The Preparation

We were all taken together, the three of us. Quiet night, no moon, no sound, just the usual rustle of dead leaves and whatever noise we generated ourselves. Hot so we'd slipped out of our jackets, just a tank top plus our cargo pants filled with ammo, snacks, all the crap we stuck in them and then didn't throw out. Even Oreos in a package, after they've been squashed enough become inedible but the birds, one of our best lines of defense in that their silence indicated something unusual in the area, liked them. 

We talked about this after we were able to talk, to realize our situation, to think how it happened. Darts, that's how they did it, darts with something like curare, sharp tipped so the sting could have been an insect, one of the pestilence of scorpions that were our unwelcome but constant companions. None of us saw the others drop, it was that quick, that silent. Time lost meaning as it does when you're out cold. We figured that after the first take down, we'd been drugged so how long? Pete said he'd shaved that morning and only just had a bit of five o'clock shadow so it couldn't have been more than a day, probably a good deal less. 

We also knew we were near or on the sea, where we were chained had a hole, at least two meters across, in the center through which pounding surf could be heard. The place was like a concrete can with a hole in the bottom. The top was unopened or closed, not enough light to tell, no doors, just the circular walls and the floor. We were spaced about three meters apart, all on one side, one hand in a manacle that was set in the wall as well as a metal collar around our throats, also set in the wall. Our legs were each in spreader bars, probably one, one and a half meter wide, enough to be just on the edge of stress but not quite painful. The bar itself was attached to the floor while the one hand not manacled was chained to the bar giving us just a bit of play but not enough to be of any help. Clearly, the area was meant to hold more than just the three of us for beyond our arc the collars in the walls, the bars on the floor and the dangling chain continued at intervals about like ours all the way round. Could hold, we figured, maybe thirty men max. It was chilly but not cold which was just as well as we were naked, our cocks and balls had responded to the temperature by seeking warmth within our bodies. 

At first we kept what we said to each other at a minimum, who knew might be listening and what they or them or him or whomever could hear that could be used in some way against us or others like us. The collar prevented much allowance for rest but, eventually, we all did sleep for varying lengths of time. It had gotten significantly lighter, courtesy the hole as well as some very narrow slits at the top. We could see each other clearly although turning our necks wasn't an easily done thing. One way of judging the possible time of day was that the light provided enough illumination to give things colour. The interior was grey and did appear to be cast concrete apart from that, we were the only things to have any colour which was our skin tones. You could tell we'd been out of doors but wearing trousers or cargoes as from our pants line up we were very tanned, from there down an almost pasty, unhealthy looking white but that was only in comparison with the upper half. 

There was a sound, that of feet on metal then a head appeared in the hole meaning, I found, that the hole was connected to the outside by a spirat staircase allowing access to our area and to us. It was two men. One carried a bag, the other what looked to be the sort of rectangular case pilots use for their maps and instruments. Beside each of us, where our chained arm could reach it, was placed a two liter bottle of water, the cap screwed on as well as a pan of what was some sort of food. No comment, nothing from them as they left. Their appearance gave no hints, they looked like us, Western European, White, reasonably well constructed, no marks, tattoos, anything to give information or that could be implied. Wearing apparel consisted of camouflage pants, boots laced almost to the knee outside the pants, a black loose fitting cotton T shirt with double pockets as well as two epaulets. Again, nothing on them, these were clothes you could probably buy on line or some sort of Army/Navy store. If they belonged to a group or were hired by someone, no way of telling. The man with the case had pointed it at each of us, there was a brief flash and, I assume, our pictures had been taken. 

We wondered about the food and water, whether it was tainted or drugged, some way adulterated. Getting the water bottle open was difficult with just one hand but, when we'd all accomplished that, we agreed to take a swig at the same time and see what happened. Maybe ten minutes went by and as nothing happened we each drank deeply which left us the food. Not appealing and, lifting the plastic dish, once the cover was removed, not bad smelling. It looked like the sort of stuffing one finds in a bird at holidays....but with a meatier scent. Again, it had to be eatern with only one hand as that meant you had to use one's hand or risk spilling the food...again, we each took a good amount in our fingers, ate it, then waited. Nothing. Bland in taste, we suspected it may have been laced with things to keep us healthy as well as alive, certainly there was sufficient for a generous meal but, between us, we agreed to save part of both the water and the food against...who knew?

