Mike slowly began to get the hang of breaking the rock. He looked for existing creases and directed his strokes there, hitting the boulder until a piece broke off. Sometimes he was lucky and a larger piece of rock broke off. Even if it was more heavy to lift and haul on his back, it helped to make his quota. But most of the time it took long series of strokes with the sledge to get the boulders to break, and it required much effort. His body was drenched in sweat, his muscles flexed as he kept swinging the sledge and striking the rock.


The sun started to set and finally the signal came to stop work. Mike put his sledge down and rested his hands on the handle, leaning forward a bit. His breathing was heavy from the exertion, his abs sucked in. His muscles were aching after the long hours of heavy work. The guards rounded up the convicts and escorted them out of the quarry, back to the barracks area. They had to return their tools and sandals. The worksheets were collected. Mike had managed seven baskets and filled the eight half way. The guard told him that did not count. Tomorrow was a new day, fresh quota. In front of the barracks stood a multi station sink. The convicts were allowed to wash the sweat and dirt from their bodies. Then they were sent inside, each to his own cell. In Mike’s barracks were 5 more convicts, one black guy and four mestizos. They were all young men, looking fit and strong. Especially the black guy was thickly muscled. Nobody said a word and they hardly looked at each other.


Mike entered his cell and found the tray with food, water and milk on the floor. Again the food was okay and plenty. Mike stretched out on his berth, his hands behind his head. He felt weary and his muscles felt heavy and aching. He tried to block out his bad situation and think of nothing. It did not take very long before he fell asleep.




It was very early morning on the sixth day since Mike was imprisoned on Erebo Island. It was shortly before sunrise that Kramet quietly entered the barracks. The lights in the barracks were still on. He sneaked in and, tiptoeing, he moved to Mike’s cell. Standing at the grid metal door, he looked inside. There he was. Mike was on his side on the berth, sleeping. His left arm was under his head, his right underarm resting on his waist. His breathing was calm and slow.


Kramet’s gaze caressed the young convicts half naked body. He looked at his face with its strong facial features. His cheekbones were high, his chin tapering. His square jaws with a stubble. His left arm biceps flexed under his chin, even as the arm was obviously relaxed. His slightly hairy chest heaved ever so lightly with his slow breathing. His nipples situated near the rounded edge of his muscled pecs. His lower abs disconnected from the breeches’ waistband just slightly. The thin hairy trail leading to what lay covered between his thick muscled thighs. What a magnificent body! Kramet’s right hand had moved to his crotch……and he let his imagination free…


Something woke Mike up. He tensed up immediately and looked over at the cell door. He saw Kramet standing there and sat up. He noticed how Kramet quickly removed his hand from his crotch.


“Mr. Slade! Good morning!”


Mike gave Kramet a hard stare. How he hated that man. There was something about him he did not like at all.


“I need you to come with me to the fortress this morning. I won’t keep you too long away from your work in the quarry, though. Maybe just an hour or so. Guards!”


Mike walked between two guards, his hands behind his head. They took him to the fortress, but not to the main entrance. Instead, they took a left turn and went to a modern metal sliding door in the wall. It was an elevator, and they went down. Coming out they stepped into a long corridor with steel doors left and right. Kramet opened a door and let Mike enter. It was a big room that looked like a photographer’s studio. It was mostly empty, one wall was covered with a black cloth. Lights were fitted to the ceiling and on high tripods. Some chairs, closets and a table were all the furniture. The guards took position at the door. One of them tapped his remote control, to remind Mike of the stun collar around his lower leg. Kramet put on a smile.


“We are here in my humble studio, Mr. Slade. I am going to take some pictures of you. They will be for business purposes, and my own enjoyment. Now then, I can see the sun has improved your tan these last days. That is very good. That way your musculature will come out to its full advantage. And your muscle tone is so good, I don’t even think you need to pump up your muscles before we start.”


Mike felt uncomfortable as Kramet commented on his body and was letting his eyes run over him head to foot once again.


“What business are you talking about, Kramet?”


Kramet grinned.


“I will tell you more after the photoshoot, Mr. Slade. Now first we are going to get things done. You need to change. Here are your camos, that I saved from your motel room. Take off your breeches and put them on!”


Mike clenched his teeth as he reluctantly unbuttoned the waistband on his breeches. He stepped out of them, and stood all naked. Kramet grinned and threw Mike’s old camos at him. He caught them and quickly put them on. They were a perfect fit on him.


“Excellent! That really looks very good! You have a warrior’s body and looks, Mr. Slade, and in these camos your appearance is perfectly natural! Oh yes, clients are going to be very excited indeed!”


Mike stiffened. He threw Kramet an angry look.


“Clients?! What the fuck! What fuckin’g clients?”


“Oh, patience, Mr. Slade! You will know soon enough. Now please come over here and stand on these scales… yes, that’s it… let’s see… 185.”


Kramet noted the figure down and took a tape measure from his pocket.


“Now I need to take some of your body measures. Please stand still and upright. Yes, that’s it…”


Kramet busied himself with the tape measure and mumbled the results as he wrote them down.




Then he produced a body fat calculator and put it on Mike’s skin.


“Body fat…5%. Excellent! Yes, you have outstanding muscle definition and separation, Mr. Slade. I congratulate you! Now, please stand over there, with the black wall as background.”


Mike walked over and stood waiting while Kramet adjusted the lights and prepared the camera.


“Okay, Mr. Slade. On my command you will assume some poses, and I will take the pictures. Ready? Stand still, arms beside you. Yes, and now, hands behind your head and flex your biceps. Good. Now exhale and tighten your abs. Wonderful! Turn around and let me get your back. Yes, very good. And now, take off your camo pants!”


With a jerk Mike turned around.


“What?! Naked?! No fuckin’ way, man!”


“Mr. Slade! Must I remind you that you are wearing a stun collar? And that disobedience will get you 30 lashes? Do as I tell you, right now!”


Mike grit his teeth and his jaw muscles flexed as he took of his camos and dropped them beside him.


“Yes, that’s it. Well, that is a mighty fine man cock you have there! Looks very healthy and potent!”


The camera clicked as Kramet took pictures of a fully naked Mike standing with flaccid cock. Kramet made him turn around as well, to get his back and ass.


“And now, Mr. Slade, you will get hard! I want a picture of you with erect cock!”


Mike swallowed and spit out


“I won’t get fuckin’ hard for you, you sick shit!”


Kramet looked at him with a false compassion and a slight disappointment.


“Yes, I thought so. A real straight man, eh? Even better, actually, but that is for later. For now, let me get you some help!”


Kramet made a quick call on his mobile. Not long after the door was opened and a girl entered. She was maybe 20 years old, a mestiza girl of great beauty. Her long black hair fell in thick waves down on her shoulders and she had an open and kind face with big brown eyes and shiny white teeth.


“Maria! Come in, my dear! We need your help. Mr. Slade here needs to show us his erect penis, so it can be photographed. You know, for the catalogue. Now take off your clothes and do your thing!”


Maria nodded, obviously she was in a menial position. She looked over at Mike, and her eyes met his. They looked each other deep in the eyes right away. Maria began to undress, revealing an athletic body with big protruding tits. She came up to Mike, and while still looking him in the eyes, she placed her hands on his hard muscled chest. Very slowly she let her hands wander downwards, and her fingers played with Mike’s hardening nips. As she felt his reaction, she let her hands wander down further and she grabbed his asscheeks, while her head leaned in and her warm, moist lips began to lick Mike’s nipples. She pressed her body against Mike’s, and he felt her softness on his hardness. He moaned and closed his eyes as he felt arousal coming. Instinctively he embraced the girl and pressed her closer against him. Then her left hand grabbed Mike’s thickening and growing cock, and she began to rub and massage. She licked his chest and nipples, kneaded his ass with her right hand. Mike groaned as his cock hardened. He buried his nose in Maria’s thick black hair and took deep breaths. As he pressed her more tightly against his body, she felt his strong muscles flex hard. She took Mike’s right nipple between her teeth and bit down. Mike groaned deep. His juices began to flow and his cock hardened more.


“Yes, fine, that’s it! Enough now!”


Kramet dragged Maria away from Mike and walked up staring at Mike’s erect penis. His camera was hanging on his chest. He took Mike’s cock in his hand. Mike stiffened and felt an urge to have a go at Kramet, but from the corner of his eyes he saw the guards taking a step in his direction. With obvious glee Kramet handled his cock.


“Let’s see what length it is……6,5 inches… wonderful, it is above the average, another quality in your favour, Mr. Slade! Now for some pictures!”


While Kramet took the pictures, Mike felt a deep humiliation. His eyes met Maria’s again. The girl looked at him with an intense gaze. Was it compassion? Their short encounter had certainly been hot, clearly to both of them. He kept watching Maria as she got dressed and walked to the door. She looked back one more time, and their eyes met again. Meaningfully. Then she left the room.


“Okay, Mr. Slade. That should do it. You can get dressed again. The breeches. We will keep your camos for when you’ll need them. Sooner rather than later, if I know my clientele……But now you will go and work. Remember your quota! Keep that body in shape! Hahaha!”


Maybe it was 4 o’clock, maybe a bit later. Dripping with sweat Mike was angrily hitting the boulder with his sledge. He was finishing his sixth basket. All day he had been directing his anger and frustration at breaking rock. He didn’t even notice Kramet approaching, until he was addressed by him.


“Mr. Slade! I see you are working hard. That is excellent! No, no, keep working. Don’t stop on my account. I just really enjoy watching a man do heavy physical work. The sight of flexing muscles is very pleasing to me!”


Mike brought the sledge down forcefully, groaning with exertion, and a big piece of rock broke off.


“Good work, Mr. Slade! Now, into your basket, eh?”


With anger in his eyes Mike put down the sledge, and stooped to pick up the heavy, rough piece of rock. He searched for a good grip and with a deep moan he lifted it up.


“Yes, a good piece of Gold Granite indeed, that is! It will bring good money in Caracas. The quarry here brings a small profit. The stone is of good quality, and the labour, of course, is for free! Well, almost. Food and lodgings we must provide, but other than that… hahaha!”


Mike dropped the rock in his basket, filling it up. He took a deep breath, wiped away some dirt from his abs and chest, and bent down to haul the basket on his back. He grit his teeth and stood up.


“I came to tell you, Mr. Slade, that I have finished your profile. In our catalogue you are now listed as “Marine Warrior”. How do you like that?”


Mike threw Kramet a glance.


“What the fuck you talking about, man?”


Kramet followed Mike as he made his way towards the cart. He beckoned two guards, as well. As he spoke, Kramet’s tone of voice became cold.


“I run a business, Mr. Slade. And a profitable one, in a financial and personal sense. I select convicts from this prison and offer special services to a small but very wealthy group of international clients. Men with extraordinary interests and tastes. My business is called NPNG Enterprises. Yes, Mr. Slade! NPNG, meaning No Pain No Gain. And … oh yes, it refers to your pain and my gain! Hahaha!”


Mike lifted up the basket and cleaned it out in the cart. He was lost for words.




Kramet looked at him, as he stood tall, breathing heavily and sweating.


“My clients pay a lot of money to have their special fantasies become reality, Mr. Slade. A muscular black guy as a slave of the days past, being whipped. Or an athlete forced to exercise until exhaustion. Or, Mr. Slade, a real American marine being interrogated and tortured!”


Something snapped in Mike’s head. Like lightning he was on Kramet and threw him down in the dirt, on his back. He planted his knees on his chest and his strong fingers locked onto Kramet’s throat.


“You fuckin’ son of a bitch! You sick piece of…”






The strong electric jolt paralyzed his leg and fierce pain shot through his body. He fell backwards, disabled and spasming. The guards pulled him away from Kramet and drew their nightsticks. They were beating Mike on his back and into his gut, as Kramet crawled back to his feet, dusting himself off.


“Stop! Enough!”


Mike had curled up and protected his head against the blows. He lay in the dirt, panting hard. Kramet stood close to him.


“I would have you severely punished for this, American! And I assure you, you will pay. Maybe not now, but some day. For now, I expect your first booking quite soon, if I know some of my clients. And trust me, Mr. Slade, soon you will learn the true meaning of the word “pain”!”


With that Kramet turned away and left Mike lying in the dirt, the two guards standing menacingly over him.




It happened just two days later. Mike was at work in the quarry, soon after the lunch break. Then they came. Four guards and Maria. She looked at him, and he detected some apprehension in her eyes. He tensed up.


“Gringo, Colonel Kramet has sent me to come and get you.”


Mike put down the sledge and wiped some sweat drops from his forehead.


“What’s up? Where are you taking me?”


One of the guards pushed him hard in his back.


“No talk, bastardo! You come! Hands behind head!”


Mike obeyed, and they took him out of the quarry and to the fortress. Again, they went inside through the side entrance, down the elevator. At the end of the long corridor they entered through a steel door into a rudimentary bathroom. Maria put her hand on Mike’s shoulder.


“Gringo, wash yourself.”


Mike looked at her again, a question in his eyes, but Maria gave him a soft push, urging him on. She had a worried gaze in her eyes.


Mike took of his breeches and washed himself under the shower. Then Maria pointed at a chair, where Mike’s camos and a pair of combat boots stood.


“Put those on. Quickly.”


Mike put on the camos and sat down to lace down the combat boots. Maria stood next to him with an electric razor.


“Be careful, I must do your hair and face!”


She gave him a 6 mm short cropped hairstyle and trimmed his stubble to a two-day shadow. Mike put his hand on her underarm.


“Maria, what the hell is going on?”


Immediately a guard came up and threatened to hit Mike with his nightstick.


“Silencio! No Talk! Come, Señor chino is in castle already!”


They took him down the corridor again, Maria following, and into another room. It was a big space, all concrete and empty but for some easy chairs, closets, a table. But what drew Mike’s attention were the rings in the floor in the middle of the room, about 3 feet apart. Above them there were shackles hanging from chains fitted in the ceiling, one chain right above each floor-ring. The guards made Mike stand at the rings. They forced his legs wider and quickly attached his ankles to the rings with chains. At the same time two others lifted up his arms and snapped his wrists in the shackles. He stood spreadeagled, his arms not fully stretched. Mike tested the chains, pulled hard, his biceps flexing, but he was secured tightly. The guards checked on the restraints, and laughed.


“Haha, now, bastardo, how you like the sala de torturas, eh? Soon we hear your gritar, umh…your scream! Haha!”


“Fuckin’ bastards! Let me go!”


Mike fought hard against the chains, but he could not break free. Panting heavily he looked around the room. Maria came to him, and whispered in his ear.


“Gringo, I am sorry, I can not help you now. But I will try something, I promise!”


“Maria, please, what the fuck is going on?”


But the girl had no chance to reply. The door opened and Kramet entered, and after him came a young Chinese looking man, very overweight and sweating. Immediately his little mean eyes locked on Mike, chained half-naked in the middle of the room.


“Mr. Shi! May I present to you: Marine Warrior! As you see, he is all I promised him to be. Look at that body! See those muscles! And he is top-fit! Add to that his fighting spirit, and your 4 hours of intense pleasure are guaranteed!”


The fat Chinese boy started walking slowly around Mike, looking him up and down. With a feminine sounding voice he said


“Yes, Mr. Kramet, I see. Is very good, yes? He very jirou fada, uh…, muscular, yes? Also quiang… very strong, yes? Take much tengtong! Pain! Hihi!”


While he talked, the Chinese boy started to feel up Mike’s muscles. With his fat fingers he squeezed Mike’s thick biceps, patted his slightly hairy pecs, let one finger run down along the undulating abs. Mike jerked, but his movements were restrained.


“Stay the fuck away from me, fucker!”


The Chinese boy startled but Kramet chuckled.


“Not to worry, Mr. Shi! He is securely chained, you have nothing to fear! Now, as always you have free access to the contents of the closets in this room. You will find a wide array of tools to use on him. Just remember, as we agreed: no deep wounds. Everything else is fine, as long as you enjoy yourself. You will find smelling salts as well, just in case he passes out. We don’t want you to miss any of the time you booked him. Have fun!”


Kramet shook the Chinese boy’s hand, gave Mike a devious look, and left the room. He took Maria with him. Two guards remained, the other two left as well.


Mike breathed heavily. His eyes never left the Chinese boy as he took off his silk jacket and approached him again. He was sweating profusely and obviously excited.


“My name Shi Rong. My father Shi Rui is very rich man, yes? I much like kaoda, uh …, the tortures. Make much pain on you! Yes? Hihi! You much pain, I much like! Hihi!”


While he talked he let his hands wander over Mike’s naked upper body.


“You nice yingjun, uh …handsome guy, yes? I like! Good fubu, the abs muscles! Much pain on the abs soon, hihi!”


Mike’s body tensed up more as he was being groped by the young man. Through his teeth he hissed


“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you for this, you sick shit!”


Again he yanked at the chains, his muscles flexing.


Shi Rong now walked over to one of the closets and opened it. Inside from a rack were hanging multiple beating implements. Mike saw whips, sticks, clubs, some wooden, some metal. Shi Rong took his time selecting a number of them and then walked over to the table, putting down his collection. His first choice was a small wooden baseball-bat. He came up to Mike and let the bat run slowly down his tightened abs.


“Okay, we start with the hitting the abs, yes? Hihi!”


Immediately Shi began to beat Mike’s abs with the bat, hitting hard.




Mike clenched his fists and grit his teeth, and with each hard hit into his abs he made a deep grunting sound.




Shi kept hitting him until his abs were starting to redden. But Mike was still able to keep his abs tightened to absorb the beating. After maybe more than 30 blows, Shi stopped.


“You quiang! Strong! You make not the scream?!”


Mike took deep and quick breaths, and swallowed. Then he looked Shi in the eyes.


“Fuck you, you son of a bitch!”


Shi became angry.


“I make much more pain on you! Yes? I want to see you with pain on you!”




Another series of heavy blows landed on Mike’s hard abs.




Every muscle in his strong body tensed up as he took the hits on his abs, and his thick biceps bulged as he pulled at the chains. The pain increased, but he still refused to scream. It was his only chance at resistance: not giving that damn boy what he was waiting for.


Shi finally stopped. He was sweating and panting. His fat underbelly protruded from under his shirt. He threw the bat down on the floor and waited a moment to catch his breath. Mike took deep breaths and tightened and relaxed his abs to absorb the pain. Shi came up to him.


“So, you refuse make scream for me, yes? Good, Shi make much more hard pain on you! Yes?”


Shi took a large strap from the table. It consisted of a handle and perforated leather strap of about 2 feet long, fitted with metal studs. Shi had a menacing grin on his face as he let the strap run down Mike’s reddened undulating abs.


“Now hard pain on you! Yes? Scream!”


Mike spat Shi in the face. Shi uttered a frustrated cry and immediately began to hit Mike’s abs hard with the strap.




Mike threw his head back and groaned deep, his thick neck showing protruding veins. Relentlessly Shi brought the strap down again and again on Mike’s abs. Hard.




The smacks of the leather strap hitting Mike’s skin resounded in the dungeon room. Every time he was hit his face grimaced, his biceps flexed, his abs tightened. But he grit his teeth and did not scream.


Shi stopped the beating, panting and sweating. He came up close to Mike and studied his abs. They were very angry red. Here and there small hemorrhages began to appear. The edge of the strap had caused welts. And his six-pack showed numerous little puncture-wounds. Shi let his fingers run over the tortured abs and followed the ridges in between.


“Very good abs muscles, yes? Much pain on you, but you not scream! Yes? We see!”


Mike’s fiery eyes followed Shi as he walked over to the closet. The boy rummaged around, and then came back, carrying a large wooden hammer in his hands. As he came closer, Mike could see the hammer more closely. It was a heavy tool with a dual head. But one face of the head was covered with rows of pyramid-shaped tenderizers…


“You see hammer, yes? Now hits will make very strong tengtong, uh …, pain on you! Yes?”


Shi started swinging the hammer and Mike gritted his teeth, preparing for the impact and the pain.




Shi targeted one abs muscle group after the other, hitting Mike hard six times. Mike’s body jerked as the pain shot through him.




He just had to let go of a scream, the pain was too much now. Shi stopped hitting him, and a satisfied smirk appeared on his sweating fat face.


“Good! Hihihi! You have pain, yes? Much pain?”






Another six blows landed on Mike’s tortured abs. Then Shi threw the hammer on the table and he leaned against it, panting. Mike puffed and looked down at his abs. They were very red, welted and punctured. Thin blood drops were appearing. Every breath he took was hurting badly. Then he looked at his tormentor, who was catching his breath, sweating profusely. Mike also noticed the dark stain in Shi’s crotch, and he felt revulsion.


“You Chinese son of a bitch! Gonna … fuckin’ kill you for this, … you sick shit!”


Shi looked up with anger in his eyes.


“Shut mouth, yes?! Shi punish you hard!”


Shi picked up the hammer again and came to Mike. He let Mike feel the sharp points of the hammer on his pecs. He grinned maliciously.




Shi hit Mike’s hard pecs with the hammer very hard, two blows on each pec, and then he gave another series of six hard blows to Mike’s wounded abs.




Shi was massaging his crotch.


“Now you have the pain, yes? Good, Shi give more!”






The hammer smacked hard on Mike’s defenseless body and the points of the pyramid-shaped tenderizers did their work. More and more small puncture wounds appeared, now also on his pecs. Mike shook his head, as if to shake off the pain, but only sweat drops flew. As he opened his eyes, he saw how Shi had opened his fly and taken out his throbbing cock, massaging it as he let his eyes wander over Mike’s tortured front body.


“Shi much like pain on you… yes?”


As he jerked himself, Shi let the hammer run over Mike’s now bleeding pecs and abs. As the sharp points raked over his hurting abs, he winced and inhaled sharply. Then he groaned aggressively, his eyes shot fire at Shi. The boy chuckled nervously and gripped the hammer more firmly.


“You hurt, yes? Hihi! Pain on abs muscles, yes?”




The hard blows landed on Mike’s reddened and bleeding abs. He threw his head back, gritted his teeth and managed not to scream for three blows, but then the pain made him.




And then it happened. With the last hard blow into Mike’s gut Shi shot his load. He dropped the hammer and doubled over, groaning and shivering. He fell to his knees and was absorbed in the deep feeling of his sexual satisfaction. Mike looked down at him, panting, his bleeding chest heaving. Then Shi crawled back to his feet and sat down. He fumbled to get his cock back inside his pants. Then he looked up at Mike. He let his eyes rest on the tortured abs.


“Shi tired now, yes? Shi go. Come back another time to make pain on you. You good for pain!”


With a sad look in his eyes Shi left the room without another word.


Mike was alone. Still chained he slowly started to recover from the onslaught on his abs and chest. Dozens of small puncture wounds covered his front. His abs were hurting badly. On the table and on the floor lay the instruments of pain that were used on him. By the look of it those closets along the wall contained a lot more. But for now his young tormentor was gone. What was going to happen next?


After a while the door opened. Kramet, Maria and guards entered. Kramet was smiling.


“Mr. Slade! I hear young Mr. Shi has finished, and he was quite satisfied! I am sure he will be back for you at some later time!”


Kramet looked Mike over.


“Aha, some work on your abs, eh? Don’t worry, that will heal soon. Maria here will take care of you. We will have you all fit and ready for your next client soon! Haha!”


Mike jerked at his chains in anger.


“Kramet, damn you! You are a dead man, Kramet!”


Kramet shook his head.


“Now, now, Mr. Slade! What language! You want to be whipped for being insolent?”


Mike took deep breaths and restrained his anger. His eyes were filled with hate and frustration at the man in the suit. The man who took such obvious pleasure in his captivity and pain. But this was not the time. Not yet. But the time would come.


“Maria! Take Mr. Slade to the infirmary and treat his wounds. He gets one day rest. Then he goes back to the quarry. Understood?”


Maria nodded obediently. Then Kramet left, and the guards took Mike down.




Maria had taken good care of Mike’s body in the infirmary. Her capable hands treated the puncture wounds and the bruises. But especially Mike’s abs remained hurting with all his movements, so for a week his work in the quarry was especially gruelling. But he was young and healthy, so he healed up fast.


One night Mike woke up as he heard his name whispered from outside his cell. He quickly got up from his wooden bed and stood beneath the barred window above.


“Michael? It is me, Maria.”


For the first time in a long while Mike felt happy to hear someone ask for him by his name.


“Maria? What are you doing there?”


“Shht! Not talk so loud! If they catch us, there will be punishments!”


“Okay, okay. I’ll whisper then. What’s up? Are you okay?”


“Yes, me, I am fine. I just came to tell you, for what you ask. About the radio? There is a radio-room in the fortress. But upstairs, not below where the torture rooms are. It is second floor, just below the roof.”


“Shit, Maria, that’s great! Thanks! I need to get a message out, so they know where I am held. And what’s going on here in this hellhole.”


“Yes, I will try to help you. But now I must go! Be careful, Michael!”


He heard her leave, and he went back to his bed. He lay with his hands beneath his head. He was excited. It looked as if there might be a chance for him to escape from this place of pain and terror. But he had to wait, observe more and make a plan. There had to be a way. There just had to be.


Mike observed every day. Number of guards, where posted, when relieved, regularities in their behaviour and routine. He tried to get an impression of individual guards, of the officers. By now he knew every corner of the island as far he was able to see. He knew the buildings. He had seen the antennas on top of the fortress. That was his best option: to get a message out. Getting back to the mainland on his own was almost impossible. He stayed alert and looked every day for opportunities.


About two weeks after his session with Shi Kramet came to see him in the quarry. As always, he was impeccably dressed in his white suit and wearing his hat. Mike looked up.


“No, no, Mr. Slade! Keep working! I enjoy the sight of a strong man working hard, you know that. Please continue!”


Mike gritted his teeth and resumed swinging the heavy sledge. His torso was glistening with sweat, his muscles pumped. He felt Kramet’s eyes on his body.


“You look very good, Mr. Slade. I see you have healed completely from your first appearance as Marine Warrior. That is excellent! I have just received news from a very good client that he is interested in you. He will be able to be here in a week or so. We are now discussing the session, and he has very explicit wishes. Hahaha! You better be prepared, Mr. Slade!”


In his anger Mike slammed the sledge with full force on the rock in front of him. Splinters flew as a big piece broke off.


“Yes, Mr. Slade, work those muscles! You will need a lot of strength soon… in the torture room! Hahaha! But now I have to leave. I came to get Cesar and take him to be prepared. He has a fine booking for later today!”


Mike did not answer. From the corner of his eyes he saw Kramet walk over to where Cesar, the young heavily muscled black guy, was working. On Kramet’s command he put down his sledge and stood, panting and sweating. Immediately his wrists were cuffed behind his back, making his chest and triceps stand out, and then he was escorted out of the quarry. As Cesar passed where Mike was working, their eyes briefly met. They exchanged a quick moment of understanding. Although Mike had not been able to speak with Cesar, he felt a natural sympathy for the young black guy who was strong as an ox. And now that young man was led away to be abused and tortured by some rich sick pervert! Mike spat on the ground in disgust and anger.




A lash from the whip bit into his broad shoulders. A guard stood behind him and shouted


“Work, gringo!”


Mike ignored the pain and resumed bringing down the heavy sledge on the rocks in front of him.


As the convicts reached the barracks, it was getting dark. They handed in their work gear and sandals. Mike noticed something different. At four points around the whipping post big torches had been set up. What was going on? A convict being punished? The guards made the convicts wait in front of their barracks.


Soon the riddle was solved. Kramet came from the fortress and stood not far from Mike. He had an evil smile on his face and his eyes were directed at a far point from the square between the barracks. From there the woods began, and from that direction a small group of people appeared in the distance. It was two people on horseback. Mike could make out that the first rider was dressed in a strange way: he seemed to be wearing an almost historical outfit. He wore leather boots, a fine suit with a long jacket, and a high hat. He looked like a late 18th century gentleman from the Southern States. Behind him rode another man, also in boots, but wearing brown leather pants and a wide shirt.


But then Mike noticed a third figure. Moving between the horses there was what looked like a black man. He almost jogged along, tripped sometimes, and had a hard time staying on his feet. As the group approached, Mike tensed up as he recognized the black man. It was Cesar! And now he saw that Cesar had his wrists tied with rope, and his tied wrists were connected with a long rope to the saddle-knob of the first horseman. As they came closer, Mike could see more. Cesar was not only tied and dragged along, he was also fully naked. His strong body was glistening with sweat and covered with dirt. Obviously he had been dragged like this for a long way. Cesar’s mouth was hanging open and he was panting heavily. When he walked, he was too slow for the horse, and was roughly dragged along by the rope on his wrists. He then had to jog, to avoid tripping and falling. But precisely that had evidently happened to him before. Mike saw that his knees and elbows were grazed. His feet were scraped.


Finally the two horseman reached the square and halted. Cesar fell to his knees, panting heavily and trying to catch his breath. The second horseman dismounted and took a heavy bullwhip from his saddle-knob. He coiled the whip and walked up to Cesar. He put his boot against Cesar’s torso and pushed him over. Exhausted as he was, Cesar fell on his side. The first horseman looked on with an evil look in his eyes. He untied the end of the rope on his saddle-knob and threw it to his companion.


“Tie him to the post!”


Immediately also two guards came up, and together they grabbed Cesar by his thick muscular arms. They dragged him over to the whipping post. Cesar struggled back, but as strong as he was, he could not avoid being forced under the post. His legs were pulled sideways and the shackles attached to the bottom of the carrying posts were snapped on his ankles. Then they untied his wrists, and one after the other they forced his arms up to put the hanging shackles on his wrists. Cesar stood spreadeagled, securely chained to the whipping post.


Cesar was thickly muscled and looked like a bodybuilder. But he was very athletic as well. Under his shiny ebony skin the muscle groups were all clearly defined and separated. With every move he made his muscles played. His thick biceps bulged, his broad chest with thick muscled pecs heaved with his breathing, his v-shaped torso was shining with sweat, his thick muscled thighs showed their striations. He had a round, hard muscled athlete’s arse. His manhood with low hanging balls and a thick, massive cock hung between his spread thighs. His head moved quickly left and right as his wide open eyes tried to follow the men who were moving around him. He was tense all over, his fists clenched. The flaming torches spread their glow over his naked body.


The client in his planter’s suit dismounted and walked over to the whipping post. He carried a riding crop in his left hand. He walked slowly around Cesar and let his eyes feast on the magnificent body of the young black man as he stood spreadeagled and chained. Then he moved to Cesar’s back and stepped up close. With his right hand he began to feel up Cesar’s body. He lightly squeezed the veiny underarms and biceps, testing their hardness. He massaged the wide, round shoulders, felt the thick neck. He let his hand run down the wide, muscled back tapering down to the narrow hip. Then he let his hand rest on the hard arse-cheeks, and began to squeeze them. Cesar had tensed up even more under this groping and fumbling, but as his arse was being targeted, he jerked.


“No me toque!”


The client slapped his arse.


“Shut up, boy!”


He came round to Cesar’s front and continued his exploration of the young man’s body. Again he tested the bulging biceps. Then he felt and squeezed the slabs of pec muscle, pinched the nipples, which made Cesar flinch lightly. On went his hand along the flaring lats and over Cesar’s abs, following the undulations and ridges. And then further down. The hand cupped Cesar’s balls. Again Cesar jerked.


“NO!! No me toque!”


The client slapped him hard in the face.


“I told you to shut up, boy!”


And his hand went back to work. He fondled Cesar’s balls and then took the massive cock in his hands. He began to play with it.


“You’re well hung, boy! A fine specimen! Excellent body too. I must say, a fine beast you are!”


Cesar flexed his biceps as he pulled at the chains. He tried to bend his body away from the groping client.


“Alejate de mi! Bastardo!”


The client laughed and pulled harder at Cesar’s cock.


“Boy, I am going to punish you so hard, you wish you were never born!”


He let go of Cesar’s cock and walked around to his back. Then he put the riding crop against the young man’s arse, and forced it between his cheeks. Cesar tensed up. The client pushed and the crop found its way to Cesar’s hole. Another push and the crop penetrated. Cesar arched his back.


“No… maldito!… no!”


The client just laughed and enjoyed his victim’s humiliation and pain. He saw how Cesar’s muscles flexed and pushed harder.


“AARH!! Mierda!”


The client pulled the crop out of Cesar’s asshole and whacked him a few times on his asscheeks. Cesar gritted his teeth and made no sound, but his eyes shot fire. The client walked back to Cesar’s front and tapped the crop on his cock.


“Now you’re gonna get it, boy! Time for your punishment!”


Cesar looked his tormentor straight in the eyes, and then he spat at him.


“Te odio, pervertido! Me hate you!”


The client wiped his cheek and smirked. He turned to the convicts and guards watching and said in a loud voice


“Hear this, you’all! You’re about to witness the punishment of the slave Hercules. He is rebellious and a runaway! He will be severely punished! Overseer! 30 Lashes! Full force!”


Then he turned to Cesar.


“You hear, boy? Treinta latigazos! Con fuerza! Hahaha! Gritar para mi! Scream for me!”


Cesar pulled at the chains, flexing his muscles, but he could not break free.


“No! No puede… mierda!”


The client enjoyed seeing the young strong black man struggle against the restraints. He let his eyes feast on the naked, muscled body, and let his hand rest on his crotch. He turned towards the overseer.


“Begin! Take it slowly, I want him to feel every lash to the max!”


The overseer nodded and uncoiled the bullwhip, a fearsome tool to behold. He measured his steps, taking the right distance to Cesar’s back. He looked at the strong, v-shaped back and the buttocks beneath. He loosened his arm and weighed up the bullwhip. Once again he measured the distance. Cesar tried to look over his shoulder, bending his body, and saw that the overseer stood to the left behind him. He saw how he brought back his arm……and his body tensed up expecting the first lash. He clenched his fists.






His back exploded in pain and Cesar screamed out. He arched his body as far as the chains allowed. The pain was much worse than he had expected. The whip lashed into his back and tore at his skin, drawing blood with the very first impact.




The overseer let the bullwhip slide through his hand, slowly and meticulously, taking his time. Only then he prepared for the next lash. Cesar tried to look behind him.






Again the explosion of pain, but now Cesar was better able to take it. He managed not to scream, but the grimace in his face and the shock going through his body made it clear how much agony the whip was causing.




Taking his time, the overseer prepared for the next lash. Cesar gritted his teeth.






Arching his back, Cesar bared his teeth and was just able not to scream fully as the pain hit him.




The client walked to stand in front of Cesar and watch.






Cesar pulled with all his strength at the chains, and the whipping frame creaked a bit. The client watched how the young man’s muscles flexed in reaction to the pain of the whiplash. He began to massage his crotch.




Cesar took deep breaths. His broad chest heaved. A sweat was breaking out all over his naked body, making his ebony skin shine even more.






Cesar threw his head back as he yelled. The pain was just unbelievable.




The overseer looked at the results of his work. Five bloody welts had appeared obliquely, one beneath the other, on Cesar’s back. Cesar moved his shoulder blades to try and ease the pain. His chin rested on his chest. The overseer very slowly changed his position and walked over to the right side behind Cesar. He measured the distance once again, and prepared to continue. The client used the interval to come up to Cesar and grab him by his chin.


“Does it hurt, boy? Eh? Tell your master. Does it hurt?”


Cesar raised his head and looked the client in the eyes.


“Bastardo… te odio! Me…hate you!”


The client took Cesar’s cock in his hands.


“Boy, you will suffer much more than this! You will call me Master and thank me!”


Cesar had not understood all, but he just reacted intuitively. He spat the client in his face again. The client reacted angrily.


“Damn you, beast! Overseer! Whip him harder!”


The overseer nodded. The client stepped back and watched.






The overseer had put even more force in the lash, and the whip cut into Cesar’s back, drawing blood. Cesar yanked at he chains.




Cesar inhaled deeply, filling his lungs.






His bare teeth gleamed, his face contorted: proof of the pain he suffered.




Cesar looked up left and right, at the shackles on his wrists, as if he was looking for an escape. But the chains held him to the frame.






He just could not hold the scream down. The pain was so intense. He shook his head, and some sweat drops flew from his forehead.




The client rubbed his crotch and admired the young black man’s musculature being displayed at its best in reaction to the lashes. Cesar noticed, but it made him feel disgust. He decided not to give that pervert what he wanted: his screams.






His body jerked in reaction to the lash, but Cesar managed not to scream out. One small victory! Now the next!




Panting heavily Cesar awaited the next lash. He clenched his fists, closed his eyes, tensed up, and waited to hear the swishing sound from behind. And it came.






Pulling himself up as far as his shackled ankles allowed, Cesar fought against the urge to scream as the bullwhip cut into his back. His biceps bulged thick. Then he found his footing, and gasped for air.




The client approached and caressed Cesar’s pecs and abs.


“Well, boy? Does it hurt? Tell me, come, tell your master… say it!”


Cesar shook his head. His back was on fire. The overseer was looking at two series of five bloody welts, crisscross on the wide, muscled back.


“Very well then. Overseer! Continue! Now his sides!”


The client stepped back and the overseer took a few steps forward. He targeted Cesar’s right side.






The bullwhip lashed into Cesar right ribcage full force and wrapped around to cut into his abs. He bent his upper body laterally into the impact of the whip and stamped his foot hard on the ground.




Cesar rested his face against his right arm biceps and gasped for air. But he had little respite.






Again the whip cut his ribcage, but now the end of the whip bit into his pec.




Cesar shook his head wildly and yanked at the chains. Saliva was dripping from his lips.






The whip tore at the skin of his ribcage and its tip cut open another thin wound on his abs.




Cesar moaned, his eyes closed tightly. His fingers clawed the air.






The whip lashed his ribcage. It felt as if he was being cut open by a red-hot knife. His body hang squirming from the chains on his wrists.




The client looked on intently at Cesar’s suffering. A thick bulge in his crotch was proof of his sadistic excitement.






Cesar’s body bent into the force of the whiplash as far as his chains allowed. By instinct he put his teeth into his hard and thick biceps and bit himself hard, but the pain from the whipping was overwhelming.




The client signalled the overseer to halt. He walked up to Cesar again, who’s chest and abs now showed five bleeding thin wounds. His chin rested on his glistening chest as he panted heavily.


“Boy! Look at me! Tell me…does it hurt? Say it, slave!”


Cesar turned away his head and groaned. He spoke with difficulty.


“…te…detesto…hijo…de puta!”


The client slapped him hard in the face, making his head spin.


“Overseer! His other side! Harder!”


The overseer made the necessary steps sideways to target Cesar’s lift side. He loosened his arm and began.






The whip bit into Cesar’s ribcage and its tip cut his lower abs. Cesar threw his head back and his mouth opened wide as he screamed. His whole body convulsed in agony.








Now the whip’s tip cut into his left pec. Cesar’s body bent into the force of the whiplash. He almost roared with pain.




Cesar’s chest heaved heavily, he gasped for air.






He stamped his feet hard on the ground and pulled at the chains with all his might. His muscles flexed to the max.




The client’s penis was now visibly hard in his pants. His eyes were wide with excitement, his right fist clenched, as he took in his young and strong victim’s torture.






Cesar’s body jerked in pain as the whip cut his skin. Blood and sweat started to mix on his glistening skin.




Saliva and some blood ran from his lips. His fingers clawed in thin air.






Cesar arched his back as he screamed, and shook his head in agony. Then his body became limp and he was hanging from his wrists.




Pain was all he was aware of. He hardly noticed that the client had come up to him again. All he noticed was that all of a sudden his cock and balls were grabbed.


“Slave! Look at me! Look at your master!”


Slowly Cesar raised his head, moaning. He looked into the evil and sadistic stare of his tormentor.


“Say it boy! Does it hurt? You thank your master for the lesson in discipline?”


The words did not really register with him. All he understood, through a haze of pain, was “hurt” and “master”. But it was enough. He mustered his strength and focused his gaze at the client. Then he spoke with difficulty.


“…vete…a la…MIERDA!”


His chin fell back to his sweating chest. The client called at the overseer.


“Damn the beast! Continue! And now his ass! You know what to do!”


The overseer grinned and measured the distance to his victim, and especially the area below Cesar’s bleeding torso: the buttocks. The two perfectly symmetrical taut ass-cheeks seemed to offer themselves to the whip. Cesar’s heavy muscled legs lightly quivered, and he moved his grazed wrists in the shackles. His chest heaved.






With full force the bullwhip tore into Cesar’s buttocks, causing a fresh bleeding welt. His body shook with pain.




The client came round to see the whip biting into Cesar’s ass from close up. He put his hand on the rounded asscheeks and felt their firmness.


“Great ass you have, boy! We’re gonna mark those good! Overseer! Harder!”


He stepped aside, and the next whiplash came.






The whipping frame groaned as Cesar pulled with all his strength at the chains, his muscles flexing to the max. Sweat now ran in thin rivulets down his chest and abs.




The overseer stepped sideways to change the angle of the whipping. Again he measured the distance to Cesar’s athletic ass.






In his agony Cesar thought that his ass was being cut open with red hot knives. He shook his head wildly in pain.




The client massaged the swollen penis inside his pants as he watched the young black man being punished mercilessly. He saw the bullwhip tear the skin of Cesar’s ass and opening up thin bleeding welts.






Every time the whip lashed into him, Cesar’s body shocked and jerked in reaction to the pain. He had lost awareness of his surroundings: all he knew was suffering.




Thin rivulets of blood were beginning to run down the back of Cesar’s thick muscled thighs. His ass quivered.






With his head thrown back Cesar screamed out his pain. His fingers clawed the air. All his muscles were now pumped to the max and beneath the bloody welts the muscle groups stood out.




The client lifted up his hand and the overseer interrupted his work. He walked to Cesar’s front and lifted up his chin.


“Boy! Hey, boy! Tell your master! Does it hurt? Does is HURT?”


Cesar was panting heavily, his eyes half closed, saliva and some blood running down his chin. Slowly his vision focused, and he looked into the eyes of his tormentor.




The client slapped Cesar’s face violently.


“You ungrateful beast! Animal! Do I have to beat you to death before you learn? Eh? Overseer! Come round! Whip his cock and balls! Hard!”


The overseer walked around the whipping frame and took position in front of Cesar. He measured his distance again, looking at his new target. Between the thick muscled, spread thighs Cesar’s low hanging balls and masculine, thick cock were hanging free. The client stepped aside and invitingly gestured with his hand towards the young black man’s vulnerable genitals. As Cesar began to understand what was about to happen, he opened his eyes widely.


“…No… no!!…”


But the overseer was already swinging his bullwhip. Cesar flexed all his muscles in anticipation, pulling at the chains.






The perfectly aimed whiplash tore at its target and the heaviest shock sofar went through Cesar’s body as he yelled in agony. His manhood was being attacked. Pain and panic.




The client was busy opening his fly and fumbling to get out his swollen cock, while he looked at the suffering young black man chained on the whipping frame. The overseer aimed again and with a flick of his wrist directed the tip of the bullwhip once more at Cesar’s genitals.






Another violent shock went through Cesar’s body as the whip curled around his cock and tore at its skin.




Cesar pulled frantically at the chains. Drops of moisture ran down his face, and it was unclear if it was just sweat or tears. His whole body was glistening with sweat, and the bloody stripes all over his torso stood out.






The bullwhip hit Cesar’s balls and sent another shock of pain through his muscular body. Now Cesar’s eyes were clearly filled with tears of agony and suffering.




Mike’s eyes opened wide as he watched the awful punishment inflicted on Cesar. His whole body was tense with anger and frustration. It was just beyond his comprehension that he was witnessing a thing like this. It was a nightmare. Then suddenly he felt a hand resting on his shoulder, and he heard Kramet’s whispering voice.


“Watch, Mr. Slade! Is this not a fine spectacle? What a great young man and how beautifully he suffers! Is it not impressive that he is still conscious? He is very fit and strong indeed!”


Mike wanted to answer, but the sound of the bullwhip swishing made him focus on Cesar again.






Those were animalist screams of desperation now coming from deep inside the tortured young black man. The whip mercilessly attacked his defenseless and vulnerable manhood.




A red haze of pain covered Cesar’s eyesight. All he experienced was agony and anxiety over his proud manhood. He looked down his sweating and bleeding chest and abs, and he saw his big cock bleeding, and his thighs trembling.






Cesar pulled himself up in pain as far as the chains on his ankles allowed as the whip tore at his genitals. He shook his head wildly, then he held himself up for a moment, just to open his mouth wide in a silent scream. With that his body became limp and he hung from his stretched arms.




The overseer looked over at his boss. The client stood and massaged his swollen cock after having shot his load. He had a satisfied smile on his face as he rearranged his clothes and looked over at the limp muscled body hanging on the whipping frame. Cesar’s chin rested on his chest. He breathed slowly, moaning and shivering. He was barely conscious.


The client walked over to Kramet.


“My friend! A memorable event! This was one of the best black boys you ever had. Great body and great endurance, I have to say. A strong one!”


Kramet smiled while shaking the client’s hand.


“You can rely on NPNG Enterprises, as you see. We deliver! Are you done with him? For a special price you can continue, after he’s recovered a bit.”


The client shook his head.


“No, it’s fine. I think he’s getting numb soon. That spoils the fun. Maybe I book him again later.”