Speculation ebbed and flowed. We hadn't been harmed, apart from being captured which was more of an embarrassment, we hadn't been mistreated and, as Pete pointed out, our "accomodations" were larger than specified by the Geneva Convention on prisoners and their treatment. What did not pass muster was our being held by metal cuffs of varying sizes plus the bar and the chain. No one said that it could have been worse for, insofar as we knew, it could get worse. One comforting thing was that we'd been kept together for whatever reason which gave us a way to speculate on what might happen, a dangerous thing to do as it's easy to think up the worst-death by some means or another-and forget that  this might be of short duration, perhaps negotiations were in progress to gain our release. I'm not sure any of us bought into that one but it was a possibility, if only a very slim one.

The two men appeared again one still carrying the case, the other nothing. We found out why. Our eating and drinking arm was now secured to another manacle in the wall and, once that was done, our heads were taken out. First, a line was drawn around our necks then portable clippers were used to shave our heads and groins. It was an amazingly good job in that just looking at our crotch, it was carefully done, no straggling lines of fur where the clippers had missed. The same line was drawn around one ankle on each of us after which they removed our "eating arm" put in back on the chain but returned our necks to the manacle in the wall for the purpose of holding us upright. 

I don't know about my two comrades but I'm not sure which made me more uneasy, the shaven head or the lines drawn on us. Clearly they were there for a purpose but, it was Frenchy who said this, why draw a line if you were going to cut off a guy's head? There was a scattered logic there, not very encouraging but if you wanted to hold onto the idea that you would end up alive with your head, it was a comforting thought. As to the line on the ankle? That was more menacing as we all figured if you wanted to keep prisoners from running, or even trying to run, cutting off a foot would do that very neatly.  Television had taught that lesson.

Hours went by and, as it was getting substantially dimmer, our "room service" pair came back with another bottle of water, a food tray and a marker; Each of us got a number as well as some symbols that meant nothing to us; It was like trying to discern what the symbols on the tag in a shirt meant in terms of laundering care. We talked about that but, in the dark, it was impossible to see them much less interpret them. Beyond that, each of us had slightly different symbols laid out in a different order. It got cold again-it had never really gotten warm-and, for our evenings amusement, a high, major tide must have come in as occasionally there were spatters of salt water that came up through the hole and splattered on us. The water was cold and salty which, as it dried, gave each of us a major itch problem. Again, we slept sporadically, some conversation, some speculation but impossible to reach any realistic conclusions. 

"Room Service" to the rescue. The next morning three men appeared, one with our usual water and food, the other two with buckets of clear water which they poured over us removing the salt grime. Hard to know which was worse, the salt or the shuddering after the dunking. That was it for their morning performance, nothing new, nothing old just colder and not salty. We talked about how back where we were, when it got cold we'd made two sleeping bags out of one and all crawled in. Warm and, yes, comforting to have your mate right there, someone to whisper to and, I have to confess, I got hard on more than one occasion. Forced to confess, Frenchy and Pete said that, yeah, they, uh, had some trouble keeping the snake in the hole...guessed it was just natural. Also we admitted that one or more of the "bathroom breaks" when we slipped out of the bag to go leak, well, that was more a double dribble, leak and cum. Jerked it off then stuffed it back in. I think we all knew but why embarrass a guy for something we all did. And I know each of us thought about screwing one of the others. Hand jobs in the moonlight were one thing but sticking in a warm, tight hole was another. And so what if it was your buddy, you were going to give him the same access to you....But we were Men, not some pansies strolling down the lane staring at every crotch, no, we stared at women and their crotches. Well, as a rule. You see a guy whose bulge leaves a shadow then you gotta look, wonder if it's real or a shop towel wadded up. 

Midday. "Room Service" returned but they had a new mission in addtion to water and grub. First up was French 'cause he had the number one on him. He was let loose at the neck, his other hand put in a high manacle opposite his other hand then his body was washed with something, probably depilatory as after ten minutes or so, they rubbed him with a sort of spongey material and all his hair from his body just fell off. Next was a coating that dried quickly and looked like a white chalk board. Close. Working from a diagram, they marked him up as one sees a chart in a butcher shop as to how a cow is butchered. Certain areas had a blob of red on them indicating....?

I was next, then Pete, same for all of us the only major change was that both our arms were brought down and while chained giving very little leeway, at least the one that had been stretched up, began to get some blood and circulation back. Necks were still in the wall manacle but just having both hands, the treat of eating more easily, of picking up the water bottle, it was like freedom. Then there were the markings on our bodies. We tried to wipe them away but they were very, very permanent. And the red blobs? That was going to mean something to someone......eventually.