Kramet, the client and the overseer left together towards the fortress. The convicts were sent inside to their cells. The last Mike saw was how guards unchained Cesar’s wrists. The young man fell on the ground and curled up in agony. Then Mike felt a hard push in his back.


“Inside, bastardo!”


He gritted his teeth and went inside to his cell. He was more determined than ever to escape from this hell hole and put a stop to this cruelty.




The day was particularly hot and humid. It was shortly after the midday-break and Mike was breaking rock. He was sweating profusely, his pumped body wet and glistening. The waistband of his breeches were darkened from the sweat.


Suddenly he became aware of a group of people slowly moving in his direction. He saw Kramet, a group of 6 guards and what seemed like an older man in a wheelchair, being pushed by a big and burly guard. The group came to a halt where Mike was working. Kramet spoke to the man in the wheelchair.


“Well, Lord Smythe, here he is. As you see, he is muscular, strong, young and very fit. I guarantee he can take a lot! He is all yours, Sir, for the coming hours. Enjoy!”


As Kramet left Lord Smythe looked at Mike. He let his eyes wander slowly over his body, from head to toe, judging Mike’s physical features. His eyes were cold and cruel. He was maybe 50 or 60 years old, wiry. Even though he was in a wheelchair, he gave a menacing impression. Mike breathed slowly and looked back with suspicion in his eyes. He noticed that the guards had exchanged their usual cord-whips for leather ones.


“Don’t look at me like that, you serf! Go to your knees!”


Lord Smythe’s voice had a caustic tone to it. The guards menacingly uncoiled their whips. Mike obeyed and went down on his knees, but his eyes had a hard stare.


“Hands behind your head! And flex your biceps!”


Again Mike obeyed. Lord Smythe’s eyes approvingly saw Mike’s thick biceps bulging.


“Flex your abs!”


Mike exhaled and tightened his abs, displaying his six-pack with the undulating abs muscles and deep ridges.


“On your feet! Take off those sandals!”


Mike got up and took off the work-sandals. He felt the rough ground and pebbles beneath his bare foot soles.


“Guards! Hold him tight!”


Two guards came and grabbed Mike by his arms. With their legs they forced his legs wider apart. Mike tensed up, and the guards felt his strength.


“Guard! Ten to his abs! Hit him hard, I don’t like that look in his eyes!”


Lord Smythe’s assistant came round and put leather gloves on his big, strong hands. He took position in front of Mike, who tightened his abs hard in anticipation.




The guard let his gloved fist pound hard on the wall of Mike’s flexed abs. He was a strong man and obviously knew how to throw punches. But Mike held his flex and absorbed the hard punches, gritting his teeth and groaning deep at each punch. Then the guards let go of his arms. He briefly bent his torso from the pain, but immediately he stood tall again, taking deep breaths. He did not lose the hard stare in his eyes as he looked at the old man in the wheelchair. Lord Smythe grinned cruelly.


“Aha, a tough one, eh? As you wish, serf. I will give you what you deserve. Hardship, toil and pain! Take him to the gate and let him bring the blocks!”


One of the guards gave Mike a rough push against his back, and under escort of 4 guards he walked down the quarry towards the gate.


On arrival Mike was taken to a heap of rough rectangular concrete blocks. They were each about 4 feet long and weighed some 100 lbs. One of the guards grinned maliciously, pointing at the pile of blocks.


“There, bastardo… you carry! Into quarry!”


Mike stepped up to the pile and bent over to pick up the first block. It was heavy and difficult to handle. Its surface was rough. He had no gloves or any protection. With some difficulty he shouldered the block on his right shoulder and began to walk, the pressure of the heavy load painfully on his shoulder and neck. It was hard to balance the long and heavy block while walking, so Mike shoved the long block on his neck and shoulders, and steadied it with his strong arms.


“Heavy, eh? Hahaha! Now walk!”


The rough concrete chafed the skin of his shoulders as Mike walked back to where Lord Smythe was waiting. He watched Mike toiling under the heavy weight, and grinned.


“You took your time, convict! Drop that block over there! The next block will be here faster, you hear? Go!”


Mike dropped the block and had no time to catch his breath.






One of the guards let his whip lash Mike’s sweating back, which arched in pain.


“Go, bastardo! Faster!”


Mike grit his teeth and hurried back to the pile of concrete blocks. He lifted the second one and took it immediately on his shoulders. Grimacing he carried the block with a quick pace back to Lord Smythe. As he arrived and dropped his heavy load, Lord Smythe shouted angrily


“What do you think this is? A holiday camp? Faster, dog!”


Panting Mike jogged back to the gate, to get the third block. He was sweating heavily now. He shouldered the heavy block and walked back up as fast as he could without dropping the load. Even before letting his block drop on the ground, Lord Smythe urged him on again.


“Faster, you lazy dog! You want the whip on your back? Yes? Go!”


Mike threw the load down and now ran back to get the fourth block. Panting heavily he shouldered it and as fast as he could he returned. With his movements the rough heavy block chafed his shoulders raw. He dropped the block with the others, and stood panting heavily.


“All right then finally. Hands behind your head! Turn around!”


Mike obeyed and seemed to feel Lord Smythe’s gaze as the old man inspected his shoulders, shoulder blades and arms.


“Some nice abrasions. Good! Guard! Four lashes on the abrasions!”


One of the guards stood behind Mike and lashed his upper back.






Mike’s back arched as the lashes bit into his skin, and his body tensed up. Lord Smythe enjoyed seeing that strong body react to the pain.


“Good! We continue. Guards, put the yoke on him!”


Two guards came carrying a thick wooden yoke, some 6 feet long. At its ends iron rings were bolted. As they came closer Mike noticed that the yoke was fitted with rows of short sharp spikes where his shoulders were going to be. He tensed up.


“Arms wide, gringo!”


Reluctantly Mike spread his strong arms sideways. The yoke was placed on his shoulders, and he felt the sharp sting of the spikes. His wrists were placed against the yoke from behind and tied. His arms were not fully stretched, his biceps bulged. With another piece of rough rope the yoke was tied to his thick neck as well. The heavy yoke rested on his neck, traps and delts. The spikes made themselves felt, and he tried to lift the yoke from his shoulders, but it didn’t work. Lord Smythe noticed.


“Yes, those spikes hurt! This is nothing compared to what it will feel like soon! Let’s go! This beast of burden has work to do!”


The whole group moved back towards the gate area: the big guard pushing Lord Smythe in his wheelchair behind Mike carrying his heavy yoke. They took him back to the pile of concrete blocks. Next to it waited a wooden block sled with iron runners, and 4 blocks had already been loaded. They made Mike stand before the sled with his back to it. Then the long towing cables were attached to the rings on the yoke. Mike stood tall, waiting, breathing slowly. Lord Smythe was pushed close.


“Now, serf, we will see how strong you are. I want to see those muscles work! To make sure you will put your lazy back into it, the guards will use their whips. It will be a delightful spectacle to watch you!”




A fierce whiplash bit into Mike’s back. He gritted his teeth and leant forward, flexing all his muscles to make the heavy sled move. It took more effort than he had anticipated, and he had to bend his body forward to be able to make use of his whole body strength. That meant that he had to push against the yoke with his shoulders… he grimaced as the pins were pressed into his flesh.






From both sides the guards let their whips lash into Mike’s broad back. Mike increased his effort, groaned deep, and made the sled move over the rough path. His bare feet dug into the dirt, and sharp pebbles caused his foot soles to hurt. But step after step he moved, and the sled made scraping sounds as the runners were dragged over the path. Lord Smythe, in his wheelchair, followed Mike on one side of the path, watching as the half naked young man toiled hard to pull the sled.


“Come on! Use those muscles! Guards! Beat him!”






The whiplashes bit his back and wrapped around his ribcage. Breathing heavily Mike worked even harder to pull the sled. The pins dug into him and started to puncture his skin.






Only after they reached the pile of concrete blocks Mike had been carrying, Lord Smythe let him stop. Mike stood upright, panting and sweating heavily. Angry red welts criss crossed his wide back. Some blood was visible from under the yoke on his shoulders.


“Let him drink! I want him to last! This is only the beginning… ”


A guard came with a bucket and cup, and let Mike drink.


“That’s enough! Put two more blocks on that sled! The serf is too lazy! He can pull more, he has the muscles for it!”


Two extra concrete blocks were placed on the sled, while Mike was catching his breath. He tried to lift the yoke from his shoulders a bit, to ease the pain from the spikes, but it did not really help. Lord Smythe noticed.


“It’s no good, serf! It will only get worse! The sled is much heavier now, and you’ll have to work much harder. And that means you will have to put more force on that yoke! And that again means… well, you will feel it before long. Hahaha!”


Mike spat on the ground, and his face betrayed his feelings of anger and frustration. The guards resumed their positions on either side of Mike, their whips ready. But then Lord Smythe gave another order.


“Wait! I want that insolent look removed from his face! This muscle beast of burden has to submit and bow his head for his Master! Install the generator! Let’s have some real fun with him!”


While Mike waited under the hot sun a large box was placed on top of the concrete blocks. It had control buttons and gauges, and two thin long cables protruded from it. The cables ended in nasty looking metal alligator clamps. A guard pulled the cables around Mike’s torso and with a cruel grin on his face he opened the clamps and positioned them close to Mike’s nips.


“What the fuck… !”


Mike’s body tensed up, and then he gritted his teeth as the clamps bit hard into his nipples. Lord Smythe took a remote control in his hand. He switched a button, some control lamps shone red. Then he placed his finger above a red button, ready to press it.


“Good! Now, make the beast work!”






The whips lashed into Mike’s sweaty back. He bent forward and began to push, digging his feet into the ground. He worked his body with all his strength, trying to move the heavy sled. The spikes bit into his shoulders. Just as he managed to get the sled to move, Lord Smythe pushed the control.






The electricity made his nips and pecs explode with pain. He threw his head back, his mouth wide open, his face in a grimace. The shock stopped his effort, and therefore Lord Smythe immediately pushed the button again.






Now Mike tried to transfer his pain, anger and frustration into effort, and all his muscles tightened as he struggled to make the sled move. Lord Smythe looked on intently, his eyes roaming over Mike’s muscled body glistening with sweat, his broad back crisscrossed with angry welts.


“The lazy serf must work harder! Whip him!”








Mike was able to move the heavy sled very slowly, taking step after step, his bare feet digging into the dirt, his thick muscled shoulders pressing against the spiked yoke. The guards looked at Lord Smythe, whips ready.


“Yes! What are you waiting for? Whip him! Hard! Make the beast use its muscles!”










His chest felt as if it was ripped apart, but despite the agony Mike took step after step, laboriously moving the heavy sled behind him. Sweat ran in rivulets down his hard muscled body. Lord Smythe took enormous pleasure in watching Mike toiling, seeing his back muscles tense up under the lashes of the whip, and noticing his whole body reacting with a spasm to the jolts of electricity sent through his nipples. His deep, manly screams of agony, and his heavy grunting with effort completed the picture. This was what he paid for.




“AAAARRHHHH!! You fuckin’… !!”






Under the biting alligator-clamps Mike nips were started to get singed. He took step after step, hoping to be spared the jolts, but he knew full well that was wishful thinking. Lord Smythe wanted his pain, not just the labor.










Through his pain Mike felt his leg-muscles starting to acidify. It became increasingly difficult to keep the sled moving. He was slowing down. Lord Smythe noticed.


“Are you slacking, serf? Yes? Holding back on using those muscles? Obviously you need the proper stimulation. More pain! I will increase the voltage, and the guards will whip you harder and more often!”


Lord Smythe adjusted the control on his remote, and impatiently beckoned the guards.










The powerful jolt sent through Mike’s torso was so intense, and the lashes bit into his back so hard, that he lost his footing. His knees went weak for a second, and he fell to his knees. He gasped for air.


“What?! No time to rest, serf! Get up! Move that sled!”






Mike struggled to get back to his feet and put his shoulders against the yoke.










Through his suffering Mike was able to get the sled moving again. His face contorted with pain, his willpower forcing his acidified muscles to obey and put their strength to work. Step after step, he moved the sled further, grunting and gasping for air.






The whiplashes were starting to draw blood.






Again Mike fell to his knees, close to exhaustion. Just in the moment that he expected to be whipped again, and zapped, he heard a familiar voice.


“Lord Smythe! I am so sorry to interrupt this fine display of male muscle strength! But, unfortunately, your time with Marine Warrior is up! By the looks of it, you seem to have had your money’s worth out of him?”


Mike looked up sideways and saw Kramet stand next to Lord Smythe. With a frustrated look on his face the client nodded and reluctantly gave Kramet the remote control.


“Yes, yes, all right, I will stop. Pity. He is one of the best you had so far. Very strong, and handsome. Well, I suppose there will be a next time. Get me away from here!”


One of the guards came and pushed Lord Smythe’s wheelchair. He gave Mike one last look. His victim was still on his knees, panting heavily, bent forward. His back was striped with angry welts, some of them bleeding. Some blood ran from under the spiked yoke on his broad shoulders. The alligator clamps were still biting his singed nipples, the thin cables attached to the generator on the sled. Mike somehow noticed Lord Smythe’s watching him and looked up, meeting his gaze. He saw the sadism and lust in his tormentor’s eyes. He returned that gaze with a hard, defiant stare. And then his lips formed a thin smile. He knew he was better than this old fucker with his pervert lust. Lord Smythe turned away his head and did not look back again.


Kramet ordered his men to take Mike to sickbay, and have Maria take care of his body.


10a – THE GAME – PART 1


Mike was in his cell, resting on his bunk, hands behind his head. It was dark outside, and still hot and humid. Even while resting a film of sweat made his skin glisten. Like always when he was alone in his cell Mike was thinking about ways to escape from this hellhole and its horrors. Maria had told him there was a radio-room in the fortress. But how to get in there? Until now he had seen no opportunities to get out of the quarry during the day. Too many guards, supervision was too strict. During the night he was locked up in his cell. It was infuriating, but he could find no way to get to that radio-room. He sighed. Patience. Wait for a chance. And in the meantime, hold out the hard labor, the humiliations and the pain.


Suddenly Mike heard boots approaching. His cell door was opened, and Capitan Sanchez with his men entered.


“Gringo! Get up! Colonel Kramet wants you… now!”


Slowly Mike got to his feet. Sanchez threw him what looked like a small piece of cloth.


“Here… take off the breeches and put this on. Hurry now!”


Mike looked down: in his hands he held a thong with camo design. He gritted his teeth and thought “fuck”. He took off his breeches, stepped into the thong and struggled a bit to fit it on his waist and manhood. The camo pouch just barely fit around his big cock and balls. All else on him were the thin strings around his waist and between his asscheeks. Except for he pouch he was naked. He noticed the smirk on Sanchez’ face as the Capitan’s eyes briefly focused on Mike’s manhood, barely covered by the camo loincloth.


“Bueno! Hands behind head, bastardo! Vamonos!”


Mike was escorted out of the barracks into the late evening humidity and taken towards the fortress. He was tense as they approached the main entrance. Even though they had not taken him to the side entrance leading to the torture rooms, he was sure something bad was up.


They entered the main hall. Mike felt the cold stone under his bare feet. He looked around. Antique furniture all around, double wooden doors leading to rooms, a wide staircase and more doors on the first floor. Luxurious interior, earned over the agony of young men used as slaves. Up there, that’s where the radio-room has to be somewhere, Mike thought. Damn, so close, but no way to get to that room now…


They waited in front of one of the double doors, and Sanchez knocked. Someone called “enter!” and then he opened the door and announced their arrival.


“Colonel! Good evening. Here is the American, as you ordered.”


Michael heard voices inside the room, but they went silent at the announcement. Then Kramet’s voice.


“Ah yes, very good, Capitan! We are ready here. You can blindfold him, take him inside and prepare him.”


Sanchez nodded and walked back to where Mike stood waiting. He took a black blindfold from his pocket and bound it tightly around Mike’s head. Mike could see nothing, just felt himself being pushed forward, into the room. Guards took him by his arms and moved him on.


They made him stop. His feet were kicked sideways, to spread his legs, and then he felt metal shackles being snapped on his ankles. His arms were lifted up and shackles were snapped on his wrists. He stood spreadeagled. Breathing hard he tested the restraints, but all he heard was some metal clanging sound of the chains that apparently held him. Then he heard Kramet’s voice. Mike was anxious and tense. Through his nostrils came a mixed odor of fine foods, sweating people and stale air.


“Dear guests, here he is, Marine Warrior! You can see I did not promise too much! You will agree with me that Marine Warrior is a rare specimen. Top fit, in top shape, muscular, and handsome too. From his facial features you can see he is a natural fighter. His endurance is exceptional. I am sure we will have a memorable Game tonight! But why am I talking? You are free to examine him yourself! Please, feel free!”


What Mike could not see was that four men in expensive clothes were seated at a large table. They were all formally dressed and the table-desk was covered with the remains of a rich and lavish dinner. They were all elderly gentlemen and had a look of affluence about them. They had taken off their dinner-jackets. All of them were obviously very interested in the young, near naked man chained spread-eagle in front of them. Their eyes were focused on the display of youthful strength and male beauty, and their gaze was lustful.


Then Mike heard chairs move and the sounds of people coming closer. He tensed up. His fingers sought some hold and grabbed the chains connected to his shackles. He sensed the nearness of people, coming closer and closer, and his head moved left and right. Suddenly he felt hands on his body. They were groping hands. His flexing biceps were touched and tested, his pecs were felt up, fingers ran down his abs following the ridges, his ass was groped, his thighs slapped and probed, his manhood cupped. All this touching up was clearly lewd and lustful, and Mike twisted and turned his body to escape the groping hands, but he could not. In his anger he almost growled like an animal. The voices he heard made him angrier still.


“Oh wow, what a man!”


“Damn, this one is one of the best ever, Kramet!”


“Those muscles are hard as brick! And what extraordinary definition! You have primed him very well, Kramet!”


“Great ass on him, too! Look at that, yummy!”


“Do you see those muscled thighs? And his arms? He must be strong as a bull!”


As Mike’s anger at being appraised like some piece of meat quickly grew, he heard Kramet’s voice again.


“Very well, my friends! If you have satisfied yourself that Marine Warrior qualifies, I suggest we start our Game. I get a strong feeling that you like him, am I right? Haha! Let me get the necessary equipment.”


Mike heard the men move away from him. Breathing heavily he tried to make out what was happening around him. He was all tensed up, his muscles taut, his chest rising and falling with his breathing, his abs defined even deeper with the tension in his body. Sweat made his skin glisten.


He heard footsteps approach and then the sounds of objects being dropped on the table. Comments and murmurs of approval. Kramet spoke.


“Here we are. I will show you the selection of instruments piece by piece. First we have a five foot rattan cane with leather handle…”


Mike heard a swishing sound. He tensed up and swallowed.


“…Then next here is a wooden paddle, perforated with holes to avoid any air friction that would reduce the force of impact…”


WHACK! The sound of the paddle hitting the wooden tabletop.


“Then a fine original leather strap, flexible and at the same time sufficiently hard. Then a hard rubber truncheon or called nightstick by some. And here is a leather quirt with two thin thongs.”


As each instrument was named, Kramet made it swish or let it hit the tabletop. Mike tensed up more and more.


“And this, as you can see, is an old-fashioned cat-o-nine with knotted ends… Here we have a very fine instrument, the so-called Deutsche Peitsche or German Whip: a wooden handle with five 3 foot long thongs, each fine squared leather, which will give a cut as well as a lash… Furthermore, an original South-African sjambok. And then, last but not least, look at this great leather signal-whip! Please take a close look!”


Mike heard shuffling sounds and some comments of approval and enthusiasm as the guests moved around the table and handled the punishment-instruments that Kramet had laid out for them.




“Oh yes, that signal whip is wonderful! I can not wait…!”


Mike began to get an idea what was going to happen, and he furiously tested his restraints once more, pulling with all his strength.


“Kramet, you bastard! What the fuck is this? Another sick shit game of yours? Yeah? I’m gonna get you for this, you know that, right? Fuck!”


As he pulled at his chains, his shining muscles flexing, he heard Kramet’s evil laugh.


“Ha ha ha! Gentlemen, see how our Marine Warrior is getting in the right mood for the Game? Look at him flexing those muscles! Imagine the spectacle as the Game will be on!”


10b – THE GAME – PART 2


Again Mike heard shuffling sounds and chairs being moved. The men were talking to each other, obviously excited about what was about to happen, but Mike could not understand much of their words as they all spoke at the same time. They spoke English, but he made out different accents. Then came Kramet’s voice again.


“All right, dear friends. Let’s get started! You all know this Game already, but our main player of tonight, Marine Warrior, is quite new to this. Let me explain to him what his part in the Game is!”


Mike heard footsteps approaching. He tensed up, and then he felt a hand on his body, up at his chest, and slowly going down over his body. Kramet! His voice was very near.


“This Game is about you being able to deal with pain, American. It works like this…My guests and me will take turns. Each player selects an instrument of punishment and then determines the target area on that magnificent body of yours. Then, he throws a dice… of course, you can not see the number on top! Now comes an interesting part… you will have the chance to guess what the number is! If you guess correctly, your punishment will not be executed. But if you fail, then you will receive the number of strokes or lashes with the selected instrument on the selected area of your body! But…pay attention! There is a second element in this delightful game! As you are punished, you must endure the strokes or lashes without screaming! Groaning is allowed, but screaming out is not. If you scream, then the full punishment is repeated! Oh, and you can be sure that the strokes or lashes will be administered “with a will”, as the expression is. Punishing you is my task in this, and I take this task very seriously! When you are either punished and you managed to take it without screaming or when you are punished twice, then the next round starts. A new player, a new instrument, a new number for the lashes, new chances for you! I trust you understand the rules, Marine Warrior? Ha ha ha!”


Mike was furious. He had to guess where Kramet was standing, and so he spat in the direction from where the sound of that hated voice was coming.


“Fuckin’g sick bastard! You’re a dead man, Kramet! You hear me? Dead!”


Kramet patted Mike on the cheek.


“For now, Michael, you are in no position to threaten me. You are chained up securely, almost fully naked, and on the table are the instruments that will be used on your body presently. You are going to suffer badly for us! And we are going to enjoy this! You just concentrate on your part in the Game: your chances to avoid the maximum level of pain. Who knows, maybe you actually manage to escape some of whippings. Ha ha ha!”


Kramet patted Mike’s taut abs with his hand.


“But no more ado now. Let’s begin! Dimitry, why don’t you start? What instrument? What part of his body you want me to use it on?”


A few moments silence followed. Mike was very tense, taking deep breaths, his fists clenched in anger and frustration. Then a dark voice was heard, with a heavy Russian accent.


“The quirt! On his pecs!”