"Room Service" arrived bringing the usual water and food as well as the case. Frenchy was unlocked then relocked in a standing position with his arms stretched up and locked there by chains. From the case instruments were taken, calipers, rulers, and an electronic gadget which, when placed on flesh gave some sort of reading. No words were ever spoken, the person taking the measurements allowed the second person to see the results who then wrote them on a form of some sort. Very thoroughly they took every measurement that seemed possible or even relevant. Their greatest interest was his genitals which were pulled from their hiding places in his warm body, stretched to their extreme and, finally, a steel ring was put at the top of his nut sack which was attached to a chain then pulled out to where his legs had been manacled. It was clearly painful. His Cock was put in a cage that did not allow it to retract. This done, he was again seated but with his balls out in front of him, his man meat encased and now his arms were not free but secured with a single bar of steel that had three openings, the outer for his wrists and the center for....his head.
We were all now worried, even frightened. Frenchy had not been given food or water and we wondered how soon we would receive the same sort of rebonding. We didn't have to wait long to find out. Again, Frenchy was stretched up, his testicles still out in front, his cock securely wrapped in metal. They consulted their form, just recently filled out, then started marking within the areas defined by the earlier lines. Nice regular figures even Pete and I could easily read, only Frenchy could not. When they finished he was again photographed with each general area given its own picture. Enlarged, it would be easy to read whatever had been marked on him. Back to the original binding with one hand chained but available to pick up the water bottle, no food was left for him.
He asked us what the markings were and all we could say was they seemed to be numbers...what we didn't say was they looked more like prices. No symbol was in front of them but what else could it be? Pete and I tried to gloss over what we saw and our fears but it was almost impossible. We wondered how long until each of us received the same treatment? One we thought lead to something awful, too beyond reality to even think but...was Frenchy marked for sale as meat? Would he be...butchered? We said nothing but what else was there to think? Nothing but a horrible death that might start being run into an abbatoir, hung like a carcass, his throat slit or perhaps electrocuted but either way....he ended up in pieces perhaps already sold.
In turn, we each received the same treatment-in a touch of irony we commented that they were fair, same for all. The only thing we could spot was their curiosity about Frenchy was that he had not been circumsized, Pete and I both had. He said, with a certain frightened humour, that maybe his flap covered cock made that a delicacy....It was a grim thought but....possible?
We had visitors. "Room Service" plus five other men all dressed like our initial two and just as reticent. Each of them had a sort of folded piece of paper, almost like a catalog. Certainly as they looked at each of us, they consulted it, looked back, looked up...we were three naked guys with stuff written on us, not much to see. No one made a move to have us stand, do anything but look back at them. They were there some little while, we'd worked out how to use the lights from the slits high above us as a sort of sun dial, not accurate but how strangely comforting to know, or assume, what time it was. We had also calculated our relative orientation, North, South, East and West could be determined. Again, in our everyday lives this would have been of little concern or interest but now, each detail, however minuscule, added something to our being someplace known. Probably how prisoners, which we most assuredly were, finally accepted their space in confinement.
One thing room service finally did was...clean the stable. Once food and water was provided, we started in the very normal chain of digestion and excretion. The size of the place plus the large hole in the centre did provide some, not quite enough, ventilation. The worst was having to sit in one's own filth. Eventually "Room Service" who had noses just as we did, apparently thought they, too, could not stand it and so a hose was brought up, turned on and all was "flushed" out. This was about the size of a fire hose and almost as strong. The first blast, had it hit us from the side, could have snapped our necks in their collars leaving "Room Service" with three dead prisoners; Given the time that had been expended to keep us here and alive, this wouldn't have been a good result. "Room Service" who did the flushing, might have found the recently open neck collars attached to them.
Over the many days, with nothing to do but be with each other, each had provided a fairly substantial biography, certainly more than we'd known previously. Under other circumstances, these tales from home might have seemed tedious but now were urgent, important, we might be the last men on earth to hear these details so important to the teller. The situation led to telling dirty stories, whether true or not, which led to intentionally trying to get the other guys to get stiff and then ejaculate, even though our cocks were penned up. A true afficianado of bondage knows that you cannot completely stop human functionings. You can stop the outward function but the internals go right on. Also, in our caged situation, things that might not have been arousing now were. Why it became one of our favourite form of story telling is hard to know apart from gallows humour; This consisted of fantasizing our own executions in increasingly gruesome manners. The most popular was, of course, butchery as it did seem the most likely. Maybe in upping the horror we also accidentally prepared ourselves for the "worst" whatever that might prove to be. In a wacked out way, our "hero" became American Traitor, Timothy McVeigh who insisted that he was tired of all the histrionics to prevent his death sentence from being carried out so filed a motion to get it over with. The government, happy to get shot of a difficult prisoner and one, they thought, who might attract a large group to forcibly remove him from prison and indulge themselves in an old fashioned lynching or drawing and quartering....all of which we wove into the texts of our own imaginings as to our ends.