“Oh! So no mercy, no warming up for Marine Warrior! Excellent way to start the Game, Dimitry. Throw the dice!”


Mike heard a dice being thrown on the table top. Excited murmurs as the dice stopped tumbling. Then Kramet’s voice.


“Marine Warrior! What’s the number? If your guess is correct, we go on to the next round without the punishment, remember?”


Mike was breathing hard. His mind racing. What to do? Fuck this. He swallowed and then his manly voice was heard.




Sniggering. Then Kramet.


“Alas! The number is Four! So, now prepare for your punishment. Four lashes on your pecs. Remember, if you scream, you get four lashes more! Are you ready?”


Mike cursed under his breath. He heard Kramet’s footsteps as he took position. His strong fingers gripped the chains on his wrist-shackles tightly. He took a deep breath. He flexed his muscles in anticipation. Then the sound came.




The hard lash cut into his thick muscled pecs. An explosion of pain. Every muscle in his body flexed in reaction. He threw his head back and gritted his teeth forcefully not to scream out his pain.








The second lash bit into his pecs, tearing at his skin. His teeth gritted, squinting tightly, he bared his teeth as he groaned deep.






The quirt lashed his pecs. Kramet really laid it on hard, his face strained as he focused on Mike’s thick muscled pecs and the angry welts that began to appear. Again he aimed and let the quirt lash those lightly haired pecs hard.






Mike face distorted in pain, his body shocked under the cruel lash, his huge biceps flexed thick as he pulled at the chains. His groans were louder every time, but he managed not to scream. After the last lash he gasped, opened his eyes and looked down at his chest. Welts showed across his pecs, and here and there thin cuts were visible. Kramet put the quirt down.


“Well done, Marine Warrior! A most promising start! Then again…that’s all it is: a start! More rounds to come and more pain to suffer! Carlos! My friend! It’s your turn! What shall it be?”


Mike heard a man get up from his chair and approach. Then he felt a sweaty hand on his left bicep. The hand probed his muscle and then travelled across his pec down to his abs. From very close by came a voice.


“The abs… his abs with the nightstick. But hit really hard! Let’s make the American scream… ”


Mike breathed deep and slowly, the pain on his chest slowly decreasing. Carlos’ hand felt up his hard ridged abs as they tightened with his breathing.


“Good choice, Carlos! The nightstick on those strong, defined abs. Very good. I promise you, I will hit those abs very hard, as you request. Please, throw the dice!”


Mike heard the dice roll. He swallowed.


“Marine Warrior! What number does the dice indicate?”


Again Mike cursed under his breath. His anger began to rise at the sadism of this hellish Game.


“Jesus…fuck… uh…Four!”


Sniggering. Kramet from close by. The nightstick being pressed against his abs.


“No, Marine Warrior, alas! Not Four… but Six! Carlos had good luck, right? Ha ha ha! A real challenge, this time! Prepare!”


Laughter and some approving applause. Mike heard Kramet approach. He flexed his abs as tight as he could, to absorb the first blow. Kramet made him wait…




The nightstick slammed into Mike’s middle abs. He threw his head back, his body shocked, all his muscles flexed. The pain penetrated deep into his midsection.




Almost a scream had escaped him, but he had just managed to keep it down. Quickly he tightened his abs again.




The nightstick hit his upper abs hard. Mike’s body shocked under the force of the blow. His face contorted in pain.




He gritted his teeth with a will, biting down hard to digest the pain. His fists clenched. He struggled to keep his abs flexed.






The nightstick landed hard on his lower abs. The pain exploded and Mike felt a sting of nausea. He gasped for air, but almost immediately exhaled and flexed his abs again, anticipating another hard blow.


“Kramet!” The voice of the man called Carlos. “Kramet! You must hit harder! The gringo is tough, and I want to hear him scream! I want him to get the second six blows also! Ha!”


Kramet sniggered.


“Your wish is my command!”


Mike’s anger rose even further and he flexed his aching abs. He would never give those bastards the satisfaction!




The nightstick struck his upper abs with the most force yet. The pain exploded, Mike saw a red haze…his body shocked violently, he threw his head back, his mouth opened wide… in a long silent scream. Only after a few seconds his head came forward and his chin pressed his chest. He uttered a deep agonizing groan.






His middle abs were violently hit by the nightstick. Mike would have doubled over, but was restrained by the chains holding him.




The air escaped through his gritted teeth, his face grimacing in agony. A nauseous feeling again attacked him. He gasped for air and instinctively flexed his tortured abs again, to absorb another blow.




The nightstick slammed into Mike’s lower abs a second time, causing his body to shock and shake. He pulled at his chains with all his strength as he threw his head back once again, fighting like mad to keep down a scream of pain.




That were six strokes. Mike let his chin rest on his sweaty chest, taking deep and slow breaths, to recover from the onslaught on his abs. Kramet gave him a pat on the shoulder.


“Good show, Marine Warrior! Those were hard blows, but you handled your pain well! So far, so good!”


Kramet slapped his hand against Mike’s reddened abs. In reaction his six-pack tightened once again.


“Fine set of abs there! And your body shows itself to its advantage as you feel the pain!”


Mike lifted up his head, his mouth in a tight grimace. He flexed his biceps.


“You…sick piece of shit…all of you…pieces of fuckin’ shit! Take those chains off me and I’ll show you…cowards!”


Mike trashed at the chains, but he could not free himself. He just heard the laughter and a comment made on him.


“Marine Warrior has much fight in him! We must make him suffer much more! Can I have my turn now?”


“Yes, Donald, by all means! Go ahead and make your choice.”


Mike heard somebody approach him. Then he felt a hand probing his ass.


“My choice is this fine muscle athlete ass! How perfectly formed it is! Hard to the touch, while the skin is soft. The right target for the perforated paddle, I’d say. Wish me luck throwing the dice!”


The footsteps receded and then the dice was thrown. A soft murmur.


“Marine Warrior! What number does the dice say?”


Mike breathed hard. Did that murmur mean a low number? He lifted up his head.




Kramet and his guests laughed.


“Good try, Marine Warrior, but alas! The number is three. Three extra hard strokes with the perforated paddle on those fine asscheeks of yours! Get ready, and remember: do not scream!”


Mike heard something being lifted from the table and then approaching steps: Kramet taking position behind him. He gritted his teeth and prepared for the pain. Then a shock went through his body as he felt Kramet’s hand on his butt. The hand felt up the muscled asscheeks.


“Truly a fine athlete’s ass, Michael” Kramet whispered behind him, “a joy to feel it and punish it!”


“Fuck you!” was the answer, and contempt resonated in Mike’s voice.






The pain was so sudden and intense that Mike nearly lost control. Almost he had screamed out his pain. Just in time he only swore, his face contorted.




He groaned deep and thrashed at his chains as he dealt with the pain and humiliation. In a flash the memory of punishment at home, at the hands of his father, came back to him. His father used to belt him on his ass and back, but then he never gave a sound: he hated to show weakness. That memory gave him strength now.




The second stroke landed on his asscheeks with full force, and again the pain exploded. But there came no sound. Kramet was surprised and so, obviously, were the spectators. A silence ensued, only broken by one of the voices.


“What is the matter, Kramet? Is he unconscious?”


Kramet walked up to Mike and forced his head backwards. He looked in his eyes. He saw fury. Mike took slow breaths. And then a thin smile formed on his lips and he returned Kramet’s look with contempt. Kramet returned to his position and grabbed the paddle tightly.




The explosion of pain made Mike’s body jerk in reaction. But again: he shook his head and made no sound. More sweat drops had formed on his forehead. Kramet’s voice sounded behind him.


“Nice show, American! You are even better than I expected. But don’t think you can keep this up! I have never lost at this game before. I will have your screams of pain before long!”


With a pat on Mike’s reddened ass-cheeks Kramet returned to his guests.


10c – THE GAME – PART 3


“Abdul! Your turn!”


Mike heard somebody getting to his feet and approaching. Then he felt a presence close to him. Rough hands touched his biceps, his pecs and his abs. Then a deep voice.


“Yes, quite the good body, American. And so far you have shown you can take pain well. That is good! But now is my turn!”


Mike breathed slowly, his body stiffening under the touch of those rough hands. The man walked behind Mike and let his hands run down his broad shoulders.


“My target is this strong muscled back! And I am traditionalist: I choose the signal whip! Let’s see if he can keep down his screams as the whip cuts into that broad back!”


Mike gritted his teeth, his jaw muscles flexing. He heard the man walk away and under the sounds of approval he heard the dice roll. He swallowed.


“Well, Marine Warrior? What number does the dice say?”


Mike had heard no reactions to go by, so he just guessed.




Again the sniggering, as Kramet answered.


“No, Marine Warrior, you guessed wrong, even if you were close. Abdul has a lucky throw! The number is six!”


Mike swallowed hard. Then he heard the crack of the whip as Kramet demonstrated the cruel instrument of pain for his guests. At the sound a light shock and shiver went through his body. Footsteps passed him, and he heard Kramet take position behind him once again. He took deep breaths, preparing himself for the first lash. Kramet’s guests became silent in anticipation, as they watched with lustful and sadistic eyes how the young muscled and near naked prisoner stood chained and spreadeagled. His body was glistening with sweat, his chest and abs showing the marks of the previous rounds of the Game.






The whip lashed Mike’s back crossing it from his left shoulder to his right waist. The exploding pain was so intense that he almost burst into a scream. His body jerked in agony as he pulled at the chains with all his strength. He threw his head back and he arched his torso. The whiplash made a thin cut in his bronzed skin.






Now the whip cut into his back from the right shoulder down to his left waist. Again his strong body jerked in the chains. He arched his back, his face in a grimace, eyes squinting. He gritted his teeth tightly and his teeth showed as the hissing groan escaped from his throat. The pain was excruciating. A second long thin cut appeared across his glistening muscular back. Kramet’s voice.


“How is the spectacle at the front, my friends? Can you see all the signs of his intense suffering? Feel free to come and watch from the back, if you wish!”


“Looks great to see him flex those muscles as the whip hits him, Kramet!”


“Yes, you can see he’s in real pain there! Great stuff!”


Mike’s breathing had quickened. His sweaty chest heaved. His back was burning. He moved his wrists in the shackles to ease that pain a bit, and in the room he heard his tormentors. He could not see them, but there they were, some standing, some in their chairs, all excited as they witnessed his torture. One or two were rubbing their crotch. All of them were intensely enjoying his pain. Mike hated them, deeply.






The third lash made a parallel cut to the first one. Mike’s back arched and he yanked at the chains. Thick sweat drops began to emerge all over his body. From his forehead they trickled down his face, down his chin and ran further down between his pecs. He pressed his chin into his chest and grimaced fiercely as he groaned. As he fought back the urge to scream, he shook his head.






His back exploded in pain as the fourth lash cut his back parallel to the second. In an instinctive reaction Mike bit hard into his left bicep, to avoid screaming. His strong fingers groped the air. His body jerked in pain.


“Hey! What’s that! That is cheating! He is biting his biceps like a piece of wood or leather!”


Approval was heard all around. Mike gasped for breath, his left bicep showing the bitemarks. Kramet spoke.


“All right, all right! I agree, that biting makes the fourth lash non valid. Any help in suppressing the scream of pain is not allowed. I repeat the lash!”


Mike pulled at his chains.


“You fuckin’g sick pieces of shit! MotherFUCKERS!!”






The lash was repeated, perhaps with even more force than the one before. Again Mike’s sweating body jerked and he pulled at his chains, his thick biceps flexing to the max, as he groaned deep. He gasped.


“So, my friends, that was lash number four then. Just to make sure! The Game continues!”


Mike lifted his head up as if he looked up at the shackles on his wrists, then down at his shackled ankles. Little sweat pools had formed at his bare feet. He wanted to be free, away from this hell, away from the pain. Away from these sick devils who had come to torture him for their pleasure. But as strong as he was, he could not break free.






The fifth lash cut into his back parallel to the first and third. Mike arched his back to the max as the pain exploded. His face contorted, a red haze of agony in his eyes. He yanked at the chains as the pain developed, every muscle in his body flexing. And another deep groan of agony escaped from between his gritted teeth.




He gasped for air, taking deep breaths. His mouth half open, saliva dripping down his chin mixing with sweat.






The sixth lash paralleled the three previous ones. Mike’s body jerked violently one more time, then he hung from his wrists as his knees became weak for a short moment. He struggled to find his footing again, then stood, panting heavily.


Kramet came up to him from behind and pressed the coiled signal-whip against his punished back. He let the instrument slide slowly down Mike’s broad, sweating back. Seven thin cuts criss crossed his shiny back, thin trickles of blood had begun to mix with the sweat of pain.


“You did very well, Marine Warrior, I must say! A great display of physical and mental strength! A real man!”


As Kramet passed him on his way back to the table, Mike breathed heavily. He was in pain. He hardly noticed how Kramet’s guests feasted on his tortured body with their gaze.


As he Kramet put down the signal whip, he picked up another bottle of expensive champagne.


“Dear friends! I trust you enjoyed the Game! Is Marine Warrior not a remarkable candidate? He can deal with pain, like I promised. Come, let us drink on this fine performance!”


The bottle was passed around, glasses filled, toasts made in honor of Youri Kramet. Mike heard more comments made on his body and the way he had taken the pain. He stood there, near naked and chained, his body showing the bruises and welts of the ordeal he just went through. He did not know how long the party went on, but at some point he heard Kramet’s hated voice again.


“Friends! We come to the end of tonight’s Game, unfortunately. But because of the exceptional performance by Marine Warrior I have decided to add a final round. I myself will choose the target area and the instrument of punishment! And it will be a special round with special rules, in honor of your distinguished presence… ”


Kramet walked up to Mike and started to feel up his body.


“Such a great body! Oh, such great muscle development! The definition and tone! The hardness! So fit and strong! Youth and strength! My target is all of this! Hahaha!”


Mike tensed up once more. What the hell! More pain? Kramet walked to the table and picked up an instrument.


“Here it is! My choice is the Deutsche Peitsche, the German Whip. A beautiful instrument: look at the nice wooden handle and the six leather thongs protruding from it.”


While talking Kramet came back to Mike and let the thongs slide down his welted chest and abs.


“Feel the leather, Marine Warrior? Imagine, it will be like six lashes at once as I hit you, and I will hit hard!”


Mike remained silent, his square stubbled jaws set tight. Kramet walked back to the table.


“Now the dice. And here is the special feature of this round: I will throw two dice instead of one! Hahaha!”


Loud approval accompanied the sound of the rolling dice. Then there was silence.


“Well, Marine Warrior? What is the number? Something between two and twelve! Hahaha!”


Mike clenched his fists and swallowed hard. He felt a knot forming in his stomach.




“You are not very lucky tonight, Marine Warrior! I, on the other hand, have more luck. The number is six and five, so eleven in total! What joy!”


Mike heard Kramet approach and prepared for more pain. From close by he heard Kramet again.


“Well, because this is the final and special round, I allow you to scream. But the force of the strokes will be maximum! Now you are going to scream for our pleasure, Marine Warrior!”


The guests expressed their approval with applause and some encouraging shouting.


“Yeah! Make him scream for us, Kramet!”


“Let’s hear him beg for mercy! Hahaha!”


“Whip him till he bleeds, Youri!”


Kramet took a good grip on the wooden handle, took a deep breath and then…he made a long swing and let the German Peitsche land on Mike’s abs with full force.






As the thongs cut into his abs Mike threw his head back and let out a scream of pain. His body jerked, his biceps flexed thick.






The thongs wrapped around his left inside thigh, dangerously close to his manhood.






Kramet whipped Mike’s right inside thigh and watched how his body jerked and twisted. Then he paused, taking in the results of the first three lashes. Nasty welts, a few bleeding, began to rise on Mike’s abs and inside thighs. Mike gasped for air, his six-pack deeply ridged with his heavy breathing. Kramet’s eyes were fixed on those glistening undulations, and with a groan of effort he directed his next lash at Mike’s abs once more.






Mike yanked at his chains and in his frustrated anger he snarled like an animal.


“KRAMET!! Bastard!! I will get you for this!”


But Mike’s outburst only enhanced Kramet’s pleasure, as it did his guests’. They laughed and applauded, and urged Kramet on.






The thongs of the German Whip lashed Mike’s left pec hard. He threw his head back, mouth wide open, and screamed. And immediately the whip landed again, now on his right pec.






Mike shook his head in pain. Sweat drops flew. Kramet took a step back and then walked over to the table. He needed more champagne. With a sadistic grin he looked at his guests.


“Is this not a fine sight, my friends? Look at that fantastic body and see the increasing number of welts! See how those muscles flex and contract as he feels the pain! Listen to his groans and screams, the evidence of his suffering! Notice his anger and frustration at being subjected to the tortures! A true Warrior!”


Kramet drank again, set his glass down and took position behind Mike’s back. He looked at the muscularity of that strong, broad back, crisscrossed with bleeding welts. He saw Mike’s upper body extend and contract with his heavy breathing. He took a firm grip on the whip, took aim, and let the instrument come down with full force.






The six thongs wrapped around Mike’s left rib cage and cut into his skin. As far as the chains allowed Mike’s body curved into the lash. Kramet immediately made another hard swing, now from the other side.






The whip lashed Mike’s right rib cage, wrapping around. The ends of the thongs made bleeding cuts in his upper abs. Saliva and some blood escaped from his mouth. With a groan he let his chin rest on his glistening chest. He moaned with every deep breath he took.


Kramet took his time to choose the next target on Mike’s body. His eyes were drawn to those hard-muscled and perfectly formed asscheeks. Thick and angry red welts stood out on them. And then it came back to him how Mike had bitten down his pain and humiliation during the punishment with the paddle. He grinned.






The thongs almost lacerated Mike’s asscheeks. His body jerked violently as the pain exploded. And with the pain the memory of childhood punishment also returned.




Again the German Whip lashed Mike’s asscheeks hard. Again his body jerked and he yanked at the chains in agony. His face contorted, he gritted his teeth fiercely. And he made no sound! Kramet was surprised and looked at the cruel instrument in his hand, then at Mike welted and bleeding ass. Then he frowned and with determination let the whip lash at Mike’s ass again.




Mike’s body arched as far as it could. His fingers groped in the air in frustration. His head thrown back, he opened his mouth wide. But is was a silent scream. Every muscle in Mike’s body flexed as he suffered the pain. Then his muscles relaxed and he hung from his wrists, gasping for air.


Kramet dropped the German Whip on the floor, himself behind breath. He passed Mike and slowly walked back to the table. He let himself fall into a chair. With a wide grin of satisfaction he looked from one guest to another. They all applauded and congratulated Kramet with a fine performance.


“My friends, I see you enjoyed The Game of this evening. Well, it was my gift to you! Come, let’s retire to the Library for cognac and cigars.”


With a last look at Mike hanging at his chains the party left the Dining Room. Kramet called Sanchez.


“Captain Sanchez! Take the American down and let Maria look after him. She knows what to do. I want him back in the quarry soon. He needs to be fit for more clients!”




After the Game Mike was taken to his cell. The guards threw him roughly on his wooden berth. Mike groaned as he tried to find a more or less comfortable position. The welts, bruises and wounds from the punishments were aching. Especially his abs were hurting him. The hard hits with the nightstick had really impacted his muscles deeply.


As the guards left, Maria came in. She carried a bag, and brought a jug of fresh water.




She kneeled beside the berth, looked over Mike’s tortured body, and laid her hand lightly on his shoulder.


“Michael! I am here! Come, you want some water?”


Mike lifted his head, and then raised his upper body. He leaned on his elbow and gratefully took the jug from Maria’s hand. He drank. Maria looked at him with worried eyes.


“Come, let me look at your wounds, Michael. I have brought some ointments. Careful, don’t move to fast…”


Mike looked into Maria’s eyes. He saw how concerned she was. And he saw more, at least that’s what he thought. Did Maria really care for him? Slowly he stood up from the berth, so that Maria could inspect his body. She took a cloth from her bag and poured some water over it. Then she started to carefully dab the welts and thin wounds on Mike’s back, abs, sides and chest. With special care she did the same on the very ugly welts on his asscheeks. Although this caused a stinging pain, Mike took the treatment without reacting. He just looked down on that pretty girl, who busied herself to alleviate his pain. She took her bag and produced a little pot with ointment.


“This is arnica, Michael. It will help for the welts to heal more quickly.”


Very carefully she anointed the angry red welts that had risen all over Mike’s upper body and ass. Her elegant and cautious fingers ran over his skin, touching him lightly, just enough to apply the ointment without causing pain. Mike actually began to enjoy Maria’s touching him.


He stood still while Maria attended to his body. She looked up and their eyes met. She smiled. Mike noticed how her touch became even more gentle. Her fingers looked for his pecs, and she began to rub his hard muscled chest. Her fingertips found his nipples. Again their eyes met. Now Mike wrapped his strong arms around her and gently pulled her more close. Maria let her head rest against Mike’s chest, then began to lick his pecs and nipples. Her hands felt up his ass, then one hand rested on his hardening manhood.


Mike unbuttoned Maria’s blouse and gently bared her shoulders. Her firm breasts stood out, her fit body exposed. Then he took her to the berth, and they laid down. He ripped away the camo thong, and his impressive hard manhood stood erect. He came down on her. Their bodies entangled in love play. They kissed passionately. Two beautiful young people together. Their movements were supple and smooth. Mike’s muscles played under his sweaty skin as he engaged in the rhythmic motions of lovemaking. They lost themselves in the act of love. For a moment there was no pain, no prison.


They were unaware that a silent figure sneaked into the corridor and took position at the cell door. Kramet stood and listened, and briefly peeped around the corridor, watching Mike and Maria making love. At first an irritation seemed to grow inside him, but then he smiled with an evil grin. On tiptoe he left, leaving the two lovemakers to their momentary happiness.


“Herr Schmidt? Hello, Kramet speaking. How are you?…I am well, thank you. Pardon my intrusion, but I have good news. I am now certain that I can guarantee that your session with Marine Warrior will be fully to your satisfaction. … Yes! I will explain everything after you arrive. He needs two or three weeks, then he will be topfit again and in the best shape. … Believe me, he is in superb physical condition. And his mental state will be in the desired condition as well! … Yes, I know you have spent a large sum of money. Well, do not worry: I will make sure that you will be satisfied! All the best for now. I look forward to having you as a guest on Erebo soon. Goodbye!”


For another two and a half weeks life returned to normal for Mike. He was put to work in the quarry and absolved his gruelling, monotonous tasks. His body quickly recovered from the effects of the Game. Soon the bruises and welts were gone, thanks also to the care provided by Maria.


More than before she came to look after him. Ever since their passionate lovemaking she looked for opportunities to go and visit Mike in his cell at night. These opportunities seemed to offer themselves more often than before, but Maria did not think twice. She just made use of them. That way Mike and she were together a number of times, and each visit was crowned by another joining together of two beautiful young people. If it were not for the cruel circumstances, one would say that a fine love affair bloomed.


The day was particularly hot and humid. Mike was at work. His muscled and toned body was glistening in the sun. The play of his musculature showed itself as he was swinging the heavy sledge hammer, picking up and hauling the blocks of rock, or just stretching his body and taking a swig of water.


Then Kramet came to see him. As always, he was wearing his white suit and hat. The contrast between the half naked young man and the overweight, well-dressed Warden was stark. Kramet watched Mike work for a few moments.


“Well, well, Mr. Slade, I must say you look very good these days! The marks of the Game have all but disappeared. And you appear to be in your best shape since you arrived. You have become more muscular, it seems, and your muscle tone is at its peak.”


Mike did not answer but continued to work. One of the guards had approached and was already slowly swinging his whip, waiting for an opportunity to lash Mike’s naked upper body.


“I must say, you even seem to have some radiance about you, Mr. Slade. Is it that you start to like your stay with us? Or is there something else? Something that makes a young man… radiate?”


Mike hated the suggestion in Kramet’s voice.


“I was just thinking about killing you, Kramet. Maybe that’s it.”“


Kramet took the guard’s whip and came closer. He made Mike stop working and pushed the coiled whip under his chin, forcing it up high.


“You can not fool me, American. I know what is going on between you and Maria. What is more, I let it happen. And I have my reasons!”


Mike felt a knot forming in his stomach.


“Kramet, I swear, you bastard, don’t you do anything to touch Maria!”


Kramet took a step back and swiftly lashed the whip across Mike’s sweaty chest.




Mike just tensed up and grit his teeth.


“I would punish you now, Mr. Slade, and make you scream under the lash! But I will not. Not now. I know what is coming to you, my friend! Soon your new client will arrive. When I think what he will be doing to you in the torture rooms, that satisfies my wish for punishment for the moment!”


Kramet turned away and handed the whip back to the guard. He left Mike all tensed up, and wondering. He picked up the sledge and started working again. But the knot in his stomach remained.


A couple of days later a helicopter arrived at Erebo Island. Mike could see it hover over the quarry and then fly over to the landing circle near the Fortress. He did not pay much attention. But that helicopter brought his next client: one he would remember all his life.


That night Maria came once again to his cell. This time she was accompanied by guards. She entered, carrying a bag, and looked Mike deep into his eyes. Without much ado she opened the bag and took out a barber’s electric razor.


“American… come, I must give you haircut. You have a client and he wants the jarhead haircut.”


She gave Mike a worried look. Mike wanted to talk, but there was no chance. He sat down on his berth and let Maria do her job. Soon he had a high and tight jarhead hairstyle. She did not shave him, and left the 3-day stubble on hic cheeks. Then she handed him his pair of camos.


“Put these on.”


He took the camos from her, and their eyes met. He was surprised at the intensity of worry in Maria’s face. One of the guards pulled Maria at her arm.


“Come, girl! You are done here. And you, bastardo… get ready! Some time this night we will come for you! The client is preparing everything right now! Hahaha!”


Mike threw them an angry look. Without a word he turned away from them, stepped out of his dirty breeches and put on his own camo pants. For a few moments he stood tall in his cell. Barefoot, camos, naked to the waist. Ready for anything. Then he sat down on his berth again with a deep sigh. He clenched his right fist and slammed it into his left hand. His biceps flexed. All he could do now was wait.




It was probably midnight when they came for him. Guards, Captain Sanchez and Kramet himself. Sanchez slammed his nightstick against the bars of the cell door.


“On your feet, gringo! Hands behind your back!”


Mike got up and took position as the cell door opened. Quickly his wrists were cuffed behind his back. Kramet entered the cell.


“So, Mr. Slade, time has come for your new challenge. You will meet one of my best clients. He is very demanding in his preferences, but also he is willing to spend a lot of money for the right prisoner. And you are exactly that, Mr. Slade! The client paid a six months worth expected profit on you, to make sure that his wishes on the intensity of the tortures will be met.”


There was that knot in his stomach again. Mike’s eyes narrowed.


“Yes, Mr. Slade, the intensity and the duration of the pain and tortures will be severe. Prepare for a long stay in hell! Guards! Take him! Get him to the Interview Room first.”


By the side entrance of the Fortress they took Mike inside and led him to the Interview Room. It was an empty room with a steel desk and one chair. The guards made Mike stand in front of the desk and then took position against the wall. Kramet had not entered. Barefoot, in his camos, naked upper body, wrists cuffed behind his back: Mike stood tall and waited. Finally the door opened and two men entered. Mike tensed up.


The older man was rather short and stocky. His head was shaved and he wore steel-rimmed glasses. He was wearing an out-of-fashion suit and leather gloves. He carried a leather briefcase. He walked behind the desk and sat down.


He was accompanied by a younger, tall, big and burly man in a black uniform with boots. He too was wearing leather gloves on his big hands. His face had rough features and his eyes were cruel and cold. He stood behind the man sitting at the desk.


The older man opened his briefcase and took out a sheet of paper. He placed it on the desk in front of him, and then began to look over the young half-naked man standing before him. He leaned back and made a deep groaning sound. Then he spoke, slowly, with a heavy German accent.


“Well, well. What have we here? What do I see? An able-bodied young man, that is for sure. Obviously fit and healthy. Muscular. Robust and vigorous. A powerful body!”


The man stood up and came around from behind the desk. He circled Mike a few times, feeling up his upper body.


“Very good body shape. Rounded muscle groups. Excellent muscle tone. Hard muscles. Hard creases among muscle strands. Remarkable definition and separation. Overall a body with balanced proportion and symmetry. Very good indeed!”


He tapped with his finger on Mike’s tattoo on his shoulder.


“The USMC Eagle. With the motto underneath: Semper Fidelis. Nice. Tells a story and gives a promise. This young man is a warrior.”


He paused in front of Mike and studied his face.


“Square jaw, tapering chin. Sharp features. High cheekbones. And good eyes. Yes, look at those eyes! I see courage. Spirit. Resolve. Willpower. Excellent!”


Mike swallowed as the man sat down again behind the desk. He never felt more uncomfortable before in his life. Once again the man looked Mike over from head to toe.


“Confident, composed, poised. Apparent strength of body and of mind. A robust Marine, a fighter. Tough. A feast for the eyes! And a feast for the Torture Rooms!”


Mike stood still. He did not want to give any of his rising tension away. He controlled his breathing, keeping it slow. But the man in front of him was a keen observer: he noticed the tension growing in Mike’s body. He leant back in his chair and looked at the sheet of paper on front of him. Then he looked at Mike again.


“Marine Warrior. Your name is Michael Slade, correct? From here on I will call you Michael. That is more appropriate for the intimate contact we are going to have, you and I. Pain brings the tortured man and his torturer into a unique and close contact. I will be the closest witness to your pain, your suffering, your struggle, your frustration. My eyes will read your eyes as you suffer. My hand will feel your muscles flex and contract as the pain hits you again and again. I will hear your screams and groans. I will witness your strength diminishing step by step, until I experience your innermost self as you cry in desperation and beg me for mercy and for the pain to stop. Then you will be broken. And I will be victorious! We will have met at the deepest human level, and it will be deeply satisfying!”


Mike swallowed again and felt a sweat bead forming on his forehead. He focused his eyes on a point above the man’s head. His jaw muscles were flexing.


“Let me introduce myself, Michael. My name is Walter Schmidt. I am extremely wealthy. I have the opportunity to buy myself the most gratifying kind of entertainment I can think of: the prolonged torture of a young and virile prisoner. In fact, I am rich enough to buy myself victims and kill them, but that is not what I want. I am not interested in death, Michael. I am interested in life and vitality. I like to see the physical strength and survival instinct of a strong young man like yourself challenged to the maximum. Therefore you must be alive. Only when alive can you feel pain. My aim is therefore to keep you alive, so I can continue to make you suffer. Logical, is it not?”


Mike’s breathing began to quicken a bit as he listened. He avoided to look into Schmidt’s eyes.


“I have arrived at quite a good level of experience in the art of giving pain, Michael. I have tortured many other young men before you. I have had the best experiences with the warrior type. I distinctly remember the case of a mercenary who had been in the British Special Forces. He was very strong and lasted a very long time, a bit more than three days in fact. I had much fun. But now, Michael, my expectations are high. I trust you will prove to be the best so far!”


Schmidt waved his hand to the man behind him.


“This is my assistant. His name is Horst. He will be the actual torturer. He is extremely effective in administering the instruments of pain and judging the levels of impact and intensity necessary to extract the maximum pain while keeping you conscious. And most important of all: he is completely without any feelings of pity. He will never give you any mercy, Michael. No matter how hard you beg and cry. Together, he and I make the perfect team!”


Mike threw Horst a quick glance and looked away again. It had been enough to see Horst’s ice cold eyes.


Schmidt rose again and walked up to Mike. He caressed his stubbled cheek and let his hand slowly slide down his neck, chest and abs.


“I do not doubt your courage, Michael. In fact, I am counting on it. You must know that I will respect you as a man. I am not looking for a sexual encounter between us. I will not try to stimulate you sexually.”


Now his hand had reached Mike’s crotch. Mike felt his manhood being lightly cupped and squeezed.


“But, Michael, I will target your whole body. No part of you will be out of bounds when you will be subjected to torture. You can prepare that strong willpower of yours for the most excruciating forms of pain infliction all over that magnificent body of yours! I will not kill you and I will not mutilate you. But I will give you pain to a degree beyond imagination.”


Mike closed his eyes tight. He tried not to let Schmidt’s words affect him too much.


Schmidt sat down again.


“Now, Michael, for this coming session to work to my fullest satisfaction, you will be tortured for a reason. And that reason must be one that makes you want to resist to the utmost. Perhaps even to death. It must be something you care about strongly enough to hold out long hours of pain and agony. When your pain is effectively unbearable and Horst approaches to give you even more pain, then you must still have the motivation to continue and deal mentally with the agony your body can no longer sustain. It must therefore be something that makes this torture absolutely real!”


Mike held his breath.


“It was my esteemed friend Kramet who offered the perfect solution, Michael. But rather that I tell you what it is, let me show you. Let’s go. On the way to the Torture Rooms you will see what I mean.”


Schmidt chuckled as he rose from behind the desk. The guards took Mike by his strong arms and they all left the Interview Room. They went down the corridor, deeper into the dungeon area under the Fortress, and took a left. There they found Kramet, standing at a steel door.


“Ah! There you are, Marine Warrior! I am sure you are anxious to know the reason why you will be tortured. I can guarantee that you will be strongly motivated to resist the pain!”


The guards made Mike stand at the door. He breathed heavily and threw Kramet an angry look. Then Kramet opened the door. Mike’s eyes opened wide and he struggled hard against the guards holding him.


“Kramet!! You fuckin’ bastard!! Don’t you fuckin’ hurt Maria! Fuckin’ hell!!”


What he saw inside the room was Maria, fully naked strapped to a steel medical bed. Next to the bed stood a trolley. On its top were shining medical instruments lined up. Underneath stood a big battery with control box, with electrodes leading to clamps. The clamps were positioned near her breasts with the big brown nipples, and near her vagina.


“Yes, Marine Warrior! Maria is all prepared to be subjected to the most painful treatments these instruments can provide. She will be mercilessly tortured, if her torturer can get to her. And that is where you come in, Marine Warrior! Right from the moment I discovered you fucked Maria, I knew I had the solution for my client’s demands! Your love for her would provide me with the guarantee that you would resist torture to the utmost! Hahaha! And that way you would secure me an enormous sum of money! Haha!”


Kramet closed the cell door and was about to lock it with a big padlock. He showed Mike the padlock. Mike looked at it, breathing heavily, all tense with anger and frustration.


“What the fuck’s going on, Kramet? Let Maria be, I tell ya!”


Kramet nodded at Mr. Schmidt, and he left the scene together with Horst.


“Be calm for a moment, Mr. Slade. It’s in Maria’s interest that you fully understand the situation. This padlock will be locked with a 4 digit code. Do you see the four warning lights? They shine red now. If the code-digits are typed in and they are correct, the lights turn green, one by one. Four green lights, and the padlock opens. Then the door can be opened, and Horst can enter to do his worst to Maria!”


Again Mike tried to break loose from the guards. He hissed through his teeth.


“You fuckin’ evil mother-fucker… ”


But Kramet just smiled, enjoying the moment to the fullest seeing Mike’s frustration.


“I think you get the picture, Mr. Slade. You will tell me the 4-digit code of your choice and I will enter it. Then the door is locked. Mr. Schmidt does not know the code. But he has his methods to make you tell him! See, Mr. Slade? You can keep Maria safe, if you can avoid giving up the code. No matter how much they hurt you, I am quite sure that you will be sufficiently motivated to take the pain rather than give the code! Hahaha!”


Mike shook his head in angry frustration. Behind that door was Maria. And she would be tortured if he failed to hold out and take what they were going to do to him.


Kramet laid a hand on Mike’s hard muscled shoulder.


“Come, Mr. Slade. You are tough, and you love Maria. I have full confidence in you! You will give Mr. Schmidt the pleasure of many hours of real-life torture! But I think you should go now. They are waiting for you in the Torture Room. So, tell me: what will be the code?”


He had no choice. He had to protect Maria. He took a deep breath and then slowly gave a 4-digit code. Kramet entered the code into the padlock and then locked the door. The four lights were shining red.


“Excellent. We are all set! I trust your situation is clear to you, Mr. Slade? Yes? Oh, tell me before they take you inside: what will be your strategy? If the pain becomes unbearable, what will you do? Give a false code? That could buy you some time and short relief from the pain. But very probably you’ll have to pay for that with some very painful punishment. Or will you give up the digits one by one?”


Mike looked at Kramet with anger and disgust.


“The only thing I think of now is that I will kill you!”


Kramet laughed cruelly and started walking away. He turned back one more time.


“Ah yes, before I forget. Mr. Schmidt has provided you with a fighting chance. If you make it to hold out 4 days, Maria will be secure. You will have periods of rest between interrogation sessions, of course. But 96 hours is the time limit for this session. Quite some challenge, right? I wish you luck! Hahaha!”


One more time Mike tried violently to break free from the hold the guards had on him, and he almost succeeded. But then they subdued him and started to force him on the way to the torture room.


“KRAMET!! You son-of-a-bitch!! I WILL KILL YOU!!”


Kramet ignored Mike’s roaring outburst.


“Take him to Interrogation Room 2! They are waiting for him!”


Immediately the guards dragged Mike off. He struggled back, but he was forced towards the room where he was to face pain and torture.




They kicked the door open and forced Mike inside. He still struggled back, leaning backwards against the guards, but they pushed him further inside. A quick look showed him that Schmidt was seated in a leather easy-chair, Horst standing next to him. Against one wall of the big room stood a table, its top covered with a sheet. Attached to the wall was a big control-panel with lights and switches. From it cables exited and connected to a large metal plate on the floor and to a metal crossbar hanging from short chains on the ceiling. Fixed to the crossbar were shackles. There were shackles on short chains fitted in the floor-plate as well. They made Mike stand on the metal plate, his legs forced wide, so that they could shackle his ankles. Then they uncuffed his wrists and forced his arms up. His wrists were shackled above him. His strong hands grabbed the crossbar. Immediately Mike started to test the strength of his restraints. Flexing his muscles he pulled and jerked. The only thing he discovered was that he had a bit of room for movement, but other than that he was securely chained. There he stood, breathing heavily, an angry and determined look on his face. He was very tense.


Schmidt sat in his chair, his elbows resting on the arm-rests, his hands touching at the tips of his fingers. He sat and watched. His eyes went over Mike again and again, taking time to observe the half-naked muscular figure chained in the middle of the torture-room. Schmidt saw the clenched fists above the wrist-shackles. The powerful biceps bulging and toned. The rounded muscles, striations visible, on broad shoulders. The wide chest, muscled pecs, the torso tapering down to the waist. The six-pack abs with deep ridges separating the undulating muscles. The camo pants riding low on Mike’s hips, clearly suggesting the thick muscled, strong legs. The bare feet standing firm on the cold metal plate. And that face. Strong features. Square jaws. Lips tight. Eyes burning with anger, determination, readiness. In all, a spectacular display of male beauty and young manliness, about to face a challenge.


“Michael. In a few moments I will ask you the question that will mark the beginning of your interrogation. Let me just take in your body and presence while you are still unmarked by the effects of torture.”


Schmidt kept looking over Mike’s body. It seemed to take long minutes.


“I have paid a substantial sum to the No Pain No Gain company, Michael. I have bought the equivalent of six months bookings for you. That means that Kramet has six months to let you heal without losing any money on you. It also means that I have the opportunity to torture you hard. Very hard. Do not worry, I will not mutilate your fine physique. On the other hand, I can cause serious wounds, because you have six months to heal up. Anyway, let me first look at you and enjoy that sight for a bit longer.”


While Schmidt continued to gaze, Mike focused on his situation. Clearly underneath that sheet were instruments of torture waiting to be revealed. The cables running from the control-box at the wall to the plate beneath his feet were intended to electro-torture him. Electricity. Lot of pain, no scars. Fuck that.


“Michael! Maria is locked up in a cell, and the code to the padlock is keeping Horst from entering that room and brutally torture that beautiful young girl. Now, he would really enjoy giving her long hours of pain, Michael. Imagine how she would scream and writhe as Horst would target her lucious nipples or sensitive female organs! And she would know that her suffering would be because of you! Because you gave me that padlock-code!”


Mike looked Schmidt straight in the eyes.


“Let me tell ya once and for all, you sick son-of-a-bitch: I’d rather die than let that monster touch her!”


Schmidt nodded slowly, smiling.


“That’s the spirit, Michael. Defiance in the face of merciless torture. All you have to look forward to is days of pain and suffering. And what do you do? You throw courage at the certainty of indescribable agony. Excellent! Horst! Make sure our guest is properly secured. And then you can go to the switches.”


Horst came to check on Mike’s shackles, making sure that he was securely restrained. Then he walked over to the control-panel at the wall.


“Now, Michael, at my command Horst will switch on the electric current. It will flow to the panel beneath your feet. It is set to send a strong electric jolt at irregular intervals between 2 and 15 seconds. The voltage will cause pain, even if within reasonable limits. But I can guarantee you that you will want to avoid being hit by the shock. So, you can lift your feet a bit, as far as the chains allow. It will make no difference if you choose to hold on to the crossbar or hang by your wrists. Hanging by your wrists is more painful in the long run, causing an agonising strain on your wrists. But you can lift your feet by the strength of your arms. If you hang by your wrists, your abs muscles can hold the weight of your lifted legs. Anyway, you want to keep those bare feet away from the plate. Or, of course, you can hope for that longer interval between jolts to allow some relief on your shoulders, arms and wrists. But that is your choice, Michael. Or do you wish to give me the code?”


Mike swallowed, his eyes flashing over to where Horst was standing.


“Fuck you, you mother-fucker!”


Schmidt motioned with his hand, and Horst turned some switches. Mike was quick, but not quick enough. He lifted up his feet, but felt the shock anyway.


“AAH!! SHIT!!”


Schmidt leaned back in his chair. His eyes as usual fixed on Mike.


“Very well: you now know I mean business. Good. Now we wait. And we enjoy the show!”


Grabbing the crossbar with his strong hands and using his arms, the muscles flexing, Mike held his feet over the plate. He was very strong. He kept his breathing slow. He looked over at the control-panel to see if there was any light indicating when the electric jolt was given. There wasn’t. Fuck. He just met the ice-cold eyes and expressionless face of Horst standing at the control-panel. He looked away.


Minutes passed. Schmidt was comfortably leaning back in his chair, watching. He saw Mike swinging gently above the metal plate, his bare feet hovering closely above the cold source of painful shock. He saw Mike’s powerful and thick biceps flexed as he held himself up. And he waited. Waited for that inevitable moment when those bare feet would descend on the plate and the electric shock would cause the first jolt to travel through Mike’s body and give him pain.


More time passed. Mike had no opportunity to tell time. He just concentrated on saving energy as much as he could. He started to switch between positions: either holding himself up by pulling by his arms, or hanging by stretched arms and holding up his legs by his strong abs. Still sometimes the thought came to him: what if I lower my legs? Just hope that I will not be shocked and catch that longer interval? Give my arms and abs some relief? But what if the info about the interval is false? Maybe that plate just is charged permanently? Fuckin’g hell! Just hold out. Hold out.


Still more time passed. His shoulders began to ache. His biceps began to ache. His abs and upper legs were beginning to get tired. Sweat drops were starting to form on his forehead, in his armpits, and some began dripping down his face, down his sides. He kept his breathing slow. And avoided to look either at Schmidt sitting there in that armchair or Horst standing next to the control-panel.


“You are doing well, Michael. By now being uncomfortable must be changing over into experiencing the first levels of pain. You are starting to sweat. It is taking effort to avoid touching that plate, is it not? When do you think the pain of holding up those feet will become worse than the pain of experiencing that electric jolt? Maybe risk it? Or avoid that altogether and giving me the code?”


Schmidt’s sadistic comments hardened Mike’s resolve. He took in a deep breath and pulled himself up again as high as the short chains on his ankles allowed. His thick shiny biceps bulged as they flexed.


“Fuck you, Schmidt. No way you’ll get that code from me, ever.”


Mr. Schmidt grinned and turned to Horst.


“Horst! Put on your gloves! It’s time to make this test of strength a bit more interesting! You know what to do.”


In silence Horst took leather gloves from his pocket and put them on his big hands. He approached Mike. He stood just beside the plate, but still close to Mike’s body. Mike looked and saw that the gloves on Horst’s hands had studs on the knuckles. He sucked in air and tightened his abs.






Horst’s fist hit his abs full force. The blow hit a wall of muscle, but still Mike could feel Horst’s considerable strength. Mike puffed out air, and immediately tightened his abs again for the next blow. But Horst waited. Mike threw him a quick surprised glance, but just saw Horst grinning, his eyes cold as always. Horst feinted a bit with his arm, making Mike tightening his abs each time. Then he tried to hit Mike just at the moment he breathed.






Horst kept playing his game. Now Mike had to try and absorb the hard blows to his abs while keeping up his feet from the metal plate. Schmidt sat and watched this cruel game, with the inevitable outcome. He noticed how Mike began to sweat more and how the intervals between hanging from his wrists and holding on to the crossbar became shorter. And at the same time the studded glove on Horst’s fist caused Mike’s abs to redden. Schmidt shut his eyes and listened. Irregularly he heard the dull thud-sound as another punch hit Mike’s abs, followed by an angry grunt. Also he heard the chains creak under Mike’s body weight. He sat back and enjoyed, minute after minute. Until…




As Schmidt opened his eyes he saw Mike swinging after he had obviously been jolted by the electric current. His body was now glistening with sweat. The pain had given him new energy to hold his body up, using his arm strength. He was breathing hard. His abs were angry red.