Torture is time passing with no movement. Maybe solitary confinement, which this really wasn't, might have helped if only because it would have prevented us from hightening our own fears in that we fed off the terrors of each other. A side effect of this was that our ejaculations grew stronger and greater in amount; Death and sex has always been every mans jiggly. Another line of 'discussion' was how we might be tortured if that were to happen in place of being 'put down' as we came to refer to it. Rather like animals who are 'put down', we'd exchanged our conceptions of ourselves as men to that of an animal who knows what is to come, just not how.
"Room Service" was annoyingly punctual, so much so that we would have like some variation even if it included the frightening incidents such as being segmented and then 'priced', our word for the numbers on our various areas. Did we speculate as to which part would bring the highest amount? Certainly, it's a form of male boasting only in our case it was much more than just who has the biggest cock or lowest hanging nuts, it was which 'white meat', the breast, would command the highest price. Maybe there was a listening device and all we said was being recorded and transcribed; If that were the case, depending on your tastes in barbarism to one another, you could easily have a whole shelf of  books divided by specialty or fetish. We'd long abandoned any sense of embarrassment as to what was said, how it was said or the subject matter. Why bother with informal censorship? We were as engrossed in our own debasements as we might have been, maybe more so, than a really well done horror film. The enormous distinction was that everything we speculated had a basis in what could happen or be done to us. If they were graphic, they had to be to hold our attention; Someone who could think up a new perversion, torture or grim end was, for the moment, made our hero for finding a diversion that killed time just as we worried that, eventually, time served would kill us.
We entered our second month so completely changed that our previous lives had been subsumed by the culture of death and physical pain that it was all that mattered. Had we come to almost demand an end as horrible as we'd created for ourselves and, additionally, did we want to watch one or the other of us receive what we'd created to happen to them. We had become the perfect combination of Sadism and Masochism all in one chained up body.
I don't remember who first brought it up but....it was wondered if the fact that our bodies were atrophying at a fairly good clip actually reduced our use to anyone else. We had arrived healthy young animals in good to great shape and condition but now, we could see our calf muscles disappear leaving our lower legs stalks with areas of almost no internal musculature visible. This was and was not a frightening thought. Don't know at what point we'd not precisely given up hope but evolved that into hope for a different ending. Death was our goal, not as release from our circumstance but to confirm our speculations.
An enormous change! one of the "Room Service" men was replaced with another. Why? we knew we'd never know and since the replacement did precisely what his predecessor did, there wasn't much traction to our interest. What did interest as we came to notice, was that never had they made one sound, one utterance, not one gasp or fart. Their mouths were never opened which led us to wonder if their tongues had been removed which led us to wonder if, someone was listening and was thoroughly bored, would arrange for our tongues to be cut out. As you'll imagine, that was good for several days of conversation. Past that, could we be blinded? We'd assumed that castration and a penectomy were a given, we no longer thought of that as much more than a distant appointment with a surgeon, the time of which we didn't happen to know.
The imagined appointment came as no surprize as we'd so completely accepted it. "Room Service" was accompanied by two additional men, all dressed as our servers, but each carried a fairly large satchel. As always Frenchy was first. His cock was removed from its cage, an injection was put at the base and, whammo, he had a hard on to be proud of. A scalpel was produced, the organ was harvested, put in a steel pan and they moved on to...me. Frenchy was still bleeding externally and was doing so internally but as with him, it took two minutes and they moved on to Pete. Back to Frenchy. He was castrated as you would any large farm animal, a knife was drawn across the top of the scrotum allowing everything, bag and testicles to drop away. Then the whole area was cauterized. For whatever reason, a miniature guillotine was produced and that was the mode of my being made ball-less. Pete was done with a burdizzo, all fleshy bits, no matter how their excision, were taken away, the group left and now...three eunuchs replaced three men. Silence. What to say? "Sorry about that?" 

Three days later in place of the morning feeding, Frenchy was loosed from all this bindings, chained in an upright position and taken away. No further sound, no suggestion as to what might have happened, maybe his being made a eunuch was part of what set him free? Maybe that was part of the negotiation? Pete and I sat and said nothing. We had prepared ourselves for anything and this was what "anything" apparently was save we did not know the parameters, the interiors of "anything". Silence was a reward. I wondered if the next day I would be taken? That seemed to be the routine they were establishing. 

I alone was left. Frenchy and Evan were gone and to what fate? I would never know unless their fate would be mine. It was a very long precision of hours, alone, feeling hunted but I was prepared for whatever it might be. Yes, Sir, I was well prepared.