“Ah, Michael, you have made a first experience of the effect of the metal plate. You see, the jolt is quite painful! It pays to keep those bare feet away from the plate, I can assure you. Although the strain in your arms and shoulders, or the feeling in your abs tell you otherwise.”


Mike grit his teeth in anger. For a moment he took a deep breath, and immediately Horst landed another hard punch into his abs.






Schmidt gave Horst a nod, and immediately he continued his assault on Mike’s abs.






Horst was a strong man, and the blows to Mike’s abs were hard and precise. He targeted the muscles and also the tendons between them, making sure the studs were biting into Mike’s skin.






Mike’s body was swinging under the force of the blows, and Horst waited for it to swing towards him before he landed his next hard punch.






Inadvertently Mike had lowered his legs somewhat, and his toes touched the metal plate.




The electric jolt raced through his body and caused it to jerk violently. He pulled himself up again, only to receive more hard punches to his abs.






Schmidt lifted his hand.






Horst stopped the beating and stepped aside. Mike was breathing hard and struggling to keep his bare feet from touching the charged metal plate beneath them. Schmidt took his time to watch. How long were his cruel and sadistic eyes focused on Mike’s sweating body? He was obviously enjoying himself as he watched Mike breathe hard and deep, his reddened abs tightening, his muscles flexing as he kept trying to hold his feet up. Now and then Mike looked at his tormentor, who just sat there fully at his ease, having all the time in the world. Mike hated him. But then he thought of Maria, and new determination showed itself in his hard stare. Finally, Schmidt spoke.


“You seem to be ready for the next stage, Michael. You have done well avoiding the electric shocks. I take it your muscles are beginning to ache quite badly. But it is obvious that you are very strong. I like that. So, Horst will prepare you for the next step in this delightful interrogation. Unless, of course, you prefer to give me the code?”


Mike grit his teeth and stared at some point above Schmidt’s head.


“As you wish. Horst!”


Horst walked over to the control panel and turned some switches. Then he picked up wires attached from the panel and walked up to Mike. As he approached Mike noticed that the bundle of wires ended in electrodes. Horst worked patiently. One by one he took a wire and placed the electrode on Mike’s skin, attaching it with tape. Six electrodes on his abs: four on his upper and middle abs, two on the tendons between. Two on each upper arm: one on his bicep, one on the tendon below it. When he was done, he walked back to the control panel.


“Thank you, Horst. Now, Michael, you can safely lower your feet. The metal plate is no longer charged.”


Mike did not trust Schmidt, but at the same time he longed to give his arms and shoulders a rest. Slowly he lowered his bare feet. He stepped on the cold plate, and nothing happened.


“So, Michael, within a few moments Horst will begin to turn the switches on the control panel. He is an expert in electro-torture. He knows all about the right levels of voltage and amperage to cause excruciating pain. He knows exactly how far to go without causing death. You might lose consciousness, Michael, but we will always bring you back. We will keep you alive, because as long as you are alive you can feel pain! Let’s begin. Horst!”


Mike tensed up and looked at Horst, and he saw him reach for the control switches. And then…the generator was activated.






A vicious jolt of current ran through Mike’s body. The convulsions of his muscles and nerves were so vicious that it seemed his abs and biceps were violently ripped apart. His body jerked. He only stopped his raw scream as the current was switched off.


“It really hurts, does it not, Michael? And this is just the beginning. Horst can manipulate the intensity of the pain much further, step by step. Every time he turns that dial and modifies the voltage and amperage, your agony will increase. Would you not prefer to avoid this? Give up the code, Michael, spare yourself the pain.”


But the pain had increased Mike’s anger. He spat on the floor and snarled


“Fuck you, Schmidt!”


Schmidt lifted his hand from the armrest, and Horst responded.






With an deep sigh of satisfaction Schmidt leaned back in his easy-chair. His eyes feasted on the jerking half naked body chained in front of him. Mike’s thick muscled throat swollen as he screamed, his head thrown back. His strong fingers clawing helplessly in the air. Once or twice he gasped for air, but then he had to scream out his pain again while the current kept jolting him. Until finally Schmidt signalled for the current to be switched off. With a deep groan Mike recovered a bit as the pain stopped. A shudder went through his body. After a long while Schmidt spoke again.


“Michael, before we proceed, let me make some things clear. We are now still at an early stage of your interrogation. The level of pain you experience right now is still relatively low. Of course, other men would not even be able to take this. But you are strong. You can take more, much more. But I want you to know that the pain will increase more and more. You will pass out, maybe, but Horst will revive you. And give you more pain. Until the inevitable moment that you will is broken. Then you will give me the code. Why not avoid all this suffering? Michael?”


Mike looked at Schmidt, how he smugly sat in his chair. His eyes filled with rage and contempt for that sick man who obviously took so much pleasure in his agony. As his breathing slowed down a bit, he swallowed.


“Schmidt… you Kraut sick shit… go fuck yourself!”


With a grin Schmidt lifted his finger, and Horst adjusted some controls. Then he pressed that red button.






At some point Mike had no idea any more how long they electro-tortured him. How many times did the current jolt him? How long until Horst switched the current off so he stopped screaming? How long did Schmidt give him time to recover between jolts? And what was that smell: his own skin being seared under the electrodes? All he knew was that every time the current was switched on, an excruciating pain exploded in his body. He jerked and shuddered. He screamed, although he tried not to. He frantically pulled at his chains. His body was dripping wet from his own sweat and from the cold water Horst splashed over him every once in a while. But his mind kept fighting. He focused on Maria and away from the pain as much as he possibly could.


“Michael, Michael… am I correct in thinking that the impact of the current is diminishing? Horst has been increasing the intensity of the current, but your reactions seem to be equal. Sure, your muscles flex and strain magnificently, but is the pain really intense enough? Well?”


Mike was hanging from his wrists, panting, and recovering from the last long jolt of electricity through his body. His breathed heavily, and time and again groaned deeply. Then he slowly lifted up his head. His eyes were misty, and he had a bit of trouble focusing on Schmidt, sitting across from him in his easy-chair.


“You can…do…what the fuck ever…shithead…”


Schmidt lifted his hand.


“Horst! Give him another long jolt, and step up the intensity significantly!”


Horst nodded and adjusted the switches. Then he pressed the red button.






Mike’s body jerked violently. Every muscle and nerve in his body were attacked by the current. His whole body strained and formed an arch.






Mike threw his head back as he screamed. He shuddered and jerked. He was engulfed in pain. But he kept fighting.






Schmidt watched intently. He observed how Mike was suffering under the vicious attack by the current. He saw his muscles convulse and flex. His fingers clawing. His head shaking, sweat beads flying. His toes spastically curving. His screams filling the interrogation room. Horst looked at his master, but there came no sign to switch the current off.






As Mike’s body began to spasm violently Schmidt finally gave the sign. Horst pressed the red button, and Mike’s body suddenly relaxed. It went limp, he was hanging from his wrists. Mike gasped for air, moaned deep. A red haze blurred his vision. His mouth was hanging open as he took in deep breaths.


Schmidt got up and walked over to Mike. He slowly circled him and let his eyes roam over Mike’s tortured body. As he watched a smile formed on his lips. He deeply enjoyed the spectacle of this half naked muscled young man obviously in deep agony.


“Michael… you have not given me the code… we will have to proceed to the next stage in your interrogation. Do you hear me, Michael?”


Mike did hear. But he kept his chin resting on his heaving chest. And just shook his head slowly.


“Ah, I take it that means you are not yet willing to give in. That is good. You are a brave young man, Michael, and strong. We will honor your courage and subject you to more tortures!”


Schmidt turned to Horst.


“Take him down and bring him to the holding cell. Give him water to drink. Then you can start to prepare Interrogation Room 1.”


Horst nodded. Schmidt went outside and let the guards know they could assist in getting the prisoner to his cell.




Holding Mike by his strong arms, the guards pushed him through the door and roughly threw him on the concrete floor. Behind him the steel door was slammed shut. Mike stayed down for some moments, panting, before he looked around him. An empty cell, concrete floor, concrete walls. A light bulb under a grid on the ceiling. In one top corner, also protected by a grid, what looked like an observation camera. Build-in the ceiling two speakers. In one corner a bucket, in another a jug with some water and two loaves of old bread.


With a groan Mike got up to his knees. He felt like he’d been hit by a truck. With his fingertips he felt up the spots of seared skin on his abs and the inside of his biceps. His beaten abs ached badly. He crawled over to the corner with the water. He drank. Then he ate. He rested his weary body against the rough concrete wall. He closed his eyes and tried to find rest. His mind was still racing. Taking the pain from the electricity and fighting down the impulse to give in and make them stop hurting his body put a heavy strain on his will power. But he made it. He protected Maria from being assaulted and tortured by that animal Horst. He would keep protecting her, no matter how much pain he would have to deal with. His eyelids became heavy, and he allowed his upper body to slide down along the wall. As he came to rest on his left shoulder and arm, he was already asleep.




The steel door burst open. Mike was violently startled awake. Before he knew it, the two guards were on him. They threw him on the floor belly-down. One of them grabbed his wrists and snapped cuffs on them behind his back. At the same time, the other guards grabbed his ankles and put cuffs on those. Then they forced his legs up towards his hands. In a few moments they had connected his cuffed wrists and ankles with a short piece of chain. Mike was hogtied: his legs and arms painfully stretched, his shoulders straining, his chest and abs extended. The guards left, and Horst entered the cell. He was carrying a long flexible truncheon. From the corner of his eyes Mike noticed Schmidt standing in the door opening. But he had no time to pay attention to his interrogator.






The truncheon hit Mike full on his foot soles. His body spasmed in reaction.






The truncheon hit his stretched out abs full force.






Another hard hit, now across his pecs.






Another hit to his foot soles as his body writhed under the assault.


Horst let his truncheon land on Mike’s chest, abs and foot soles as the frantic movements of his body allowed. Then the punishment stopped and Schmidt spoke standing at the cell-door.


“Michael, I just came to make sure that your accommodation is suited for you. You have a place to rest now. Are you comfortable? I see you have already enjoyed a meal. I am glad you finished it, that means you must have had a healthy appetite.”


Mike’s breathing became slower. Angry red welts started to show across his chest and abs. He looked up at Schmidt.


“Just…fuck off, you asshole!”


Schmidt nodded, with a grin on his face.


“Yes, Michael, I will leave you now. Enjoy your rest while you can. Soon we will meet again for the continuation of the interrogation. Meanwhile, think about my offer: if you give up the code, the pain will stop. Simple as that!”


Schmidt turned and left. Horst kicked Mike hard in his abs, and then left the cell.




The door slammed shut and Mike was alone again. Slowly his body relaxed a bit. He tried to find some kind of comfortable position, but he couldn’t. There was a constant strain on his shoulders, arms and legs. He closed his eyes and began to tell himself that he was comfortable, that the aching strain just was not there. Lying on one side he focused away from his discomfort. And thankfully after some time he fell asleep again.


A loud frenetic noise abruptly startled him. Very loud drilling, hammering, squeaking, clanking and hissing sounds filled the cell. It was mixture of industrial rattle and clatter, a chaotic sound bombardment. Mike had no way to protect his ears. He struggled against the chains and cuffs holding him in a hogtied position, but all he could do was rolling from left to right and back. The din did not stop. It was absolutely impossible to ignore it or find any rest from it. Mike just had to take it and hope that it would stop.


After a while the noise became almost physically painful. Mike shook his head, but it was pointless. No escape from it. No rest. Sleep out of the question. He grit his teeth and tried to find some inner quietude, away from the din.


Then just as abruptly as it hard started, the noise stopped. And the light went dark. Suddenly all was dark and quiet. Mike’s breathing settled. He waited to see if the noise would start again. Or the light go on. Or Horst burst in to beat him. Or whatever else they thought of to make his life hell. Minutes past in tense anticipation, but nothing happened. How many minutes? Five? Ten? Mike’s eyelids became heavy again. Needing the rest he let sleep take over.


And again he was violently torn from his sleep as the light came on, the door burst open and two guards with bamboo sticks came in. They started beating him on his footsoles, chest, arms, and wherever they could land their sticks hard on his naked skin. Mike writhed under the beating but could not escape. All he could do was grit his teeth and take the pain. He refused to give the guards the satisfaction of screaming. After a few minutes they stopped and left the cell. As the steel door was slammed shut, the horrendous noise bombardment started again. Only after what seemed like a long time it stopped. Mike tried to relax again, unsure about what was going to happen next. His torso showed the angry red welts from the bamboo stick beating. He lay down on his right side and rested his head on the concrete floor. Then the light went out. But Mike was too anxious to sleep. What the hell was going to happen now? Was Schmidt just waiting for him to fall asleep again, only to wake him up again before his body and mind started to enjoy the recovery of deep sleep? Send in the guards with their bamboo sticks? Or Horst with his truncheon? Or the awful din? For a while Mike tried to listen for tell-tale sounds. But he could hear nothing. Nothing to prepare him for more pain or more sound. The aching pain in his shoulders and arms, and the cuffs cutting into his wrists and ankles told him that he’d been in this situation for quite some time now. No way to tell how many hours, just a long time. Finally tiredness took over, and he fell asleep.


The door burst open, light came on. Mike startled awake and immediately tensed up, ready to take another beating. But now only Horst entered, to be sure carrying a nightstick, followed by Schmidt.


“Michael! I trust you have enjoyed your period of rest! But now the time has come to continue your interrogation. The interrogation room is ready, all is prepared for you. We will see how your body and mind will deal with the pain and agony that awaits. Or maybe you wish to avoid more torture? What’s the code, Michael?”


Mike looked up at Schmidt. He felt tired, his shoulders, arms and legs were aching from being hogtied for so long. But his mind was determined.


“Go fuck yourself, Schmidt. You won’t get nothing from me.”


Schmidt grinned.


“That’s where you are mistaken, Michael. I will get everything I want from you. For long, endless hours I will get to enjoy your pain. Watch that fine body of yours suffer. Hear your frustrated screams of pain. See the anger, frustration and finally fear in those eyes of yours. And then, when even you can no longer bear the tortures Horst is inflicting, I will get my answer. You will talk. But I count on your courage, willpower and physical fitness for this final moment to be a long way off from now! Needles to remind you: as soon as you talk, Maria’s fate is sealed!”


Mike trashed against his restraints in helpless anger.


“Fuckin’ BASTARD! You sick SWINE! UURRNNGH!!”


A hard blow of Horst’s nightstick to Mike stretched abs put a stop to his outburst. Schmidt left the cell and gave his orders.


“Take him to the torture room and prepare him. Give him some water to drink, maybe throw some cold water over him. Just make sure he is fully awake and ready to feel the pain!”


Schmidt left. Mike still groaned after the hard blow to his abs as the guards entered. They undid the hogtie-restraint but left his wrists cuffed behind his back. Then they hauled him up by his upper arms and began to drag him away.


“Come, gringo! We take you for the torturas, eh? You like it, bastardo? Ha ha ha!”


Mike could just grit his teeth and prepare mentally as he was taken towards the place where he would subjected to more torture.




The steel door stood open and they shoved Mike forcefully inside. While struggling back Mike got a first impression of a large space. A stone floor, brick walls, wooden contraptions, chains, a large fireplace. But he had little time to take everything in. The guards pushed him towards the middle of the room, where rings were fitted into the stone floor, about three feet apart. They made him stand there and forced his legs wide enough, so that his feet were at the rings. Then shackles were attached to his ankles, and these to the rings. At the same time another guard attached large leather restraints connected to each other on his wrists, just above the cuffs. They checked if Mike was properly secured. Then they left, but one of them stood briefly in front of Mike.


“So, hijo de puta! Is unfortunate I cannot stay and see you in pain, gringo! But I am sure Señor Schmidt will give you much torturas! Ha ha!”


Mike gave him a hard stare back.


“Fuck you, you yellow pig!”


The guard responded by slamming his fist hard into Mike’s abs. But he had seen that coming. He flexed his abs to the max and absorbed the hard blow without a making a sound. Then he just smiled. The guard tried to hide his surprise.


“Yeah, you smile now, bastardo. Soon not any more, for sure! Look around!”


The guard left, the steel door slammed shut. Mike waited. He started to look around the large room. It had an almost medieval feel about it. On one side stood a large and heavy wooden X-cross, inclined backwards 45 degrees. On the other a heavy wooden table with pulleys at each end. A fuckin’ rack! On the walls were a number of bars at which he saw whips, sticks, pliers, pins and all sorts of other nasty looking instruments hanging. In the fireplace stood a cauldron on a tripod. In it coals were burning, glowing red hot. In one corner stood the comfortable armchair Schmidt had been using. Next to it a side-table with what seemed wine and some finger-food. Jezus fuckin’ christ!


Mike swallowed. He noticed his throat was a bit dry. He felt a knot in his stomach. He was in deep shit now. On his bare feet and half naked he suddenly felt vulnerable. All those instruments were there to be used on him. Fuckin’ hell!!


Then after what seemed a long time the door was opened. Schmidt and Horst entered. Immediately Mike tensed up. Schmidt began his slow circling around Mike. Mike followed him with his eyes as far he could.


“Seeing you again, Michael, impresses upon me once more what a fine young man you are! Look at you, how you stand tall. Bare feet planted firmly on the floor. Legs spread in a posture of readiness. Camo pants resting low on your hips. Magnificent upper body displayed to full advantage. It strikes me how broad your strong shoulders are! And then that handsome face, with strong features. Your eyes showing anger, determination. Maria can count her blessings having such a strong and courageous protector, who takes so much pain for her sake!”


Mike almost felt sick to his stomach listening to his tormentor. With his slow, tense breathing his abs tightened and relaxed, the sixpack musculature strongly defined.


“You see we are in another interrogation room. It is my friend Kramet’s favourite, he tells me. A fine room, don’t you think? Or better we call it: a dungeon. I am sure you took the opportunity to look around. As you see, plenty of torture equipment! I take it your mind is prepared to control your body, Michael. That body of yours is going to be the target of many, many types of very painful torture techniques. Just look at all the equipment for use on your helpless, unprotected body!”


With in inviting wide arm-movement Schmidt pointed around the dungeon, with its rack, Xcross, whips, fireplace and all the manifold instruments on display on the walls.


“Michael, I assume you refuse to give me the code and unleash Horst on your sweetheart Maria, am I right?”


Mike shook his head.


“Yeah, you son of a bitch. Damn right! And what’s more, the first chance I get I’m gonna fuckin’ kill ya… ”


Mike spat on the floor at Schmidt’s shoes. Schmidt took a quick step back.


“Horst, get him ready for the strappado!”


Horst walked over to the wall behind Mike’s back and disconnected a long chain that ran over a pulley above Mike’s head and back towards a large winch. He connected the end of the chain to the thick restraints on Mike’s wrists. Then he positioned himself at the winch. Schmidt grinned and took his time to observe how Mike stood there, breathing slowly but obviously tense.


“Michael, now we will see how strong your shoulders are. Horst is going to operate the winch and the chain is going to haul your arms, securely restrained behind your back, upwards. A slow and relentless shoulder extension! When the angle reaches about 60 degrees the rotation starts to cause severe discomfort, and soon that discomfort will develop into pain! Let’s start!”


Horst began to operate the winch by turning the handle, very slowly. Mike heard the clicking sound as the chain links passed the safety one by one. Soon he felt his wrists being lifted behind his back. Instinctively he tried to resist his arms being lifted, but the mechanism was stronger. Schmidt sighed as he saw Mike’s shoulder and arm muscles flexing, the striations starting to show.


“Well, Michael, I must say that your muscle definition is admirable! Wonderful to see those deltoids work, and look at your triceps! Quite impressive!”


Mike silently cursed, while he began to bend over in natural reaction to his arms being forced further up behind him. With every click the strain in his shoulders increased.


Soon the point came where he could not bend over any further. Every click now made the angle of his shoulder extension increase. Also increasing was the pain. A first grimace was witness to that fact. He started to stand on tiptoe to try to relieve the pain in his shoulders. Schmidt made Horst stop.


“Aha! We reach an interesting moment! As you notice, Michael, the element of real pain has come. Any further increase in the angle of your arms will cause considerably more pain. So you will want to avoid any movement that causes your shoulders to experience more strain.


On the other hand, look at your abs……they are crunched it seems, the skin showing thin folds… can you tighten them now? eh? Horst!”


Horst stepped in front of Mike, his right fist covered by the studded glove. He grinned and then…










Horst sent a long series of hard punches into Mike’s already aching abs. Each punch was driven into the muscles that Mike could not tighten as much as he needed or wanted. The impact of the punches was strong, and the pain penetrated deep into his gut. His body shocked under the assault, and each involuntary movement sent sharp pain through his shoulders. Sweat broke out all over Mike’s body, drops trickling down his forehead and from his armpits down his sides. The grimace on his face reflected the agony he was feeling.


“That’s enough for now, Horst! Lift his arms a bit more and get the knotted whip!”


Mike was panting hard as Horst walked over to the wall. Then the clicks were sounding and Mike’s arms were forced a bit further upwards behind his back. A fresh pain jolted through his shoulders.




Almost snarling like a dog Mike bared his teeth as the pain in his shoulders increased. But he had little time to adjust. Horst returned, carrying a leather whip, with knots in three places. He took a few seconds to decide where on Mike’s torso the land the first lash: the shoulders? the ribcage? the abs? the chest?






The whip cut full force into Mike’s broad, strained shoulders. As his body jerked from the pain, more agony jolted through his tortured shoulders and arms.






The whip bit mercilessly hard into Mike’s abs.






A new hard lash across his pecs sent another wave of pain through Mike’s body.






The knotted whip wrapped around his left ribcage and its end bit into his abs. Baring his teeth Mike screamed, saliva dripping from his mouth.






Now the whip bit into his right rib cage, tearing at his skin.


Raising his hand to make Horst pause, Schmidt took some moments to observe Mike in his agony.


“It seems the whip hurts you most when it caresses your ribcage, Michael. And when it does, your body movements must cause tremendous pain in your shoulders, does it not? Yes, the anger and frustration in your eyes tells me that I am right! Horst! Five hard lashes on each side! Let’s see what effect that has on this young man’s determination to refuse to cooperate!”


A gulf of frustrated anger went through Mike.


“FUCK YOU, you FUCKIN’ STINKIN SICK son of a BITCH!! Fuckin’ HELL you’re so FUCKIN’ DEAD!!”






The sound of the whip lashing into Mike’s body mixed with his screams of pain and deep groans. The heavy whip tore at his skin. The knots increased the pain of the impact. Welts and bruises started to appear on Mike’s left rib cage.






Now the whip cut into his right rib cage. The agony of his tortured shoulders added to the pain of the whipping. Mike tried to keep his upper body still, but he could not. The fierce grimace in his face was evidence of his suffering. After the 10 hard and merciless lashes Mike panted hard and tried to catch his breath.


“It is a pity you can not see yourself, Michael, as you are whipped! What a fine spectacle! Your strong body exhibits its fine musculature to perfection as a reaction to the pain. I must have more of this! Horst! Another 5 at each side!”


Before Mike could react, Horst resumed the whipping, and he let his strong arm work to inflict pain.






Sweat drops were gathering all along Mike’s glistening spine, sweat drops ran down his grimacing face.






The whipping stopped. All that was heard in the interrogation room was Mike’s heavy breathing. Horst stood next to his sweating victim. And Herr Schmidt sat back in his chair and watched. Watched and enjoyed. His eyes feasting on Mike’s strong and muscular body, standing on tiptoe, bent over, his arms forced painfully upwards behind his back, his ribcage and abs showing the angry red welts and bruises caused by the brutal whipping. Finally he lifted his head, and his eyes met Schmidt’s. He saw the ice-cold cruelty in Schmidt’s gaze. Seeing that man sitting there and enjoying to watch him being tortured made him feel sick to his stomach.


“What… you sick fuck… what’ya fuckin’ lookin’ at… ”


Schmidt smiled.


“Horst, it is obvious that our guest is not yet ready to share with us the code to his girl’s cell door. Raise his arms a few more clicks and whip his pecs. And Horst, take a thinner whip for that!”


Silently Horst obeyed, and as the clicks sounded Mike’s arms were forced further upwards. The pain in his shoulders became even worse, and his toes almost lost contact with the floor. He grit his teeth and was biting down his pain, as the new whip came into his vision. Horst held the instrument for him to see: the whip had three vicious thin leather tails. Mike closed his eyes and tried to brace himself. Horst took position to Mike’s left and prepared to aim the whip as precisely as possible at his thick pec muscles.






Schmidt closed his eyes to listen to the mixture of sounds he so much loved: the leather whip cutting into the living skin of a helpless, muscled victim and the frustrated screams of pain as a result.


After the first 5 lashes Horst changed position to Mike’s right side.






The whipping ended and Mike panted heavily. His chest was on fire. The thin leather tails had cut into his pec muscles and caused thin, bleeding welts. With every deep breath he took a light moan escaped him. He was really in pain.


“Lower his arms!”


Horst released the safety from the chain, and Mike’s arms were released. The chain rattled over the pulley and he fell on his knees, with a deep groan. But his fighter instinct made him immediately struggle back up. He wanted to stand on his own feet. He got to his feet with some difficulty, faltered a few seconds, but then found a firm footing. He stood tall and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with air. His sweating, welted torso expanded. He fixed his eyes on Schmidt’s and gave him a hard stare.


“So… that’s all ya got… fuckin’ shithead?!”


Once again Schmidt took his time. He leaned back and just watched.


“Well done, Michael! Your show of defiance is most impressive! Excellent! And oh: do not worry. This is most certainly not all, far from it! There will be more pain for you, beyond your imagination! But now I allow your shoulders some rest. We must avoid any numbness to develop: that would deprive you of the full experience of pain. Horst! Put his abs to the test once more!”


Immediately Horst stepped up in front of Mike, grinning as he slipped the studded gloves on his powerful hands once again. Mike gritted his teeth and flexed his abs, knowing what was to come.






The hard studded punches pounded Mike’s rock-hard abs, and every landed punch made him curve his upper body. But after each punch he raised his body up again and put on a brave face.






The tenth merciless blow to his tortured abs finally sent him on one knee. Horst stopped as Schmidt commented.


“Yes, Horst, my compliments! You are clearly hurting him, that is good! Now, I think I will take a break from this delightful entertainment. Haul his arms up again, and then we retire. In the meantime gravity can do its work on this young man’s strong shoulders and arms!”


While Mike panted heavily, he was aware that his arms were being pulled upwards again. He heard the clicks and he felt the pull. With a determined grimace on his face he struggled back to his feet. Soon he had to stand on tiptoe again, as his arms were forced further up and the pain increased. As Schmidt rose from his comfortable armchair, Mike looked up.


“Schmidt! You PIG!! You SICK SHIT!! No way in hell I will ever give ya that code, ya hear? NEVER!”


Schmidt did not look back. Mike could only hear his words as he left the torture room.


“Your choice of words is apt, Michael. You will find that “hell” is exactly the right expression! In the end not even you will be able to take the pain, trust me!”


The steel door slammed shut. Mike was left alone, with his pain.




How long did they leave him there? Mike had no idea. He had lost the sense of time going by. All he knew was the painful discomfort of his position and the ever-present agonizing pain in his shoulders and arms. He was hardly aware of his thirst and hunger. His fingers were numb, his hands and wrists aching badly. He was alone in the torture room, with nothing to look at except the instruments of pain around him, ready to be used on his defenseless half naked body.


And then they returned. The steel door opened, Schmidt and his henchman Horst entered.


“Michael! How are you? Did you enjoy your time here, waiting for the interrogation to resume? How are your shoulders? Or should I not ask?”


Mike did not look at Schmidt, his eyes focused on the floor, his jaws set tight. Then Horst approached and held a flask under his face.


“Yes, Michael, drink! The fluid is enriched with nutrients, you will find it somehow restores your strength. I can only recommend you drink, given the fact that you will be tortured again in a few moments!”


Mike looked up to Schmidt for a second, his eyes filled with hate, but then he opened his mouth and drank. Horst allowed him to drink about half of the flask, then he pulled the source of at least some comfort away.


“Assuming, Michael, that you want to keep protecting Maria, I have given orders to Horst to resume torturing you. The difference with before will be, that now he has free hand to use two different instruments on you, with the obvious limitation that he will stop either when you will give up the code to Maria’s cell or when you lose consciousness. I suppose this procedure will need no further explanation, right, Michael?”


Mike just hissed a “fuck you” through his teeth.


“Good! Then I will introduce the two instruments to you. Horst will show them to you. Here is the first: a so-called horse-comb or curry-comb. You will notice the comb has three rows of metal dents and is very effective to scrape the skin, causing tremendous pain. Just imagine it being used on your pecs, back or rib cage. But that I will leave to Horst. The second instrument, as you see, is a pair of pliers with studded jaws. Soon you will feel the effect of that instrument on your skin, maybe your sides, pecs or even nipples! But again, I have full confidence in Horst to make you experience the possibilities of pain these instruments provide to the fullest! And oh, yes: keep still as much as you can while the pain hits you! Your body movements will only add to your suffering!”


While Schmidt was talking, Mike’s eyes were on the two instruments held under his face. He saw the sharp dents on the horse-comb and the studs inside the pliers’ jaws. He closed his eyes.


Schmidt made himself comfortable in his chair, and poured some fresh wine into a crystal glass. He watched Horst select the horse-comb and slide his right hand under the leather strap, fitted on the handle. Then he walked up to Mike and first let his left hand glide over his left rib cage, then his right, then his abs, and then his pecs. The touch on his skin made Mike feel vulnerable, but he showed no reaction. Then Horst placed the comb on his left ribcage, just under his strained deltoid. He pressed, and then began to move the comb downwards, extremely slowly.




The sharp dents scraped across Mike’s skin and ribs, tearing and causing thin scratches. His body movements caused by the pain increased the agony in his shoulders. After reaching the hips, Horst walked over to the other side and scraped Mike’s right rib cage.




Schmidt deeply enjoyed seeing Mike suffer. He saw his contorted face, heard his screams of pain, saw the fresh beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Horst finished torturing the right ribcage, and returned to Mike’s left side. Again he placed the curry-comb high against the shoulder, at the armpit, pressed and pulled down ever so slowly.




As the curry-comb was removed from his hip, Mike drew sharp breaths and moaned. He shook his head. He tried to recover, but he had precious little time. Soon he felt the dents biting into his right rib cage once again.




Schmidt studied Mike’s reactions and facial expression for the first signs of weakness. The first signs that the pain was getting so bad that his young victim was starting to get afraid for the pain being inflicted on him. But to his satisfaction he did not see any of that yet. Although the young Marine was clearly suffering badly, his will to resist seemed unbroken. So Schmidt leaned back and enjoyed. And let Horst do his work of hell. For the third time the cruel curry-comb was drawn down Mike’s left rib cage.




As Horst moved over again Mike panted heavily. His sides were burning with pain. But Horst did his work, mechanically and effectively. The curry-comb bit into Mike’s right rib cage for the third time.




Horst walked over to a table and laid down the curry-comb, and slowly returned with the pliers in his hand. Schmidt looked intently at Mike’s sweating face, the signs of suffering clearly showing.


“Michael… Michael… what is the code to Maria’s cell? Tell me, Michael…”


Mike groaned, inhaled deeply.




But Mike’s breath was cut off as the pliers grabbed the skin and muscle of his right pec, right next to his nipple. Horst squeezed the instrument hard and the pliers bit mercilessly into Mike’s living flesh.




Horst squeezed and then twisted the pliers, to extract the maximum of pain. And Mike screamed.




Finally Horst let go, leaving an angry red bruised mark on Mike’s pec. And while Mike panted hard to catch his breath, Horst applied the pliers to his left pec, and resumed the torture.




Horst continued squeezing and twisting until some blood started to flow from between the pliers’ jaws. Only then he stopped. But before Mike could recover, Horst applied the pliers once again, now on his right nipple.




Mike was engulfed with agony. His tortured nipple, his shoulders screaming with pain, his sides burning. There was just the haze of suffering for him. He hardly noticed that Horst released his right nipple and applied the pliers on his left. And squeezed… hard.




Horst ignored Mike’s screams of pain filling the torture chamber. He just continued hurting his young, muscular victim, waiting for the words “mercy” or “stop” being yelled as a sign that resistance was being broken. And Mike screamed, yes, but he did not beg for mercy.


Again and again he alternated torturing Mike’s nipples until they were bruised and bleeding. Mike screamed and roared, shook his head wildly, and tortured his own shoulders as his body twisted under the pain inflicted on his nipples.


Schmidt watched as in a trance. What strength of will! What defiance and courage! And what a magnificent body displayed itself before his eyes! He was raptured.


Just briefly Horst interrupted torturing Mike’s nipples, only to get the curry-comb. With the pliers in his left and the comb in his right hand he took position again in front of Mike. Mike briefly looked up, his sweaty face haggard from the pain, his mouth open. He saw what was coming and cursed, closing his eyes. The pliers bit into Mike’s right nipple and the comb scraped his left rib cage. Horst did his best to cause the maximum pain.




But then it happened. As Horst applied the cruel pliers and the curry-comb simultaneously, Mike suddenly did no longer scream. His strong body went limp. His mouth fell open but no sound was to be heard. He had lost consciousness.


Horst looked at his master.


“Shall I revive him, sir?”


Schmidt shook his head slowly, his gaze fastened on the tortured and motionless young Marine hanging from his shackles.


“No. He is on the border of going numb. I want him refreshed for the next stage, so he can suffer to the full again.”


As if waking up from a daydream, Schmidt suddenly came more to life.


“Come to think of it, I need some rest myself, actually. Observing this interrogation is quite exhausting, emotionally. Take him to his cell.”


Horst nodded. Schmidt got up and walked up to where Mike was hanging. He caressed the stubbled, sweaty cheek. His eyes went over the bleeding bruises and scratches on Mike’s athletic, muscular torso.


“Rest, Michael… regain your strength… and we meet again soon!”




Mike opened his eyes slowly and groaned as he became aware of his tortured body. He was on the floor of the holding cell, as before only wearing his camo pants. The next thing he noticed was the thick and heavy metal collar around his neck, and the chain connecting it to the wall. He had cuffs on his wrists and ankles.


He looked around and saw a tray with some food: looked like porridge and a loaf of bread. Next to it stood a cup with water. With some difficulty Mike moved towards the food and drink. His body was aching, especially his shoulders were hurting badly, but his hunger and thirst were stronger. He ate the porridge and bread, drank most of the water. Some of the water he saved. Carefully he used it to rub his tortured nipples and the scratches down his sides. With his fingers he carefully probed his sides, pecs and badly aching abs. He was feeling a dull pain all over, and experienced sharp pangs of more intense pain where he touched his bruises and scratches. He cursed. He wished his tormentors and especially Kramet would burn deep in hell. But immediately the image of Maria being kept prisoner in that cell returned to him. He swallowed and grit his teeth. His determination to save his Maria from Horst and the horrors that came with that animal was unbroken. Then the food and drink made him a bit drowsy. The fatigue from fighting the pain became overwhelming. He rested his head on the hard floor and fell asleep.


He was roughly torn from his sleep as the cell door was opened and Kramet entered. As always impeccably clothed, he presented a stark contrast to the half-naked young man lying chained on the cell floor. As Mike laid eyes on his hated warden, he felt the muscles in all his body tighten. He clenched his fists and made a move forward, but the chain on his neck collar held him back. Kramet grinned, he had deliberately only just entered the cell, keeping himself well out of reach of his angry and tortured prisoner.


“Well, well, Mr. Slade, not a very polite way to receive a well-meaning visitor! If it were not for the fact that my friend Mr. Schmidt has bought himself the privilege of inflicting pain on you, I’d have you punished with at least 30 lashes! But I am sure the time for that delightful pastime will come!”


Mike adjusted the tight metal collar on his neck.


“Hey Kramet, you son of a bitch… FUCK YOU!”


Kramet nodded.


“Still full of fighting spirit, are we? That is good, very good indeed! Maria will be pleased to know, and especially Mr. Schmidt will be much appreciative. He is busy as we speak preparing the torture room, Michael! Oh yes, soon the interrogation will continue, and you’ll be suffering badly, believe me! Let’s just hope, for Maria’s sake, that you will be able to take the pain. And, of course, for Mr. Schmidt’s and therefore my sake in particular!”


Mike’s eyes filled with rage.


“You fuckin’ sick piece of SHIT! I will get you one day and then you fuckin’ DIE!”


Kramet’s eyes wandered over Mike’s tortured body.


“You still look so good, Michael! Even after having been tortured, you still look so damn fit and strong! As a matter of fact, those marks on your body make you look even hotter than usual!”


Kramet rubbed his crotch as he commented on Mike’s appearance, and Mike felt a deep disgust.


“Shit, man, go the fuck away, ok? Just leave me the fuck alone!”


Kramet sniggered, his eyes filled with lust and sadism.


“I can tell you are still confident that you will make it, right Michael? That you will hold out until the end? That the pain will not break your will? Have you any idea how long you still have until the days of agony are over? Well? Two more days? One? Or, maybe even longer? Do you realise how much pain can still be inflicted on that body of yours? And you seriously believe you will be able to save Maria? Oh, come on! Hahahaha!”


As Mike jumped up to his feet, Kramet turned and left the cell. The door was slammed shut and Mike was left standing in the middle of the cell, panting heavily.




Mike had lost all sense of time. He had no idea, being deprived of any contact with the outside world, whether it was day or night, or what day it was, or how many hours this series of hellish interrogations had been going on. All he knew was that his body was more and more covered with bruises, welts and small wounds as the result of the tortures inflicted on him, and that he was aching all over. He was getting very tired: in the holding cell they kept disturbing his sleep, and the sparse food and water was not sufficient for his strength to recover fully after each agonising session of torture. He was only sure of two things. First, no matter what he had to protect Maria, even if that meant losing his life in the torture room. Second, further suffering at the hands of his sadist captors was inevitable. And yes, third: Kramet was a dead man, he would kill him with his bare hands!


And then they came for him again. As always there were 4 guards armed with nightsticks and prods, just to make sure Mike could not escape. They unlocked the collar from his neck, his wrists stayed cuffed behind his back. Also as always the manhandling was rough. Mike was pushed and dragged down the corridor and into yet another torture room. As they entered Mike looked around to take in the room of horror as much as he could. It was a big space, dominated by a large steel frame hanging from heavy chains. The frame looked very sturdy, it was rectangular and more than 6 feet high. The beams on top and bottom were welded and bolted to the columns. The columns were punctured with holes. The corners above and below seemed to be strengthened by tangentially fitted steel bars, from which shackles were hanging. Along the walls stood steel cupboards. Mike thought he saw a movable generator, electric cables coiled up on top, but he had no time to take a good look: they forced him on towards the frame. The bottom beam was resting on the floor. The guards forced Mike’s legs wide and made him step onto the beam, then they fastened the shackles on his ankles. Only then they uncuffed his wrists and forced his strong arms up. Mike instinctively tried to resist, but it was no use. Within seconds his wrists were shackled to the frame and he stood spreadeagled in the frame, his arms slightly bent. The guards checked to make sure that he was securely chained, and then they left him there.


The first thing Mike did was to pull at his shackles, but there was no chance: he was secured to the frame. He let his eyes wander over the frame once more and noticed that long chains were attached to the outside corners, leading up towards the ceiling and ending in what seemed like an elaborate hoisting mechanism. Then he looked around the room again. There were steel cupboards against one wall, no doubt containing all sorts of devices to cause pain. Mike now saw the movable generator, the cables ready, with a control panel on one side. Behind him but just visible from the corner of his eye was another large steel movable container which looked like a barbecue, with three gas cylinders beneath the tank. And, of course, there was the customary easy chair with side table, wine, water and finger foods already in place, for the benefit of Mr. Schmidt, to make sure he’d be comfortable while watching Mike being tortured for his pleasure. A gulf of hate and disgust made itself felt to Mike as he stood chained, spreadeagled and half naked in the steel frame. His hatred for Schmidt and especially for Kramet was so profound that he would certainly kill them both, if only he had a chance. But he had no chance, not now at least, and he forced himself to concentrate on Maria and away from the horrors that were waiting for him. He pictured her in that cell, the door locked by a code that only he knew. The thought of Horst entering that cell to abuse and torture her was enough for him to dig deep into his courage once again. He would protect her, no matter what, no matter how they tortured him, no matter how bad the pain was going to be. He took a very deep breath, flexed all his muscles, threw his head back and let out a deep and loud roar, like a fierce animal ready to enter a fight.


At that moment the door was opened. Schmidt and Horst entered the torture-room. As Horst began to check for himself that Mike was securely chained, Schmidt walked around the frame and let his eyes roam over Mike’s naked upper body.


“Once again, I must say that I admire your strong body, Michael. Your musculature is just perfect, your rippled muscles a feast for the eyes! To tell you the truth, the bruises, welts and wounds even enhance the impressiveness of your warrior physique. Your body shows the marks of pain, and your face tells of the fact that you are suffering even now, even if you try to hide it. Yes, I know: your body must be aching from the tortures that were inflicted on you!”


Mike’s eyes followed Schmidt as far as possible as he slowly circled him. Finally, Schmidt stopped in front of Mike. He let his eyes wander over Mike’s face, chest, flexed biceps, and abs. Then he moaned lightly with pleasure, looked Mike in the eye and scoffed, and then he turned towards his chair.


“Soon you will give up the code, Michael! No matter how fit and strong you are, or how much willpower you have, the moment will come that the pain is stronger. At some point it will be simply too much. You will break. You will weep in agony and despair, you will beg me to hear you say the code and make Horst stop hurting you. And you will panic by the idea that I might order him to inflict more pain on you, even after you gave up the code and delivered Maria to Horst! You will feel sick from the fear that you will remain chained and that your body will be subjected to pain again. That moment will come, Michael, I promise you!”


Schmidt sat down and poured himself a glass of wine. Mike’s stomach tightened and he grit his teeth. His eyes answered Schmidt’s threat: a determined “no” could be read in his gaze.


“Horst! Why don’t you get the new harness that I had tailored especially for Mr. Slade!”


On command of his master Horst opened one of the steel cupboards and took out a harness made from a number of leather straps: the front had a grid pattern with four vertical straps and eight horizontal, then there were four straps with belt locks on the back. The straps on the front seemed to be dotted with small metal buttons. Horst took the harness, which had an overall v-shape to it, closer to Mike. Schmidt spoke.


“Michael, take a good look at this fine piece of workmanship! Notice the supple leather straps, narrow but strong. Do you see that they are adjustable? The front straps can be moved along the vertical ones. Do you see? Also, Michael, please notice that the metal buttons you see are in fact small sockets. The purpose of those will become apparent soon, do not worry. And now, Horst, show Michael the harness on the inside!”


Horst turned the harness around and held it up for Mike to inspect. On the inside of the straps there were sharp thin pins fitted, about half an inch long. The top strap had four of them, the second two, and the bottom six again had four each. Mike swallowed, his stare became hard, he clenched his fists.


“Now Horst will attach the harness to that magnificent upper body of yours, Michael. And he is instructed to be accurate and make sure that the pins are placed precisely according to my instructions. Horst, go ahead!”


Horst lifted the harness higher, and Mike tightened his muscles in anticipation. He saw the pins on the inside of the harness nearing his unprotected naked skin. He took a deep breath, and gritted his teeth.


Horst held the harness lightly to Mike’s front torso, and with dexterity, keeping the harness in place with one hand, he managed to provisionally lock one of the belt locks on Mike’s back. Mike felt the pins pricking on his skin, and he held his breath. Horst stepped behind Mike’s back and locked the remaining straps on his back. The harness was in place.


Now Horst returned to Mike’s front. He inspected the position of the straps across Mike’s naked chest and abs. He grunted and began the adjustment of the straps and pins, obviously according to Schmidt’s instructions. The first, highest, horizontal strap ran across Mike’s broad chest, above his nipples. Below it the four sharp pins pressed against the taut skin with Mike’s thickly and hard muscled pecs underneath, causing a pricking pain. Then he pulled the second horizontal strap slightly upwards and made sure that the two pins were placed exactly on Mike’s nipples, pricking his nipple-tips. As Mike gritted his teeth tighter, Horst grinned and continued his work. The third horizontal strap he adjusted over Mike’s upper abs, making sure that each ab muscle had two pins pricking it. The fourth strap, which had longer pins, he placed over the tendons between Mike’s upper and middle abs. The fifth came to be placed over his middle abs, the sixth, again with longer pins, on the tendons between the middle and lower abs, the seventh on the lower abs, and finally the eighth below the lower abs. Horst checked the positioning of the pins once more carefully, and then nodded to Mr. Schmidt.


“Harness and pins are in place, excellent. The next step is to fix them. Horst!”


Horst walked over to a cupboard and returned with a black rubber nightstick, tapping it in the palm of his hand as he approached Mike. He took position in front of him, and took aim…




Horst hit the two buttons on the left side of the lowest strap, and in doing so he drove the two pins into Mike’s living flesh.








With another carefully aimed whack Horst drove the pins above Mike’s right side into the tendons below his lower abs.






The nightstick drove two pins into Mike’s left lower abs. Mike’s thick biceps bulged as he pulled wildly at the chains holding him to the frame.






Two pins bit their way into Mike’s right lower abs. Mike looked down his chest, just in time to see the nightstick being whacked again, a bit higher.










Four long pins had found their way into the tendons between Mike’s lower and middle abs.










Four pins were sticking into Mike’s middle abs, two at each side. A sweat started to break out on Mike’s forehead and armpits.










The tendons between Mike’s middle and upper abs were cruelly punctured by four long pins. The pain made Mike’s abs tighten and stand out even more below the harness and its pins.










The two hard and well-aimed whacks of the nightstick drove the four pins into Mike’s upper abs. His skin began to glisten as sweat started to break out all over his body. As his eyes roamed around, he briefly met Schmidt’s intent gaze. His tormentors eyes were radiating with pleasure as he watched how Horst drove the pins into his victim’s body. Now Horst took careful aim again.






Mercilessly the pin over Mike’s left nipple was driven deep into the sensitive flesh. Mike threw his head back as he screamed out.










Likewise, now Mike’s right nipple was violently pierced by the pin as Horst whacked the nightstick down on the strap. Mike tried to catch his breath, but Horst was unperturbed and finished his cruel task.










With brute force four pins were driven into Mike’s hard muscled pecs, two in each slightly hairy pectoral. Horst took a few steps back, in order to provide his master with an unhampered view of the young half-naked convict chained to the frame. Thirty pins were sticking into Mike’s living flesh and kept in place by the leather harness. Mike breathed irregularly as the pins caused a sharp pain with every contraction of muscles in his chest and abs. His sweaty face showed a grimace of pain, but his eyes kept radiating fury and willpower. Mr. Schmidt took his time to enjoy this spectacle of suffering, and a satisfied thin smile played on his lips as he noticed thin trickles of blood appear here and there from the puncture wounds on Mike’s body.


“The expression on your face, and not to mention your screams just now, tell me that the harness has the intended effect on you, Michael. Should I mention the fact that I will Horst have that painful thing removed from your body as soon as you give me the code to Maria’s cell? Well?”


Mike lifted up his head and swallowed.


“No…need…you sick shit…no code!”


Mr. Schmidt leaned back in his armchair and smiled.


“Just as I thought. All according to expectation. My good friend Kramet was right when he said you were going to be a great subject. Excellent!”


“FUCK you…and FUCK your FUCKIN’ torture SHIT…son of a…FUCKIN’ BITCH!”


Mike pulled hard at the chains holding him, flexing every muscle in his body, and ignoring the pain that caused. Schmidt only seemed even more pleased at this outbreak of anger and defiance.


“Ha, yes! Dig deeper into your courage, Michael! You are going to need it! Horst! Proceed with the preparations!”


Mike swallowed as Horst wheeled the cart with the large generator close to the frame. On top of the generator were three bundles of thin cables, one bundle of four, one of two and a thick one of twenty-four.


“Take a good look at the cables, Michael, and then at the buttons on your harness. If you look closely you can see that those buttons are actually like little sockets, to receive the cables connected to the generator. Oh, and needless to say that the buttons are directly leading over into the pins that are snugly sticking in the muscles of your pecs, abs, tendons and, of course, your nipples. Do you get the picture? Yes, I think you do, am I right?”


Mike swallowed again and mouthed a soundless “fuck”, then he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. In his mind he began to prepare himself for what was coming. He was going to need all his willpower again to resist the pain and make sure that his mind was stronger than his body. His body would scream for the pain to end…


“Horst, attach the cables to the buttons on Michael’s chest, please!”


Horst picked up the bundle of four cables, coupled black and red, and carefully attached them. As he pressed the ends into the sockets, the pins bit deeper into Mike’s flesh, and Mike grimaced in reaction, but made no sound.


“Good! Now, Horst, switch the generator on. Amperage is already set, but adjust the voltage to half-force. Done? Very good, now let Mr. Slade enjoy a first experience of what we can do to him!”


Horst pressed a red button.




Mike’s chest exploded in pain. His pec muscles contracted violently as the electric current was sent through his chest. He threw his head back, all the muscles in his strong body flexing as the pain hit him.




Only after Horst lifted his finger from the red button and the current stopped, Mike was able to breathe again. He gasped, then inhaled deeply, and tried to control his breathing.


“From the reaction of your body I can tell that this first encounter with the electricity has served its purpose. Even if you succeeded not to scream, it was quite obvious that the pain made itself felt quite clearly! Now, Michael, remember: this was just your pecs, and that at half-force of the voltage. Imagine what you will suffer when the electricity hits your abs, and then your nipples, and then both! And we can target your pecs, abs and nipples separately, or in combination of two and three! And what’s more: we can increase the voltage step by step and double its impact from what you just experienced! Think about the agonising pain you will be suffering, Michael! And yes, when you pass out, we will revive you, again and again if necessary, and make sure you will be conscious so we can continue to make you suffer, let you feel all that pain to the maximum extent! Unless, of course, you decide to avoid all this, and give me the code!”


Mike tried to block out Schmidt’s words and focus away from the pain and torture that was going to be inflicted on him. He shook his head, his eyes closed, determination written all over his sweaty face. And again he swallowed.


“Horst, attach the electrodes to Mr. Slade’s abdomen and increase the voltage!”


Horst picked up the bundle of cables and carefully disentangled them. Then he attached each one of the cables to its intended socket, making sure he pressed the electrode into the socket. The pressure of course made each pin beneath it enter deeper into Mike’s living flesh. His ab muscles flexed in reaction to the pain and the grimace on his face betrayed that he was hurting.


Then Horst adjusted the level of the voltage on the generator upwards, and let his finger hover over the red button.


“Only the abdomen now, Horst. Not the pecs.”


Again Horst turned some switches, and now Mike could make out that from a row of three small warning lights only one was burning red. But he had little time to study the control panel on the generator: Horst pressed down the red button.






Mike felt as if his whole abdomen was being torn to pieces. All over his body his muscles flexed, and he pulled like mad at his chains. He shook his head wildly as he screamed out his pain. Horst kept pressing the button down, and it seemed like his torment was taking ages. His body started to quiver. His strong but helpless fingers clawed the air. And then finally on Mr. Schmidt’s sign Horst took his finger from the button. Mike’s body slumped, he heaved a deep sigh and then gasped. Slowly he recovered from the onslaught of the pain, his mouth hanging open, saliva running down his chin. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, but irregularly, his chest heaving, his abs tightening. His sweaty face showed the contortions caused by the pain he had just experienced. All these bodily signs were taken in by Mr. Schmidt and his face, in contrast with his victim’s, showed all the signs of pleasure and lustful excitement. He gave Mike ample time to recover and just kept gazing at that half naked, sweating and muscular young man chained to the frame, the cruel harness attached to his body. After a long while he sipped from his wine and looked into Mike’s eyes.


“Michael, that must really hurt! And this was just your abs only! Imagine what it will be like when I order to zap your chest as well, and then your nipples! Is all that pain worth it, Michael? And do you really expect to be able to take this agony much longer? Come, my young friend, why not avoid the pain? Giving me the access code to Maria’s cell is sufficient! Well?”


Schmidt’s words sank in slowly. For a brief moment Mike considered the option of giving in, listening to his body begging for the pain to stop. But hearing Maria’s name drove that thought away immediately. He shook his head.


“No fuckin’…way…asshole…no…fuckin’…way…”


Mr. Schmidt leaned back in his easy chair and motioned with his hand towards Horst.


“Horst! Add the nipples!”


Horst sniggered and grabbed the last cluster of wires. He came up to Mike and slowly, but deliberately pressed the contacts and the end of the wires into the sockets, thus driving the pins deeper into Mike’s nipples. Mike grimaced in pain and threw his head slightly back: he bit on his teeth not to make a sound.


“Well done, Horst! Now, Michael, we have three clusters of wires on your body that can be used to send the current into you. They can be activated separately, in combination of two, or all three at once. As you can imagine, my young friend, the levels of pain can be increased to make you suffer the most horrible agonies. Remember also that I can have the voltage increased as well! But why am I talking? I am wasting time and depriving you of the opportunity to experience for yourself what I am talking about! Horst, his nipples!”




A shock went through Mike’s body as the pain burst out deep inside his nipples and made his chest feel like it exploded.




Mike thrashed against the chains holding him to the torture-frame, every muscle in his body flexing in reaction to the pain. Schmidt inhaled deeply as he watched Mike suffer, a feeling of satisfaction engulfing him at the spectacle of pain in front of his eyes. On his sign Horst switched the current off.




Mike gasped for air. He had bitten his lips, because some blood trickled down the corner of his mouth and down his chin. He was sweating all over his body now, his skin glistening and beads of sweat running down his face, armpits and all upper body, mixing with the trickling of blood from the wounds where the harness’ pins were sticking into him. The waistband and pleats of his camo-pants were turning dark with the sweat. His chest was heaving, his fingers groping helplessly in the air. His face showed the marks of pain, but his features still bespoke of willpower and defiance.


“Horst! His abs and chest! And increase the voltage!”


Mike swallowed, but his mouth was getting parched. His eyes flashed at the control panel, but even before he could prepare himself, Horst pressed the red button.




Again, a violent shock went through Mike’s body.




Mike’s body arched as far as the chains holding him allowed, his fingers stretching out in desperate agony. All he could do was screaming out his pain, until finally Horst released the red button. Mike’s muscles relaxed and his body slumped, he was hanging from his wrists, gasping for air. Sweat now ran in thin rivulets down his face and body. Mike groaned as he tried to recover from the onslaught of pain.


“Does it hurt, Michael? Is the pain getting to you? Would you like the torture to stop? Be released from the frame? The harness removed from your body? Yes? No more pain?”


Mr. Schmidt spoke softly and suggestively. His voice almost warm, caring. It reached Mike’s mind through a haze of pain, and it sounded so very persuasive. It was as if his body screamed to him: listen to the man, obey his words, end the agony! But his mind was still stronger. He set his jaws tight and shook his head.


“Fine. As you wish, my young friend. We will increase the pain, however! Horst! More voltage, and all three areas now, abs, nipples and chest!”


From the corner of his eyes Mike saw Horst alter the switches and then move his hand to the red button. The three red control lamps were burning as he brought his finger down.






Mike yelled, his body shocked so violently that the frame creaked, his scream filled the torture chamber. But Horst remained unperturbed and held his finger on the red button.






Mike roared like an animal and shook his head wildly in agony. Sweat drops flew from his contorted face. Under the harness, sweat mixed with the thin trickles of blood, caused by the pins sticking into his living flesh. Horst looked at his master, but Mr. Schmidt made no sign to stop.






Mr. Schmidt sat and observed Mike’s strong body shock and twist in horrible pain. All his muscles were flexed to the max and stood out under the skin glistening with sweat. He watched Mike’s face, his manly and handsome features distorted in a grimace of agony. Did he see tears in the eyes of his helpless victim? Or was it sweat?




Suddenly Mike threw his head back violently, his mouth wide open in a frustrated, silent scream. It seemed as if he flexed all his muscles beyond tearing point, hanging in the frame for maybe two seconds, and then his body slumped. The current was still on, but Mike did not feel anything anymore. He had fainted.


The ammonia fume from the flask held under his nostrils jump-started Mike’s body back into consciousness. He moaned as his body first trembled, before he tried moving. Slowly he regained feeling back in his limbs. That was when he noticed that he was lying on his back, but still securely chained to the torture-frame. That was when he became aware of the IV-needle on his left arm. That was also when he became painfully aware that the harness was still attached to his torso and that the pins were still sticking into his flesh. A deep sigh escaped from his mouth, and he closed his eyes again.


Mike was unaware how long he had been unconscious. After he fainted, Mr. Schmidt had ordered the frame to be lowered, allowing Mike’s body to come to rest lying on its back. Then he had Horst check Mike’s life signs. He was breathing and his heart was pumping, albeit slowly. Satisfied that his young victim was still alive, he stopped Horst from reviving Mike immediately. He ordered him to insert the IV-needle and connect the line to the plastic bag hanging from a stand and mounted next to the torture frame.


Then he rose from his easy-chair and walked over to where the half-naked muscled ex-Marine was lying chest up on the concrete floor, his body spreadeagled in the metal frame. Mr. Schmidt kneeled next to Mike and studied the hard but handsome face with its strong features. Even if now the eyes were closed, that face showed signs of agony and suffering. Mike’s strong fingers were still curved. Mr. Schmidt extended his right hand and caressed Mike’s left stubbled cheek, while his eyes roamed from Mike’s face down his upper body. Mike’s torso was glistening with sweat, his chest only lightly rising and sinking with his slow breathing. Underneath the harness the pins were sticking into the young man’s flesh. Blood and sweat had mixed, and immediately around the pins the skin showed signs of slight burning. Mr. Schmidt let his hand touch Mike’s shoulders and biceps. He felt the hardness of Mike’s body. He felt how Mike’s strong muscles kept their tone even if they were now relaxed. Then he got back to his feet and sat down again. And for a long time, he remained seated, and kept studying that muscular and athletic warrior-body as it lay displayed in the torture-frame. He wondered at the strength and willpower shown by that young man. So far, the pain and tortures had not forced him to give in, to surrender to the agony and give up the code. Yes, he had been screaming his pain out, but his will remained unbroken. Well, Kramet’s promises were proven right: this was the best looking and toughest torture victim he’d ever had from the No Pain No Gain enterprise.


At the sound of Mr. Schmidt’s voice Mike startled. Had he dozed away briefly? He certainly felt deep fatigue mixed with the pain in his tortured body. But that hated voice made him wide awake again.


“Horst, make sure the harness is still correctly attached to Michael’s body.”


Suddenly Mike was aware of Horst’s presence next to him. Then he saw something lifted above his abs. Then Horst pressed down his boot hard.




Next Horst repeated this on Mike’s chest.




“Well done, Horst! And you’ve made it quite clear that our young Marine is alive and awake again! We can continue to make him suffer. Excellent. Hoist him up!”


With a buzzing sound the hoisting mechanism began its work and the torture-frame was slowly being lifted. In a few moments Mike was in upright position again, chained spreadeagled in the frame. He felt exhausted, was aching all over, and he realized he was to be tortured … again. But before any fear for the ensuing pain or desperation could take hold of him, he concentrated his mind on Maria and imagined her in that cell, Horst opening the cell door with the code he had given up and walking towards the side table with the shiny medical instruments. No! He would never allow Maria to be subjected to torture, no matter what they did to him and no matter if the tortures would eventually kill him. Schmidt noticed the determination in Mike’s eyes.


“As you still keep silent, Michael, I assume you are unwilling to give up the code to Maria’s cell. No matter, my friend. We still have a lot of time at our disposal to inflict pain on you. Horst! Increase the voltage again! Chest and nipples!”






An explosion of pain in his chest made Mike jolt and jerk in agony. He threw his head back as he screamed and yelled. He pulled yanked at the restraints with all the strength he had, his muscles straining and flexing under his glistening skin.


“Enough! Let him recover until his breathing calms down, then the abs.”


Mike gasped heavily for air as the current stopped. His chin fell on his heaving chest. He was hanging from his strong arms. A fresh outburst of sweat had appeared all over his body, salty drops were running down his face, neck, between his pecs and down his abs and, from his armpits, his flanks. He groaned in agony. But bit by bit his breathing became more regular and calmer. Finally, he lifted up his face and summoning his courage once again he gave Schmidt a hard look of defiance and determination. It brought an evil smile on his tormentor’s face. Schmidt nodded.






Was his body torn apart right in the middle? The torture-frame creaked and squeaked as Mike pulled at the chains with all his strength.




Mike had no control over the contortions and jerks his body made under the violent pain of the high voltage sent into his abdominals. Schmidt watched Mike suffer, holding his breath at the spectacle of that muscular athlete’s body reacting to the agony is was experiencing. Then he closed his eyes, leant back in his easy-chair and listened to the raw screams and desperate gasps for air that filled the torture-room. Then he lifted his hand. Horst took his finger from the red button. Mike’s body slumped down, he hung from his wrists, gasping for air and moaning in agony. Schmidt kept listening with closed eyes to the sounds coming from the cruelly tortured young man hanging in the torture-frame. Horst stood at the controls, ready to press the red button again and send Mike back to the hell of pain.


“Horst, we wait again for him to recover. Then you increase the voltage once more. And combine the three areas: abs, chest and nipples. Let’s see if we can break his will, he seems close to giving the code.”


Mike’s vision was blurry. His whole existence was reduced to pain. Thin rivulets of blood ran from the puncture wounds under the harness and mixed with the sweat on his skin. But through a haze he did hear Schmidt’s words and they sank in slowly. He lifted his chin half-way up from his chest and managed a spit in the direction of his tormentor. It did not reach its target, but Schmidt noticed. And nodded. Horst obeyed.






Mike’s body arched to the max in the torture-frame, his head thrown back, his muscled neck with veins thick as if they would explode as he screamed and roared like a wild animal.






Schmidt noticed the unnatural curve of Mike’s bare feet and the claw-like cramp in his fingers, every muscle in his body flexing and taut, his torso jerking and jolting under the harness, his head shaking wildly, sweat drops running down his face and body … or were they tears running down his stubbled cheeks? In any case all these symptoms were sure signs that his victim was in extreme pain.




With one final roar of agony from deep within his body Mike lost consciousness again. His body slumped. Horst let go of the button, approached his victim and slapped Mike’s face left and right, but there was no reaction. Schmidt sighed.


“All right, I suppose that’s it for this moment. He’ll start to grow numbed now, and that defeats the purpose of torturing him. I want him to feel the pain to the max! Horst, lower the frame, remove the harness and let him rest. Then fire up the radiator!”


A cruel smile appeared on Horst’s hard lips, and he nodded, as always ready to obey his master’s orders.




With a deep moan Mike woke up. He was still chained to the torture-frame, lying chest-down on the concrete floor. As he regained his consciousness, he became also aware of the pain in his body. As he moved his torso a bit, he noticed that the harness had been removed from his chest and abs. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was parched.


“Ah, Michael! Finally, you wake up! Good of you to join us again, we have work to do. There is still the matter of the code to Maria’s cell door, which is as yet unresolved. Horst, hoist our young friend up a bit, so that we are in a better position to talk.”


The mechanism buzzed and the top end of the torture-frame began to be hoisted up slowly. As his body was lifted, Mike noticed that an extra crossbar had been fitted to the frame at the level of his hips: the crossbar supported his body and kept it from sagging. At an angle of 45 degrees the mechanism stopped, and Mike was eye to eye with his tormentor Mr. Schmidt, who sat comfortably in his easy chair. His tormentor took his time to take in the sight of his muscled, half naked prisoner in front of him: a body covered with the marks of torture, a face showing the signs of exhaustion and suffering, but eyes still glowing with willpower and determination.


“Well now, Michael, I must say that so far you are doing an admirable job! Your level of endurance is remarkable, as is your stubbornness and strength of will. Then again, I had expected no less from you. What’s more, I expect to see even more of it in the long hours of pain and torture to come!”


Mike clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. His eyes were hard and cold. He was in pain and extremely tired, but he did not want show weakness. His eyes quickly monitored the space around him, but he could no longer see the trolley with the generator close by.


“Do not worry, Michael! I will certainly have you enjoy the harness and the electric current again, if necessary. You know now how excruciatingly painful this type of torture is, don’t you? Ha ha, yes, that look in your eyes tells me I am right! But first, where are my manners! Horst, please offer our young friend some water. I am sure he is thirsty.”


Horst held a large cup at Mike’s parched lips and Mike drank. He was not even sure if the water was fresh or stale: it was watery and his body was screaming for moisture. Herr Schmidt allowed him to drink two cups. Mike would have wanted more, but to quench his thirst was denied to him.


Bit by bit Mike started to feel a bit better, although that meant that he became more aware of the pain all over his body. He glanced down his chest and noticed the regular pattern of small wounds on his abs and chest, the remnants of the hellish harness and its pins that had been driven into his living muscle. But he had little time to recover further.


“This has taken long enough! We must proceed with the interrogation! Horst, bring our young friend in the right position and prepare the boiler!”


The winch started to buzz, and Mike felt himself being hoisted up. The winch stopped as his feet were about 5 feet above the floor of the torture-chamber, and his body was still in a tilted position, so that his head was about 8 feet above ground. Then Horst pushed a large, shiny metal box on wheels under Mike’s chest. Mike looked down at the big box beneath him: he saw an electric cable and a rubber water hose coming from the wall and connected to the box. Immediately he also seemed to feel that the air beneath his naked abs and chest was warming up. His worst suspicions were confirmed as Horst removed the lid from the metal box: Mike saw three rows of what seemed like outlets, pointing upwards, four in each row. Now Mike could clearly feel how heat emanated from the box beneath him. The hot air touched his skin and almost immediately sweat began to make his skin glisten.


“I see you already feel some heat from beneath you, Michael! What you feel now is not even remotely comparable to what the boiler can do. The machine is known as “SuperHeater”. Inside the water is turned into boiling hot steam. And this boiling steam can escape, under Horst’s control, from the outlets you notice beneath you. The pressure will make sure that the hot steam hits your naked skin. This will cause intense pain, Michael! Of course, we will take care you will not be severely burnt. Depending on the distance between the outlets and the skin of your chest and abs and, depending on the time of exposure of your skin to the heat, the intensity of your pain and of the burn marks can be controlled sufficiently well. So, you see, it’s a matter of interplay between the interval of opening the outlets and how far your naked upper body is lowered by the winch. These factors Horst will control under my command. Whether you will actually suffer the extremely painful effects of the steam on your skin is, of course, up to you, Michael! So, tell me, what is the entrance-code to Maria’s cell?”


Mike’s face tightened, the muscles in his body tightened, his hands tightened into fists. Somewhere inside him a voice whispered: “give him the code… save yourself the pain…,” and this whispering internal voice seemed oh so persuasive! Mike’s tortured body was aching all over, he felt exhausted from the pain he had suffered for all these long hours, his upper body was covered with the marks caused by the infliction of torment. His body yearned desperately for release, for the end of suffering, for healing and rest. But just at the moment that his head was going to lower and his mouth was going to utter the words his torturer wanted to hear, Mike’s mind and willpower intervened. Instead of lowering his head, he raised it. His gaze focused on the hated figure sitting in front of him. With determination in his eyes Mike did say words, but they were the words of an indomitable fighter:




[to be concluded…]